CD: John Lennon, "Live In New York City"

I keep strange things, and put them in strange places. No, not there! Let me explain my ambiguous statement. Today I was driving to the gas station (an irony in itself) when I spotted tons 'o stuff being thrown out at one guy's house. I think it used to be the house of Harold, the nice and really old guy that used to be a janitor at my grade school. He must be long passed or moved by now. He was at Pearl Harbor, you know. "Weeee KNEW they were comin'!" he'd say.

What was I talking about? Oh, so a piece of refuse caught my eye. It's one of those carpeting sample things, 4 samples by 7, and each rectangular sample the size of an index card. Where some would pass by without thinking, I glanced at it and decided the sampler was a lovely piece of post-modernist art. I mean, you got your fabric, you got a progression of ever lighter hues, and you got an emotionless, manufactured arrangement that says "Warhol" all over it. You should see the other crap I have in my room.

And stop comparing me to Christopher Lowell!