Something I never thought I’d say to a record store clerk in 2023: “Excuse me, do you have the new Rolling Stones album?”
Something I never thought a record store clerk would say to me in 2023: “Sorry, but we’re all sold out!”
I told the clerk I was surprised how good Hackney Diamonds is, and he said it surprised everyone. Mick and Keith could’ve rested on their laurels, but chose instead to release an album of new material for the first time since 2006. The fact that these octogenarians would put out a banger is downright shocking. If you haven’t listened to it, it’s really good.
So, I walked away from Strictly Discs in Madison last Friday without the new Rolling Stones LP, but certainly not empty-handed. That would be the most astonishing development of all. I got a few albums, including the awesome Dripfield by Goose, but also, this:
I’ve been on a 45 kick lately. Most times when I walk into a record store, they’re shocked that somebody is actually buying the 45 RPM records that have been gathering dust for years. Black Circle Records in Lake Geneva let me take as many as I wanted for 10 cents each. I just think they’re fun, even if listening to them means getting up every 3-4 minutes to put a new one on. Hey, it’s a good cardio workout! And if I ever end up with a jukebox in the basement — yes, this is a dream! — I’ll be set.
The Mystery Grab Bag is always fun. At 20 cents per 45, how can you go wrong? Sure, this bag contained some clunkers. Paul Anka, Desmond Dekker & The Aces, and Los Hermanos Arriagad, among others. But also, Queen (“We Will Rock You” / “We Are the Champions”), Fleetwood Mac (“Gypsy”), and Van Morrison (“Brown Eyed Girl”). Totally worth a roll of the dice.
Also, at a time when most people are getting rid of physical media, we just bought a new Blu-Ray player. What can I say? Old school ’til I die.
After near-record heat last week, the weather in Wisconsin has done a complete 180. In fact, today we even got a little snow. Merry Halloween, amirite?!
Not a lot by any means. Just enough to remind us that winter is right around the corner, El Niño be damned. And it won’t affect trick-or-treating, because in Fort Atkinson, that took place Sunday afternoon. Which is honestly kind of a bummer; how can you light up your yard and fire up the fog machine at 2 p.m.? It’s not nearly as spooky (and is a moot point anyway, as we didn’t have a single costumed reveler show up at our door).
To prepare for the changing seasons, Tara planted approximately 150 bulbs over the weekend. Daffodils and tulips, not incandescents and fluorescents, by the way. Meanwhile, I burned up a bunch of limbs and leaves in a backyard slash pile. Man alive, nothing makes you feel more like you’re living in the country than burning piles of woody debris* on a cold, overcast autumn day.
*Haha, I accidentally capitalized Woody Debris without thinking! Woody Debris sounds like a promising high school quarterback for a team with a bird mascot whose dreams of NFL glory ended when he blew out his knee midway through his junior year. He knocked up Cheyenne, his cheerleader girlfriend, and later married her; had to settle for community college but dropped out after one semester because he could never drag himself to class on time (English Composition was a real bore anyway); and is now an insurance salesman in Dubuque who loves watching NASCAR, catches Cheap Trick whenever they play the Iowa State Fair, and wears Pabst Blue Ribbon t-shirts unironically. He and Cheyenne have three kids, a black lab named Duke, and consider Cosmic Bowling a night out on the town. Woody has been tinkering with that old ’67 Plymouth Fury in the garage forever (but will probably never get the damn thing running, much to Cheyenne’s dismay, because she is always having to step over loose piston rings and rod bearings while carrying loads of laundry to the washer, and dammit, she already stubbed a toe on one of Tommy’s LEGOs earlier in the day and is not in the mood to deal with a half-finished valve train blocking her path when there’s a meatloaf to get in the oven).
We also raked up a metric shit ton of leaves for the compost bin, hauled logs onto the patio for our wood stove, and I cut the grass for (presumably) the last time this year, given that the temperature has dropped to 27° the past couple of mornings. I got 11 hours’ worth of use out of the John Deere this summer, and every single ride was pure joy, but now he’s in hibernation for the winter.
You know who else enjoys cutting the grass with his John Deere? Woody Debris, of course!
Mark My Words 
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