I really appreciate the nice things people say about this blog. You've been to this page; I haven't contributed one useful thing to anyone. But still, people stop by and say nice things. And it feels good. Thanks.
Anyway, I was playing some old records (yes, vinyl) of stuff I hadn't listened to in 20 years, and man, so much of this is crap. I won't mention what's on now, but oh, it's awful. And I remember loving it so much. (Yeah, I'm old. But I'm still younger than Matthew Broderick, Jon Bon Jovi and Star Jones, but older than James Marsters, Gina Gershon and Tom Cruise.) All these songs seem to be about ships and rain-swept streets and lost nameless girls accompanyed by long saxophone solos. It was such a low point for pop music, much like today. The middle 1970's were today's emo. But I shouldn't complain too much; some of this music actually helped to form who I am today. A failure. A nameless blogger who still doesn't have his own book deal or tee-shirt.
I need to relax. Maybe play with the dog. "Come here, Muffin. Who's a good boy? Who's a good boy?" (Really, I couldn't come up with a better name than Muffin?)
[what was playing on the way to work, not the vinyl I was talking about: transplants, tall cans in the air; wire train, chamber of hellos; xtc, senses working overtime]
