I'm Fevered and Delirious

There's a really lame band at the street festival down the block and pretty soon my neighbors will be traipsing in at varying levels of drunk-off-their-ass. Hopefully there won't be a fragrant new Jackson Pollock masterpiece spattering the hall floor any time soon.

I'm ill and hot and cold and everything tastes bad and smells funny and my head is going to go all 'splody and I just want to spend the next week in bed with a bottle of Nyquil and a tub of Vick's. I've coughed all over this post so you're all probably going to catch it. Nyaaaah.

Oh gawd why does everthing smell like corned beef???

So I climbed out of my death bed to make a post just for you guys. *pause* OK, so it was a death couch and I was watching TV and knitting, same difference. I can feel just as crappy sitting on the sofa as I can sick in bed.

Hack snort sniff gag sneeze.

Anyhow.

Miss O'Kitten remembers filmstrips with the little "beep" being played on a tape recorder. But does she remember them ever being played on a record player? The kind that not only played at 45, 33 1/3, and 78 RPMs, they played those 16 RPM records too. "Talking Books" they called 'em.

*scary old person reminiscing laugh*




Was it (dun-dun-dun!) this record player? This is what one of those looks like with a stack of Hasil Adkins albums and a Doughboy's helmet on top of it.

What? I'm a member of the Society For Putting Things On Top of Other Things, so back off.


Every kid should have the experience of hauling one of these heavy-duty monsters back and forth from the AV room. I could probably fling it off the back of a truck and still play a Kraftwerk album like I'm getting ready to do right now. See? Bahn bahn autobahn...

Now get your drunk ass outta my building and go Pollock in somebody else's hallway.