Crate Diving in Modern America

Remember: Diving in the Crate

For precious gems

Photo by Tianyi Ma on Unsplash

I worry about myself. No, I’m not losing it, however you translate or understand the losing side of me. But I might be losing my enthusiasm for crate diving, as my absence from this series attests.

The more positive way to look at this new trend is to think that maybe my obsessive tendencies — my search for every last Loretta or Tammy LP — no longer has me in its relentless grip. And no, I haven’t achieved the nirvana of collecting the whole canon of their work either.

Actually, the true answer to this question (Where is the love, or where has our love gone?) is that my wife and I have loosened our financial constraints; or perhaps I should say we’ve had some unexpected expenses/desires in other realms lately, and so I’ve felt guilty about indulging my record store, and that have-to-have vintage copy of Fragile (I’m no Yes fan, or at least not anymore, so I only mention this album because in a galaxy far far away otherwise known as my college years, someone stole my copy from my own house, at my own party. They also took Deja Vu, too. Now that’s really fucked up).

In all honesty, I’m writing to you from my brand new computer, and I am too private (???) to tell you what I bought. My last computer did that thing…