The Brothers are done with CD’s. My friend the Crocodile hasn’t bought an album in years, but he also has his own sitar and recording studio, so we’ll put him over…there. None of the other Pantsy Pals care enough about music to purchase any, so I’m stuck with no role models who remain loyal to the fragile, easily-scratched medium of the not-so-compact disc. Am I reaching my own tipping point? I don’t know what other cliché to use to describe the situation in which I find myself. Rock and a hard place? Rubber meets the road? One hand clapping?
Wife’s opinion, appropriate for a pregnant lady, is paradoxical: CD’s are still worthwhile, but I shouldn’t buy any more because we don’t have any more room, even though we just moved into a palatial 2-bedroom (and comparable to a palace in that it has more than one bathroom).
As in all other instances, I will probably concede to a portion of Wife’s demand. I won’t buy CD’s right now. But this month the New Pornographers come out with a new album, so we’ll have to make room. There are all sorts of plants that take up all sorts of room, but Wife isn’t on me to throw them out, is she? Although maybe that’s because all she has to do is wait a month or two, and they’ll have died. For Krazy, who asked us to plant-sit – that’s what you get for leaving the country. Jerk.