Letting Shite Go

Back to ladies who shape our music collections, take us rural boys to our first concerts ever, in the big city no less, to see a band from England! Front left, leaning against the stage, running into other college classmates who made the drive also. Worlds branching out. 

I’ve spent the day listening to my other Beautiful South albums, and then found they covered Blitzkrieg Bop while looking around online. 


When even your history prof recommends Monty Python movies, you give them a try. They’ve never made me laugh they way I expect.  But this song I love and every time I hear it I want to go give Monty another try. Maybe it’s time. 

Every collection must contain some Lightfoot. 

I got nothing. 

Another song from the background of the 90s. 

I’ve no context or story to go with this one. It’s just a lovely sounding song, pleasant music and vocals. Yet I never gathered any other Bandera’s music, not a single other song in my collection. 

I’m still embarrassed at how much I love this pop sound. But there’s little music better for dancing around your dorm room singing wry lyrics with the girl of your dreams.  Some twenty years later it feels the same. 

There was a local radio station that held a yearly music sale around Halloween as part of a fundraiser and I attended two of those, I think. That explains the promo CDs you’ll see in this space soon, like this one.  It was also the era of CD singles and I bought many of those for remixes, for extra songs, because the girl of your dreams liked band X and you needed ALL of their releases.  

And so it goes. 

It continues.

And life circles around again. I started this blog some three years ago in an effort to unclog my life. I’m a turtle, the kind who grabs pieces of things and places he passes and stuffs them inside his shell to take with him, little bits of sand that sometimes turn into pearls and often are just forgotten about until they suddenly aren’t and become painful again, but that never go away. The shell gets bigger, slightly. But mostly it gets heavier and the path forward slows and slows. The weight of the world, of all the worlds past, are on my shoulders and this shell is too full for new momentos, new memories. And I’m getting tired, sickly and tired, from all the failed energy spent trying to coat each grain of sand into a pearl. 

Two and a half years ago I accepted a job and had to move way up the coast. In three short weeks I tossed many of the things I owned, piled what would fit in the car into the car and drove north. The rest I stuffed into a storage unit. I too will tell you to never get the storage unit. That was a waste of two and a half years of monthly payments. 

But now I have that stuff. I’ve completed the move begun two and a half years ago, and now my apartment, my apartment that is almost twice the size of the previous one, feels small, and is cluttered, and I have to face these memories again. But now I have cheap hard drives, cheap cloud storage, an iPhones with an excellent camera, and plenty of time to type these memories.  So we’re starting again (we = you and me) at decluttering my life. 

I’m going to add books to this, not that I consider myself a reviewer, but I need to write something about the books I read, and there are so, so many unread books I’ve been hauling around for years now and they too need to go. I catalogued them all years ago into Bookcrossing in hope I would be getting rid of them soon. Ooops. 

Thanks for being here. Please leave comments, send me a message, share if you like. I need friends. We all do. 

Goodbye to more damaged cards. It was like youth sliding through my fingertips.

Goodbye to more damaged cards. It was like youth sliding through my fingertips.