I have a rather large album collection. If you were born after 1985, an album is a compendium and assemblage of pre-recorded music on a large flat vinyl disc surface that resembles a frisbee or an inedible thin crust pizza.
Aged hipster doofus that I am, I find it tragi-comic I have to explain 'album' to people who have never seen one because those who so believe once thought Moses came down from the Mount and the Burning Bush with The Ten Commandments on compact disc and then, later, on flash drives.
With the growing popularity of tablets, you can imagine those folks' excitement now. Their criminal misreading of the description in the Old Testament probably goes a long way to understanding why so many houses of worship in recent times are located so close to Apple Stores. I have a suggestion on what to do with the cloud my pocket-protector friend but if you do, you'll be mistaken for an AFLAC stunt double.
Anyway, one of the things I feared as our children grew up was that they might learn about their father through their exploration of my album collection. Not that learning about many different kinds of music is a bad idea, unless it's Big Band Crunk or Country and Western Rastafarian, but because of buried treasure, and not so much that might be considered treasure, they could find in those stacks o' wax.
I sometimes wondered how I would explain Uriah Heep albums to them after a school year of Officer Nash and the D.A.R.E. program. And I definitely didn't want something like Abominog ending up on the classroom share table for Show and Tell. I most dreaded the inevitable discovery of Cheech and Chong who, truth to tell, were, in the moment in which they were regarded as cutting edge humor, proof positive that cannabis destroyed brain cells.
That's why it's more in sorrow than anger that I encountered this on-line yesterday and read sad tales about medical maladies previously nearly unknown. I met your children-what did you tell them?
Alice B. Toklas has been repurposed as a medible? Up next, a nice safe and sane Buick sedan at a special low price at selected dealerships. Heaven forfend!
-bill kenny
Ramblings of a badly aged Baby Boomer who went from Rebel Without a Cause to Bozo Without a Clue in, seemingly, the same afternoon.
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