I’m deep in the vinyl vault and I fear this might be what ends my marriage.
Up until now I have been able to get rid of stuff without getting Zeb involved but I am intimidated by his vinyl collection. For one, they are his records and he should have some say. It would be a huge improvement even if he got rid of a mere 50% of them. I don’t want or expect him to get rid of them all. Records are great just as long as they are wanted; my goal is to get rid of all the ones that aren’t. And two, I have no idea what I am looking at, but Zeb does, or at least he says he does.
Zeb is a champion bullshitter. I can usually tell when he is talking out his ass by what his eyes do, but he can sell his BS because deep down, even if he is taking a wild stab, he believes he is right. To my infinite irritation, he usually is.
He knows about labels, pressings, 60’s and 70’s rock, influential albums, etc. He might not be 100% right on, but I know absolutely nothing so I need him to do this with me. Given the sheer volume of his collection, this is going to take a while, even if the goal is to clear one layer of one shelf a day.
See? Rammed. That’s two layers to each shelf, four shelves to each rack and seven racks in the room.
They aren’t all full of records, but mostly they are. You know what else is down there? Windows. As in natural light. As in totally useful space. I’m envisioning a listening lounge with brown bean bags, an ugly couch, a bitchin’ turntable and an insufficiently hidden stash of Zeb’s 70’s Playboys. Once the boys find those it will be like I don’t have kids, except when they want to eat. Yet I will always know where they are.
In order to continue entertaining (and hopefully holding onto) my non-phonophile audience (Hi Pamcakes!) I’m going to feature pictures from some of the funnier album covers. Like this one of Barry Manilow (whom iPhoto wanted to tag as Bobby, WTH?!?). Oh for the days before stylists, when it was totally acceptable to put a picture of yourself sitting with your beagle while wearing a t-shirt that says “I LOVE BEAGLES” on your album cover. Now you have to just barely – but not quite – naked. And perfect.
The other thing that is going to do us in is that he has no appreciation for my vocal prowess. I can sing every song from The Chorus Line and I know all the words to State of Shock and I was singing them and I could tell that he was trying to tune me out. I’M NOT GONNA BE IGNORED! You don’t get it, you just don’t get it.
Time to cut the crap before Zeb’s patience runs out.
Cool cover, right? The back shows their mom holding some kind of giant pudding parfait. It is Utah, after all, where the drug of choice is dessert.
Awesome cover! We’re actually keeping this one just incase I need some stripper music.
Aw. Isn’t he cute? If it were today he’d be getting inked and grabbing crotch and banging a Kardashian. Thank God Shaun stayed sweet.
Another totally rad album cover that I’m KEEPING.
Holy mother of all crotch-shots!
Fleetwood Mac before the tall guy got all obsessed with wearing truck-nuts in every picture. What is up with that?
Who knew he was gay?
Can’t you hear it? The fat guy says, “Guys, I don’t want to take my shirt off,” but the other ones were like, “Everyone else is doing it,” so the fat guy says, “Fine, I’ll do it,” yet for reasons I can’t understand they put him in the front unlike Wilson Phillips who always put Carnie in the back.
These are the records going on the block today. All 76 of them. The record store isn’t doing any buying until After April 21st (Record Store Day) so I’m organizing now and on the 22nd I’m going to bring them down.
I’ll take pictures of the organizing wall. Zeb is scared because I cleared the whole dining room. Shit’s getting real ya’ll.