Closed Circuit Future

I can't remember if it's been raining for days, but it feels like it. It's that slow, cold, purposeful rain that soaks through tree bark, and slows everything that ducks and hides from its drippings. I stepped out the door this morning, and immediately smelled the worm holocaust on the sidewalk. Having finally given up going deeper into the earth to hide from the rains, they stretch bloated and dying across parking lots and walkways.

Fall showed up big over the past two weeks. Normally, I'm on the watch, studying tree lines for blotches of yellow and red, but this year the season snuck up on me. Today I noticed the orange along the highway, rich and full as any Bob Ross landscape, and it seemed to be even more noticeable against the dishwater skies.

I've been distracted, to say the least. I've been sitting back watching the cliches shared over the years by parents become a welcome truth. I'm smiling more. I often can't remember what I was working on the moment before. I'm thinking 529 accounts, nurseries, and how old a person should be before they sit down to listen to Kid A.

I've become nothing else but these disjointed thoughts mixed with panicked calls to my insurance provider.

I posted the picture of Smudge, but if it weren't for the doctor's guidance, I literally wouldn't have known the baby's head from its ass. People asked me later if I cried when I saw the heart flickering in glorious black and white, but I didn't. I stood amazed thinking that it was beating just like I had always imagined a hummingbird's heart would.

Jen and I held hands and looked at the screen, and when the doctor stepped out to let her get dressed, we held each other and laughed. Call us victims of our generation, but in some ways the pregnancy wasn't real until we could see it on television.

With all of the recent change, I find myself shutting down in some ways. Until tonight, I've not had the focus to sit and write anything. Instead I've spent hours surfing the web reading about what's going on in my wife's body, or looking at Ramones onesies (hells yeah!), or watching The Big Lebowski for the 400th time. I plot and plan, but do nothing constructive. Yesterday, I got a nice box of new records, so I know I'll be in the den a good part of the weekend lost in all the No Age goodness sent my way.

I'm just waiting. I'm waiting for this suburban life to become amazing. I'm waiting for everything to change, and for the first time, change really is coming.

Labor Day Blues

I love having a Monday that feels like a Sunday. I slept in until I knew Jen would be getting antsy for some company. Sure enough, just as I put on my glasses she rounds the corner and pounces. We hung out there for a few, talking about what we wanted to do for the day. I really wanted to see Halloween II this weekend, but could tell from Jen's noncommittal response that it might not be happening. So, I opt for Plan B. After breakfast and some quality time in front of the tube, I head out.

First order of business was a haircut. I'm painfully overdue. So, I head up the road a piece, get out of the car, walk to the door, only to find it locked. Shit. So, I head directly across the street to a Sports themed haircut joint. First, I don't care that much about sports. The one sport that holds my interest long term is hockey, and I sure as heck don't want a hockey-inspired do. Second, they do the whole shampoo thing before they cut your hair. For a guy who doesn't care much for physical contact with strangers, it's a painful proposition. But, such is the state of my hair that I consider it. Lesson learned from my first stop though, I stare into the darkened waiting area and see the silent plasma screens that confirm that I won't be getting a mullet today.

I give up on a haircut, stop by Blockbuster only to leave with some popcorn and no movie, and then head out record shopping. First stop is Singing Dog Records. I pull into the garage and park and walk to the two blocks to the store before realizing hippies must believe in Labor Day too. Fucking hippies. So, back to the car and over to another garage further up on campus so I can check out Used Kids Records. They have some great stuff, but I'm being really picky and only leave with a Mudhoney / Sonic Youth split 12". I figure I'll hit Magnolia Thunderpussy on the way home, but they too are closed. I give up.

I hate it when people say "In this economy" (because we're always in "this economy", you douche bag), but for real...In this economy you would think more people would be heading off to work if they could. This is the US of A and I couldn't get some freaking manscaping done or buy a copy of the No Age record I've been coveting for months just because it's the wrong Monday of the year to try to get shit done. What's gone wrong with this country?

Singing Dog Records

Through some creative budgeting I found myself with a spare $100 to drop on some new music. Armed with my budgetary guidelines and a Post It Note with scrawled purchase ideas, I headed to Singing Dog Records Monday night. Jen and I had been in there looking for a shirt for her the week before, but I didn't really get to spend any time going through the racks. Now, I would.

I walk up to the guy behind the counter to ask about a record I had seen the week before but wasn't on the racks now. He digs under a pile and pulls out a Radiohead bootleg for me to look over. We chat about sound quality for a couple of minutes and then he starts laying things down on the counter.

"Here, man. You're probably going to want this too. We sold out so fast the last time..."

He was talking to me like I shopped here all the time. I don't. He acted like we'd chatted in depth about the music that's important to me. We hadn't. A bit amused and a bit insulted by his presumption I looked down at the fresh copy of the new Dead Weather double LP he had put in front of me. Knowing the record was on the Post It Note in my pocket, I picked it up and tucked it under my arm with my Radiohead record.

"Oh, and here." he said laying a 7" single on the counter. It only took me 3 seconds to realize it was the new Modest Mouse numbered release before I grabbed it and added it to my stack. I hadn't been in the store 5 minutes and already this guy had spent almost my entire wad for me before I even started going through the racks. Realizing I had met my match, I quickly walked away before he unearthed something else he knew I couldn't live without.

The new Wilco record and some old Dinosaur Jr later and I'm heading back up towards the counter where a little old lady has taken a chair by the door.

"Oh Jeff, I haven't heard The Animals in so long. I remember when this song came out. Could you check to see if you have that for me on vinyl."

"Sure, Mary. Just let me take care of this gentleman first." he said nodding in the direction of a young kid in baggy jeans. "What can I help you find?" he asked the kid.

"I'm looking for the new Kanye on vinyl."

Mary spoke up immediately. "I love his new record! That's my sad record right now."

Smiling to myself I looked over at Mary. She was pushing 70, with long straight gray hair and teeth so black I thought her mouth may be full of ink. She played with her cane, bouncing it on the dusty floor between her feet while nodding along to "Girl Named Sandoz" from The Animals.

We chatted for a moment about the records I had put on the counter to pay for. And she told me she needed to hurry home so she could catch Silversun Pickups on The World Cafe.

"They're so good live, I just can't miss it." she said. "You know, they're coming to town soon."

I wanted to hug her right there on the spot.

Jeff came back to the counter where I paid $102.36 for my fix and I headed out the door hoping that it's not too long before I got to see them both again.

Pre-Weekend Update

I'm like the king of retro right now. I'm sitting in the den (photos of the lair are soon forthcoming), and listening to Dark Side on the turntable. I got it as a gift for Christmas from my brother and sister in law, and it's nice to have around. It isn't something that I listen to a whole lot, but every once in awhile it's just good to kick back to. A month or so I heard that Richard Wright had passed away, and so went my hopes of a reunion show. I saw Pink Floyd in '94, but that was not the same band that created Dark Side, Animals, or Wish You Were Here. It would have been nice to see the boys put away the lawyers and kick out some songs old man style.

This week sucked. I screwed up at work early in the week leaving me with the rest of the week to work 12 hour days in my little box to atone for my sins. Oh well. One more week of 12 hour days should be enough to show that I'm really sorry and I'll never do anything like it ever again. Office life is not a fun life for me. I'm tired of Excel. I'm tired of statistics and projections. It's Friday and I'm tired of thinking about it.

In other news, I'm writing again, and for once it's going well over a longer period of time. It's fuckugly right now, but maybe over the course of the next few months it'll grow into a little something. I'm trying to keep my expectations small because I usually get all carried away talking about what I'm going to do instead of actually doing it. With that thought in mind, I'm going to stop talking about it.

Tomorrow is a morning spent reading while the good children of Central Ohio take their ACT, and then we're heading out to an engagement party. The good news is the party is at a bar, and I am way overdue for a drink or three. I haven't had a drop since New Year's Eve, and just typing these words makes me thirsty.

Sunday I have big plans to head out to an antique market that is supposed to have a ton of LP's. I expect it to mostly be Classic Rock stuff, but it would be nice to score some other Floyd albums or some Dylan. Expect and exhaustive boring list if I score some purchases. I know you can't wait...stop pretending otherwise.