I am among those Luddites who persist in purchasing music, something, for me, necessarily coming in units called “albums” etched onto plastic discs that spin.
No clouds for me, nope.
To this day, I routinely purchase such discs—and thus I have hundreds of them, mostly on shelves.
My CD shelving maxed out years ago, and so lots of these discs are scattered about my place, like empty vodka bottles strewn about Ray Milland’s weekend hideaway.
Kathie, being the observant sort, has noted my shelving deficit and its resultant clutter, and so, a while back, she bought me a large and fine CD case. It came in the mail in a big box.
“Voila,” she said.
But that was many, many months ago. The dang CD case came in parts (in that box) that required some assembly, and so, what with my back going out and then my broken leg, the box of parts just sat there on the floor for all this time, cluttering things up even more. Kathie would visit, note the box, and then, in silence, experience a tiny bout of despair. There were several such visits, such bouts.
But I have now addressed the situation!
Our pal Julio—a neighborhood fix-it man—came by today to open the box and assemble the parts. It took him about an hour. He even moved the case to the right spot and secured it to the wall. He charged me $50.
Somehow, none of this bothered Teddy, who sat nearby, intently watching Julio's progress.
The whole place now smells like an old sawmill, which is good. Teddy likes it.
One of these days, I’ll start stickin’ CDs in there.
Here are some pics. And some music, too.
Guess who just got back today?
Them wild-eyed boys that'd been away
Haven't changed, had much to say
But man, I still think them cats are crazy
They were askin' if you were around
How you was, where you could be found
Told 'em you were livin' downtown
Drivin' all the old men crazy
