Yesterday, I heard Air Supply's "All Out of Love" blasting from an open car window. Today, I heard Christopher Cross's "Sailing" at Happy Bones, a cafe on Broome Street where I spend way too much money buying coffee from attractively tattooed baristas who usually play things like Animal Collective or War On Drugs. These two songs are major signifiers of my childhood because, in the early 80s, my older sister wore out both cassettes. What are you trying to tell me, world?

Recordette

This time, it's mine. Well, technically it's Mike's. The Recordette, I mean. The shoes are my son's. The Recordette is the kind of thing we used to buy at the flea market with pipe dreams of restoring it (it's broken) and having all sorts of fun cutting our own faux old timey records. We gave it to a neighbor, who, like us, will probably keep it in the living room corner looking hiply vintage, until he moves and leaves it on the curb for someone else to pick up. Circle of life.

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Every time I see this:

I think this:

[embed width=350 height=250]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=G_NIop72vis[/embed]

And it's effing fantastic!