I have too many records. I also have a notoriously terrible memory, but that is maybe because my brain is filled with music and theory trivia, and even such details as the circumstances of the purchase of almost every one of those records.
But, over time, we lose some, and forever hope to find them lurking around some proverbial corner.
My first summer in Austin, TX, my roommates and I practised a strange version of "the hot car game," wherein the heat is cranked on and the windows sealed, waiting for someone to crack...well, we simply did not turn on the AC, knowing we were broke and idle, sleeping late into the day, working in the evening, and climbing the fence into the park across the street at night, slipping into the spring-fed pool to cool off.
Our house was hot. …