I got no soul to sell

In a very un-Leo-like move, it has not been mentioned by limenal that today is the recognition of her natal celebration. So pop on over and wish a happy birthday.

One of the finest moments of the weekend was yesterday evening when I finally put away the stacks of records which have been piling up for weeks and weeks and weeks and weeks. Sure, this activity was not as socially satisfying as watching the Tupac movie and playing Tony Hawk with Riley, Damon and Vanessa. Nor was it as culturally important as seeing Too Much Light... on Friday evening after an unintended hiatus, or even as long-awaited as finally meeting Josie, of Myles's journal's fame. But cleaning up my workstation area (as well as making a sampler mixtape for a co-worker) are signs that I'm finally ready, I'm back in the saddle like Gene Autry and Aerosmith, and that I care. It seems so ridiculous, and sure the morality issues are quite as dire as in A Clockwork Orange (viewed yesterday with Lauren), but my free will choice to clean or organize or buckle down and get serious is a sign that I care about something, namely myself. I'm freshly motivated, or at least moderately motivated, to act like the person I want to be.

Besides, I love being able to sit and look at all the wonderful and glorious albums in my collection. Last night was a random DJing session to motivate my cleaning session, that included songs by The Carpenters, Stan Getz, John Lennon, Jimmy Smith, Air, Faith Evans, Steely Dan, and Vanity. I feel rich when I look at my music collection, more so than anything else I own. The actual retail value is remarkably small -- maybe a dollar an album when averaged out, and I have no idea how many I own, but I can't imagine it's more than a thousand. Relatively speaking, it seems small.

I can tell the story with over 2/3 of my collection. Select any CD off the shelf and quiz me. I can probably tell you when I got it, what store, what else was purchased at the time, and who was with me (all with some approximation, of course). Many times I can tell you how much I paid (at the very least whether it was new or used). I don't posses this ability yet with my vinyl -- partly because I will drop twenty dollars for 25 records from a bargain bin, bring them home and shelve them, barely remembering what was purchased, only knowing I'll make use of them later once I can properly utilize the MPC. But at this point I don't mind being a little disconnected from my records because gazing at my collection is like a celebration involving presents, where I'm constantly pleasantly surprised and thrilled to be the owner of the found object.

I don't feel proud of being a consumer who gets off on buying things (though I'm not super ashamed either), but with music and books it feels different. They have the prospect of lasting forever -- an allure I don't get from food or clothes or even movies. This keeps getting affirmed on a weekly basis. I feel just as excited when I drop the needle on the opening strains of Dionne Warwick's Heartbreaker as I did 20 years ago when the album was bought, but I have no idea what I was wearing or eating at the time.

quit being a snob

Random thought that's been floating around for a week or so, to be possibly better articulated at another time:

I don't trust people who don't like at least one current pop song.

And in the similar vein of my jazz list, here's a quick note shared by my classical music expert friend, so when I want to go shopping on my next lunch hour, I'll be prepared:

"In re: classical. I would say Elgar, love Elgar. And Holst. Holst is my most favorite composer for orchestra. Mahler and Brahms are my favorite vocal/choral people, and I am wild for French chamber music -- Debussy, Satie, Honegger, Duparc. Them's four of "Les Six". They do an exceptional job with piano music, vocal music, string music. A lalalala! RAVEL. Now, all these composers I mention have very famous works (i.e. Holst "The Planets") and not as famous works. Everything is good, but sometimes the recording is not so good."