Tuesday night and I just put Keaton down. I immediately threw on the new Wolf Parade record, which leaked earlier today. Even though it’s a poor-quality rip, the first song is super promising. I’m excited about the rest of the album - and I’ll let ya know.

As I bring this glass of wine to my lips, my hands still smell faintly of manure. I used the time after work today to put some new plants in around the house (yes, more new plants) and had my hands in a bag of planting soil for an hour or so. Warm and damp and stinking of organic decay, just like good soil should. Planted some flowers out back and some in front. I know I’ve talked about the yardwork jag I’ve been on, but the Spring weather really does make me want to spend my free hours out under the sun doing something productive. Call it human nature or something, but I enjoy it.

I think I’m getting balder. No, I mean, I know I’ve been getting bald now for years - that much is obvious. What I mean to say is, I feel like, after a somewhat long period of stasis, my hair has once again commenced the slow retreat it began so many years ago. For a time there, I don’t think much was happening - the thinness of my crown seemed to be holding, or at least was advancing at a near immeasurably slow pace. Now, though, I can definitely see a difference - it’s getting sparser and sparser up there… and ever more I can see through the little sprigs up top as the light shines through from behind. I’ve written before about how I’m not one to obsess over balding, and that still holds true - but the thought of actually having zero hair up top is sort of unsettling…

I mean, when that little bit of hair is gone at the top, there’s just nothing… right? And then, I’m the bald guy. I’m the thirty-something management-type at the office job. The guy who drinks coffee in the morning and takes his kids on vacation and reads. Oh man, that’s me. The old guy. The old bald guy.

Still though, despite this train bearing down on me, it’s singular headlight slicing through the night with a bead on me - I don’t care enough to do anything about it. In fact, I’m ready. Bring it on baldness train, come take my hair by the freightcar, take it and leave me and don’t come back. See, I’m one of those guys who believes that, if God needs my hair back, He must have a good reason. In fact, who here can question His wisdom? Not I, surely not I. So, Lord, You gaveth and You’re takingeth away - and I, for one, am totally cool with that. Seriously. You do what You gotta do, I’ma keep on keepin’ on, hair or no hair.

Segue.

For a few weeks now, when we go to put Keaton down for bedtime she’ll ask all cautious and filled with trepidation, “I might hear a funny noise, Daddy?” “No,” I reply, “You won’t hear a funny noise.” To explain this ritualistic exchange, I want to take you back in time to about three weeks ago - when I entered Keaton’s room late one night because she had woken up and was crying. Upon hearing her cries, which my parental ears identified as “fear” and not frustration or pain or tiredness, I entered her darkened room:

Me: What’s wrong baby, why are you crying?

Keaton: It’s scary Daddy, hold me.

Me (scooping her up, still sobbing): What’s scary baby, did something scare you?

Keaton: Yeah. I heard a scary noise.

Me: You heard a scary noise? (I do this all the time, repeat what she just told me.)

Keaton: Yeah. I heard a scary noise. It was coming from my back.

Me: The scary noise was coming from your back? (See?)

Keaton: Yeah.

Me: What did the scary noise sound like?

Keaton: A fart.

And Keaton bounced and jiggled on my shoulder as I tried to laugh both violently and silently. In the end, I told her the noise wasn’t “scary,” that it was just “funny” and she shouldn’t be upset by it. She eventually calmed down and, apparently, took my noise-classification to heart. So, every night now, she asks if she might hear a “funny” noise, and I tell her no.

Scared of farts; this can’t be my child.

Mmmm… by the way, the Wolf Parade album just played through once and I have to say I’m impressed. I’m hoping that, with repeat listens, it’ll establish itself as one of 2008’s best. Time will tell.

A’fore I go, check out the picture Megan posted of Keaton from camping (seems everyone’s beating me to getting pictures online this time around). Goodnight.

A grumbly harrumph to you, early morning Tuesday friends. Hope your coffee is strong and hot, and you got at least six hours of peaceful sleep last night. Me, I don’t know, because I write this business the night before. Go back and read a few, maybe check out the random posts over there in the sidebar - yeah, right over there - that’s right You’ll pick up on the timing pretty quick.

‘Round about 6:30pm on Monday and I’ve got the bluetooth hanging from my ear as I sit in one of those late-day Taiwan meetings. I’m listening, to an extent, but I’m also monitoring the baked ziti Sharaun left me for dinner before going up to run the teen-moms thing she does. She told me what temperature it’s supposed to bake at, and for how long, through rolled-down windows as I was pulling in the driveway and she was pulling out (at the same time, I could see Keaton mouthing “I love you daddy” through the glass as she blew me kisses). But, by the time I got in the house I’d forgotten both. I chose 375° for about thirty minutes - seems to be working OK so far (just need to make sure I get that crispiness on top, you know). On my own again for the evening, I suppose.

Before my 6pm call I pulled on some crappy shorts, dirty flip-flops, and no shirt to go plant some plants in the backyard. It’s hot outside here lately, and I wore nothing on my head so the sweat dripped down my face and burned in my eyes. I enjoyed it. And now, jumping around in time even more - that hot air is filling the house I opened up after my meeting ended, and I’m listening to this new album that’s supposed to be rad. I haven’t made up my mind.

This morning at work I decided to get some breakfast. I don’t usually eat breakfast at all, but occasionally I’ll go down to the café for my coffee and be tempted by the breakfast burritos or serve-yourself tater-tots and cheese-eggs. Got a small bowl of the latter this morning, spooned some salsa on top, and it made a great start to my day. Funny how little things can improve the outlook of a day, huh?

I’ve been going a bit crazy with Summertime “to-do” items lately. First up, the landscaping work I did on the sideyard out front, something I’ve been wanting to do for a while. Next on my list is redoing this little walled-planter/garden area we have along the sidewalk from our garage to our front door – it’s been in disuse now for too long, and looks a mess. I plan cunningly make use of the leftover pavers I had when I did the backyard porch so many years ago to create a nice little area for a swing or bench or something, and possibly even incorporate a little pond installation.

And, speaking of pavers, I guess it’s about time I finally clean and seal the porch in the backyard – and spent some time last week getting smart on the procedure and necessary materials. Finally, re-planting the retaining wall slope out back (filling in with more groundcover) and planting a tree in the corner out front. Realistically it’s a long list of work, but I’d like to make as much progress as possible over the next month – as we have a procession of family and friends coming to stay beginning then. Gotta keep up appearances, you know. Now, if only I can get Sharaun to care about the inside of the place… sigh…

Let’s switchum gears, as the old Indian used to say.

The other night, I booked a rather impulsive trip to Florida for Sharaun, Keaton, and I. We’d both been sort of bummed that our only planned visit this year was over Thanksgiving, and I was acutely bummed that it would mean I’d not see my new nephew until he was nigh on nine months old. So, I set about looking for stupid-low prices on plane tickets, and managed to find a great deal at the beginning of June. What’s more, United was offering double miles as a promotion during that time - and before I knew it I’d clicked through to a purchase. I immediately sent a note to my old cronies asking them to reserve me an evening for reminiscing and catching-up in a smoke-filled pub of their choice. Really, though, we’re excited about getting back to the place I still refer to as “home.”

And, mmmm… before I go, I see my friends are more disciplined than I, and some have already posted images from our weekend camping outing not but two days gone now.  Check out some images of the fun here, and look for an update from me sometime in the coming days…

Holy crap guys I’m really sorry about this mess of paragraphs. I feel a little aimless this week, just writing about things to write. Hope you can put up with it.  Goodnight.

Happy Monday friends.

Around dinner time on Sunday and I’m home alone listening to some music. We got back from a weekend spent camping today around noon, and after unpacking, washing up, and making and eating a sandwich, I curled up on the small two-cushion-long couch (gave the three-cushion-long to Sharaun) and took a sound nap. I’m still attempting to shake the last of the cobwebs from my head even now - naps can be solid things you know, like I was knocked out.

Camping, getting back to things, was great. The weather welcomed us, and showed up warm and beautiful. The food was the usual small-army variety that car camping so seems to inspire, being more than enough for our little group of weekenders for twice the time we stayed, and tasty to boot. There were five two year olds on this camping trip - making it clear that the physics of the activity have forever changed. Not in a bad way, it’s just a new twist. Keaton seemed to have a great time, running around covered in dirt head to toe, taking naps in the tent in the afternoon, and curling up with mom and dad on the air mattress in the evening (yes, air mattress - car camping, remember?).

Switching gears a bit, money and stuff.

Last week, I was talking with my buddy Jeff about the pending large-payout Sharaun and I are making as a death-blow to our lingering college loans. I have written before about how I hate debt, and explained how our loans, while not bad in terms of the interest they accrue, are like a burning coal in my shorts. I just can’t stand to have them on our dockets, just sitting there, looming all large and menacing. So, I vowed this year to pay them off. Anyway, as I often do, I was trying to scheme a way to get airline miles from the large expenditure. Anytime we decide to drop a large amount of scratch, I’m always looking for a no-hooks way to get free flights out of it.

Jeff suggested I get Sharaun and I both a certain United Visa card which lets you earn miles on those “convenience check” things. Last year, Sharaun and I each signed up for a different breed of United Visa card because they were offering 20k bonus miles just for opening an account. As a result, we ended up with a completely free trip to Florida for the both of us – not a bad deal. Turns out, the Visa that allows you to earn miles also offers the same 20k signup bonus.

So… in the end, we both got the new Visa, I’ll end up rolling the old Visas into the new one (we don’t carry a balance on any cards, so it’s just open-ended accounts), we’ll both get 20k bonus for signup, and I’ll earn mega miles paying off the student loans. That’s two free continental-US flights (or perhaps a return to Oktoberfest… ?) all for paying off a debt (well, and, technically, a $99 fee for using the balance-transfer checks) – and I call that a good deal Thanks Jeff, don’t expect a consulting fee or anything. Free stuff is the best.

Well now, seems like we’re drawing to a close for Monday. Sorry it wasn’t anything super impressive. I’ll try and get a proper set of pictures from camping up later in the week. Goodnight.

Well folks, we here at sounds familiar aren’t even remotely into the gossip or pop-culture bloggin’ biz, but I couldn’t resist writing just a small break from typical today for some important personal commentary I want to get off my chest.

First let me start by saying that, out of all the women that God has ever created, I think Natalie Portman is my favorite. I’ve felt this way for a while. That may sound presumptuous to some, as I’ve likely only seen some infinitesimally small percentage of the aforementioned inclusive group of women – but I’m willing to extrapolate the date from the .0004% of womanhood I have seen and go out on a limb here. She is, ranked against my standards of female physical appearance, simply tops. Beyond that, I saw her once on the David Letterman show and fell in love with her for more than just her beauty. You may find it hard to believe, but in those scant five minutes we made an intense connection through the cathode ray tube, and I totally “got” her.

What’s more – I find her relationship history (as revealed to me by the ever-infallible tabloid press) to be quite reveavling. For instance, take the fact that she used to date Zach Braff (the hilarious dude from Scrubs, you know, they did that movie together that had the Shins song on the soundtrack, remember?). And now, she’s apparently “dating” Mr. Devendra Banhart, an indie music darling who crafts a modern brand of roots music which the music press has labeled “freak folk.” Personally, I’m not a huge fan of his music, although I admit there’s some interesting stuff there (mostly the Spanish language tracks, which I find compelling and mysterious for some reason). Before I expand on why I think these two men in Ms. Portman’s life are telling, I need to make another point.

I fully believe that I could make Natalie Portman fall in love with me. No, I’m serious. I have come to convince myself that I could get Natalie Portman to fall in love with me. I truly believe that I have sufficient powers of woo to win her over, regardless of the fact that I’m neither famous, terribly wealthy, nor an Adonis. I’m for real. Give me three months of close contact with her and she’d be mine, I can all but promise success because I am that confident. To the naysayers, I’ll need you to suspend disbelief for a minute – disregard my plump, well-fed physique, overy-follicled body, and thinning crown, and just take me for me word here: I can do this; I got it.

I totally got this guy… right?

You see, I’ve decided that, if she can date that Scrubs dude and the freaky guy you see above – she must fall for the funny artistic types. And, at the risk of tooting my own horn, I laugh at me all the time, and… writing is some kinda art, right? I mean, even if you don’t write well, you’ve sorta got an artist’s “heart” or something… yeah? You just get me a role on her next film as an extra, I’ll show you.

I could totally date Natalie Portman.

Goodnight.

Hi Thursday. Had a lot of fun writing this entry tonight, may try to do a “theme” thing along these lines. It may not translate well into fun reading, but for me it was like reliving a ton of good memories. Here then, my love-note to an old friend. Enjoy.

I remember the night we stole those tiny plastic bottles of Seagram’s 7 from your dad’s liquor cabinet. We had already split a cup of Jack Daniels and brought the bottle back to the level we found it at by adding water, and we needed something for the road. We were going out; going walking. It was one of the first time’s I’d ever had anything to drink, we were so young. I remember the thinking that the Seagram’s was smooth, not like the Jack Daniels, although they both burned like fire with each swallow. With several bottles in our pockets we set out into the night, avoiding the pools of light under the streetlights, slinking around with our miniature bottles. We weren’t out to cause trouble, we just wanted to know what it was like to be drunk. You remember where we went? We walked up Pinewood, took a left on Hamilton, and another left on Spirea. I can remember holding my arms out my sides like I was flying as we walked down the middle of the quiet streets.

You remember when we went to that girl’s house, her dad was a sheriff’s deputy right? Remember they had adopted a former police dog as their pet, that dog was so cool. Well, right up until he “alerted” on her boyfriend when he got there with a bag of weed in his jeans. Man, that was a stupid move. How embarrassing.

Remember when we were driving around late that one night, right around your old house. Some kid left his Big Wheel in the driveway and we pulled it into the street and ran over it at high speed multiple times. I’ve never felt more awful about any of my youthful exploits, that’s the one thing I wish with all my heart I could take back. I could still pick out the house… I wonder if the same family still lives there? I should drop-ship a new Big Wheel from Amazon with a note of apology, maybe they’d get it.

Remember that night up against the fence at Jordan’s place? I was scared for you guys, but he wasn’t messing with me so I just laughed. Sorry about that.

Remember how shocked we were that morning we all woke up from our drunken night prior to find him sitting in the Lazy Boy? He had that plastic squirt-gun my dad used to discipline the dog in his hand and he was pointing it at us as we walked out from the hallway, pulling the trigger and laughing as he squirted us with water. I mean, what was it? Only like a month or so since he killed that kid? I couldn’t even bring myself to pick up a toy gun, let alone pull the pretend trigger. That was the morning of the game where parents pay us to have their kids run off a cliff. Fantastic.

Remember we’d drive real slow by the pool in case she was lifeguarding that day? Good thing they put in those massive speed bumps, or else it’d be all obvious.

Oh, I got another one. Remember the contests we’d have at the park? You know, you had to take a hit from the joint, hold your breath, and then run as far as you could down the boardwalk before you had to take another breath. Then you had to stand in your spot until the next person came running, trying to best your position. After that you could leave and go back for another toke. I just remember running with the smoke bulging in my lungs, wanting so bad to laugh as I tried to reach the next person. I think that was the night we played karate on the water fountain. You remember how badly we kicked that thing? It came off the wall.

I remember thinking you were so stupid for coming to the last week of highschool drunk. I mean, you almost didn’t get to graduate or something, right? Gutsy.

Remember throwing lit strings of firecrackers out the windows of my moving car at bicyclists? That one time the I was going a little too fast and they blew right back inside without us noticing. My ears rang for a good half hour, and we had to pull over the smoke inside was so thick. That gunpowder and paper smell stuck to the car for a week I bet.

I remember when you told us we could spit in your house. You’d spit on the carpet and throw bologna on the ceiling. I guess I never really understood that. But when we stuffed that kid in a trashcan and blared “Blame it on the Rain” inside through that megaphone, I knew I loved the magic that could happen there. I think we could’ve damaged his hearing or something, why did we do that? Who else’s place could’ve been the staging ground for the rotten-egg offensive? It truly was one of a kind.

Remember the satanic flier? The Mammoth Smoke? Rinker? The gift? Trying to grow weed in the planters at the mall? Buying rolls of pennies to throw at old people? The fort? Pete & Joey? Remember all the fire? That night at the beach with the cult? Remember when we made this song?

Morphine, taken from The Renegade Collection, ca. 1993

(I can’t help but wonder if this was around the time we’d discovered Ween’s classic album, Pure Guava. While I was recording and converting the old tape to MP3 Sharaun told me vehemently, “David, please turn that off already - it sounds terrible; it sounds like a headache.” Ha! I told her to be glad I wasn’t processing the entire 30min tape…)

I remember we found this life-size stuffed dog sitting alongside a garbage dumpster at a Chinese restaurant. We came up with the bright idea of tying a rope around its neck and hooking it to the trunk of the car. Then we rolled real slow through suburban neighborhoods dragging the thing. When people saw it and assumed we had neglected to unleash a real dog from our car, a dog which was now being dragged slowly to death down the street right in front of their eyes, they flipped out. As they screamed, hollered, and tried to wave us down to alert us to our mistake – we’d flash huge smiles, wave right back in a friendly way – and speed off. I just wish we’d taken snapshots of the horror on their faces. It was a perfect spontaneous thing.

Man, after I wrote all this down and re-read it, I decided to send it to Andy (who I’m addressing all those “I remembers” to, since it wasn’t that clear) so he could fact-check me. It was then that he reminded me we’d made an effort long ago to memorialize these types of youthful activities, and that he had a copy. What showed up in my inbox was a scanned PDF copy of a printed e-mail exchange Andy and I had back in 1996.

Titled “The List of Power and Destiny,” it provides sparse documentation of our most memorable exploits together. Reading through it, was pretty happy with how many I’d remembered on my own for this post. Anyway, below is the entire List of Power and Destiny, just for reference. Oh, and, if you see something intriguing on there and want to hear more about it, drop me a comment and maybe I can accommodate.

[Show as slideshow]

Good post. Goodnight.

Hump day on a short week for me because I’m taking Friday off because…

This weekend we’re going camping, the season’s inaugural trip. Yeah, some may say it’s still a bit early for camping in the foothills, but the weather gypsies say the weekend will be in the mid-eighties, which seems right-fine for me. The water in the river, on the other hand, is a hypothermic 49 degrees – which likely means I won’t be spending much time in it (even though I think I’ve been divinely cured of my former affliction). There’s a big group going, lots of kids too. Should be a good time, and I’m excited about getting up there.

We’ll be going to our “standard” place again, just because, for me, it’s the easiest (yeah, I “planned” this one). Later this year though I hope we can branch out and explore some of the hundreds of other places around here. Anyway, I’m taking Friday off to head up early and stake out spots for the crew, who will arrive later that evening – and I’m looking forward to the short week and some time sleeping outside.

Lately, I’ve been evaluating a couple big-ticket purchases. As I’ve written about before, I’ve been somewhat keen on getting a newer, more 2000s TV, and a new audio system to accompany it, for a while now. And, Sharaun’s also been on me to get one of those fancy-shmancy SLR digital cameras. Neither of these items are low-cost impulse buys (and, I wouldn’t likely classify them as such even if I were making 3x what I am today, it’s just my view of money), so I’ve been waffling back and forth about each. On the one hand, I’d love to modernize our boob-tube, get something thin and flat and that we could hang on the wall – I’d love to do that. I’d also love to take stunningly clear and beautiful pictures of Keaton for posterity and artistic purposes. Sure, both of those things would be awesome.

But, every time I think I’m ready to pull the trigger, I start running arguments in my head: How often do I really watch TV? Not Sharaun, but me. It’s an important question because, honestly, a bigger, flatter, higher-definition TV would mean almost nothing to Sharaun – it’s a luxury item that would be enjoyed largely be me and me alone. Sure, she’d appreciate it, but, in her mind, the TV we have is just fine. And, that’s a valid opinion if you ask me. So, asking myself how much TV I watch, or perhaps more importantly, how much TV I want to watch, becomes a really important determiner of value. However, rather than just asking myself, “Dave, how much TV do you watch?,” because I think the answer to that can always be an HDTV-justifying “enough,” I figure I should venture to determine how much enjoyment I derive from television… where it ranks in my list of “ways to waste time.”

Aside from interaction with real humans, including family and friends, my #1 source of entertainment is music. I will almost always choose to listen to music over watching TV, mostly because when listening to music I can do other things (write, surf the internet), whereas TV just sucks attention too hard. I don’t watch many movies, only own a handful of DVDs, and am not too religiously attached to very many shows (OK, I like Lost a lot, and Andy Griffith, and enjoy The Office and the news, but, y’know). My #2 source of entertainment or enjoyment is the internet, and within this #2 is my #3 – writing. I’d like to say that my #4 is something highbrow like reading or something, but in reality it probably is television. So, there you go, watching TV is fourth on the list of ways I’d chose to spend my lazy-time.

If that’s true, do I really care about having a bigger and better TV? Maybe not. In fact, if I spend a couple thousand dollars on a TV I’m sure I’ll feel compelled to actually watch it more in some attempt to get my “money’s worth.” That’s not appealing to me at all. More TV? Yeah, that’s what I need.

Oh sure, as a status symbol it’s undeniably appealing, almost as much as the idea of the point-cases where I’d absolutely treasure having HDTV (drunken communal gatherings for sporting events, for one). The draw is intense, I don’t deny that - all my friends, my family, everyone is upgrading their TVs. Maybe my brain is just inventing this logic as a way to protect my pocketbook, but I think I’m genuinely torn. Does my television really deserve this much money? I just can’t seem to make up my mind. One day I’m a breath away from dropping the dosh on a new home theater setup, the next I’m criticizing myself for wanting to waste that much money on something I won’t use enough to justify it.

When I mentioned this to some friends the other night, they smirked and commented on the large size of our TiVo list. This is a fair point, as there’s quite a bit of stuff on there. But, I could put that money into a college savings account for Keaton or something and probably be just as happy (or perhaps only slightly bummed) with our current stupid TV.

Next up, the camera. Again, I start to question the expenditure. I liken it to the idea that going out and spending thousands of dollars on oil paints, brushes and canvas would magically transform someone into a painter. Same thing with a thousand dollar camera. Just because I have it, does that really mean our pictures will be that much better? Certainly technique and skill are the lion’s share of what it takes to compose a good picture, and equipment, while not insignificant by any means, is just a way to get there. I’ve seen crappy images from SLR cameras, and I’ve seen beautiful images from point-and-shoot models. Just because I drop a grand doesn’t mean I’m going to be better at framing shots or maximizing the use of natural light. I dunno, maybe I’m just feeling cheap.

Enough about all that, it’s almost time to go anyway.

Before I do, though, I wanted to mention something I bought at lunch today (since I seem to be on a “buying”, or “not buying,” theme today). After a nice buffet-style Indian lunch Pat and I swung into the local Wal Mart so I could checkout those pull-behind bike trailer things for Keaton. I decided I’d like one of them a week or so ago, when I got the idea in my head that Keaton would likely enjoy it, it would give us a chance to get out together just daddy and daughter, and it would get me ambulatory.

Anyway, they only had one, and it looked like it may have been returned before - but the price and features were right so I bought it rather impulsively. I couldn’t wait to set it up when I got home, and set about the task no sooner than I’d walked in the door. When Keaton asked why I was “building a new stroller,” I told her it was a gift for her and that we might be able to test it out a little later. Sure enough, the thing went together quickly and, after firing up the compressor to fill my flattened bike tires (told you, I don’t ride enough) and the trailer tires, I had the thing hooked in. I strapped her in and we were off.

Despite the helmet I bought for her being a little too big and sliding down over her entire face, she really seemed to have a good time and shouted “Whee! Whee! Whee!” as we circled the block a few times to get the hang of it. Hopefully we can make a regular early-evening ride a somewhat regular occurence. I’ll try and post some pictures of her in the thing later this week.

Goodnight.

Happy Monday folks. Finished up the weekend’s yardwork today after real-work, now just have to mow. Supposed to rain tomorrow though, so I doubt I’ll get to it before Wednesday.

For a while now, the wheels on Ford have been making all sorts of groaning and squeaking noises which I interpreted as a plea for new brakes. Having an interest in working brakes, I decided last week to get some new pads and change them out. However, once I had the car on stands and the rear tires off (to me, the noise sounded like it was coming from the rear brakes), the brakes looked fine, 80% at least. Thinking I misheard the rumblings of protest, I put the rear wheels back on, jacked up the front end and took those tires off. I was dismayed to find both brakes there also in good shape. Pads fine, rotors fine, nothing amiss that I could see (with my finely tuned automotive eyes). Reluctantly, I put everything back together and dropped the thing again. Lo and behold, the squeak and grinding are gone. Whatever I did, my massive mechanic skills solved the problem like magic. I am just that good.

Hmm… here’s one of those awkward transitions I’m so good at.

I remember working at the music store back in college. We got a promotional copy of the Smashing Pumpkins’ Mellon Collie and the Infinite Sadness almost a full month before it was due to hit the streets. Having loved their previous album first track to last, I remember freaking out when I pulled the ornately decorated double-disc set from the just-delivered box of promos. At the time I hadn’t yet been “promoted” to assistant-manager, and I was just a floor-walking worker (which is really what I was as an assistant manager anyway, but with the power to do refunds, balance the books, and close or open the store).

I can remember begging Bob, my one-time manager and now long-time friend, to let me take it home for a few hours so I could dub it. In the end, he granted me a two hours outside the store with the set – with instructions to be back with it on-time. Not knowing how hard he would hold me to the time limit, I raced home and used two separate tape decks to simultaneously record a copy of each disc. I got back to the store with the promo in-hand in just under two hours, including driving time.

And, for the next three-plus weeks, I wore those cassettes out. The album was brilliant to me at the time, almost entirely good and so well fit to the mood and activities of the day it was as if it were tailored for my life at the time. Jeremy was living with me at the time (I know that means nothing to those of you who have no idea who Jeremy is, but he was a good highschool buddy who moved into our converted-garage bedroom for a few years), and I can remember driving around rocking out to the songs when we should’ve been in class. We had morning classes, and we’d always wake up with the best of intentions, but we’d often end up stopping for a heart-hurting southern breakfast instead.

After breakfast, we’d often take long window-down drives along the river with the music blaring. There was this little park just off the river we’d stop at to, believe it or not, swing on the swings. No, I’m serious. I love swings, always have, always will. Even now, when I see swings that’ll hold me, I’m on ‘em. We’d swing for an hour or so, discussing the important matters of the day: If I thought Sharaun and I would ever get back together (we were on a “break” at the time), how community “college” was a complete and total joke, and how we’d get together one day in twenty years with our kids for a backyard barbecue.

It’s funny, actually, that I picked this fragment of an entry to work on today. See, a bit about my blog writing/filing system: I often log on and capture bits and snatches of ideas into what WordPress calls “draft” files. Sometimes these are just a topic idea, sometimes they are stray paragraphs or bulleted lists, and sometimes they are fully-written entries that just need cleaning up (such is the case with the “porn in the woods” topic from last week’s You Decide Friday poll, but no… you guys made me write original content). Anyway, I’ve long had this draft about the Smashing Pumpkins’ Mellon Collie album, and the progressive list of thoughts in there went “Mellon Collie -> swinging with Jeremy -> reunion BBQ with families.” So, I think I managed to cover all that business. And, I’m still looking forward to that BBQ…

Goodnight friends, until tomorrow.