Vinyls and Mine
Leaving Long Island was a lot of things. Though, being an upstanding citizen and all, I did flip it off as I crossed the Throgs Neck Bridge. Yes, I did. Mature, I know. For those of you who got my messages all day . . . laugh. I did. The point of this . . . I am now at my end point, for the time being. And no, I am not happy about the state of my life and career at this point in time.
Rooting through things, unpacking, freaking out because I have no job, and becoming even more depressed to learn that adjunct jobs are slim to none has left me far far too uncomfortable. So . . . I rummaged through the vinyl in my parent's house to find my old Willie Nelson Stardust album. Humph.
First, I opened the closet door and what did I find? No, not a literal skeleton. But, I did find a metal cane propped next to a .22 rifle. I was even a bit dismayed to learn that it was a "real" one and not an air. Now seriously, is this set-up meant to be easy access for the upwardly and age challenged? Perhaps.
Back to my quest for my vinyl. . . digging and digging . . .
This is what I found.
And this:
There's more . . .
And finally:
Yup, compliments of my brother. Fond memories of sitting on his floor listening to these. When I found the Van Halen today, thankfully I was home alone, I called out "Everyone in this house is about to hate me and my speakers!" For the record, Muffin the geriatric dog likes Willie but hates Van Halen. Snort. But, there's even better memories of my eighth birthday and getting this:
So, the Willie was always mine, and now we can say I inherited my brother's vinyl. What girl doesn't want vintage Van Halen? Jealous? You should be.
To make this vinyl story a little more charming, you should know that on the way back from the grocery store my Dad and I ran into his friend Ed. Ed the Cop. Ed was standing in his front yard, on Route 301 (in these parts it's considered a busy road--it's not, trust me), in his eight ball boxers, a white tee, black socks pulled up in old man style, with boat shoes on. What was he doing? Splashing the water hose over his plants. Only in the country. And yes, I have a photo, but I won't post it out of fear for retribution.
But, all reminiscing aside. Where in the HELL is my Willie Stardust. Messing with my Willie is no laughing matter. That shit ain't right.
Rooting through things, unpacking, freaking out because I have no job, and becoming even more depressed to learn that adjunct jobs are slim to none has left me far far too uncomfortable. So . . . I rummaged through the vinyl in my parent's house to find my old Willie Nelson Stardust album. Humph.
First, I opened the closet door and what did I find? No, not a literal skeleton. But, I did find a metal cane propped next to a .22 rifle. I was even a bit dismayed to learn that it was a "real" one and not an air. Now seriously, is this set-up meant to be easy access for the upwardly and age challenged? Perhaps.
Back to my quest for my vinyl. . . digging and digging . . .
This is what I found.
And this:
There's more . . .
And finally:
Yup, compliments of my brother. Fond memories of sitting on his floor listening to these. When I found the Van Halen today, thankfully I was home alone, I called out "Everyone in this house is about to hate me and my speakers!" For the record, Muffin the geriatric dog likes Willie but hates Van Halen. Snort. But, there's even better memories of my eighth birthday and getting this:
So, the Willie was always mine, and now we can say I inherited my brother's vinyl. What girl doesn't want vintage Van Halen? Jealous? You should be.
To make this vinyl story a little more charming, you should know that on the way back from the grocery store my Dad and I ran into his friend Ed. Ed the Cop. Ed was standing in his front yard, on Route 301 (in these parts it's considered a busy road--it's not, trust me), in his eight ball boxers, a white tee, black socks pulled up in old man style, with boat shoes on. What was he doing? Splashing the water hose over his plants. Only in the country. And yes, I have a photo, but I won't post it out of fear for retribution.
But, all reminiscing aside. Where in the HELL is my Willie Stardust. Messing with my Willie is no laughing matter. That shit ain't right.
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