I was always nervous about demanding a subscription fee. Maybe it’s the farmer in me, maybe it’s because I believe life’s pleasures should be free—and music and writing are nothing if not life’s unique and renewable pleasures.

My friend recently became my roommate, which means I now live with a skater for the Atlanta Roller Derby team—a phrase I would say to my younger self within the first hour of time traveling just to see him smile.

This week's playlist was made to put on when you're cleaning the house. The whole thing revolves around a driving pulse, a specific BPM that rhymes with your work. It's a metronome made to match with your broom and a back-up chorus to keep you pushing along.

These are songs that paint an impressionist's portrait of the big city, something I've been living in a lot lately and can't stop thinking about. I could die any day on these streets, mainly because of these cars everyone’s always driving around (and me, I’m one of the worst culprits).

My own personal exercise preference is running. It's the only arena of my life where I can set goals and actually achieve them, week-in and week-out, without failure.

You can think of it as a soundtrack to Gilead, but it's probably more apt to think of them as worship songs for non-believers. Not that you are all non-believers, but I find it's safer to assume a lack of faith than a preponderance of it. People get a little touchy about the subject.