Vinyl records are vintage. These were the means for listening to music during my childhood and adolescence, aside from actual musicians. They came in two sizes. Singles were the size of an Ihop pancake, and LPs were as big as a frisbee. But they were vulnerable. My brother said he could hear the decline in quality from being played even a few times. I am not sure if that is true. I am after all his gullible little sister.

If there was a scratch from the needle, which I think involved a diamond, there would be a skip. Every time. In the same place. Sometimes it was so stuck you had to get up out of your chair and actually lift the arm over the bump to get the song to keep going. 

I remember when cds first came out, then cassette tapes. Or the other way around. Now there are playlists, and digital recordings, which means there is no physical object that holds the notes. I am confused by that. 

The other day there was a conversation that kept playing in my head. It was entrenched in one spot, and kept going over and over and over the same lines. As if that was worth hearing multiple times. I didn’t know how to lift the needle and get past the skip, and on to more lovely thoughts. I am not sure where the diatribe came from. If there had been a vinyl I could have tossed it out the window, but no such luck.