Generally, I avoid music stores, but today I made an exception.
 |
 |
 |
Cheapo Music is going out of business tomorrow. The store — formerly linked to a bookstore and a source of other things like incense and tarot cards — was a landmark of sorts, with a prominent storefront at Puck's Alley on University Avenue. Along with the nearby bars, internet cafes, and quirky restauraunts, it was a big part of what little "college town" atmosphere the area posessed. I used to wander the store a lot during my better-late-than-never senior year at UH, as I'd eat next door at Coco Ichibanya and catch the bus right outside.
So I took a slightly-longer-than-prudent lunch today to join in the "clearance sale" feeding frenzy.
Now, I didn't miss the irony of my visit: A decidedly anti-retail, music-downloading guy — a guy who prides himself on having not bought a new CD in years (not counting friend-enabled souvenir shopping) — finally showing up at a fairly interesting local establishment, only to pick at the bones. People like me are putting lots of music stores out of business.
Come to think of it, stores that sell used CDs are demonized by the music industry... which makes the loss of this store particularly sad. I could've been shopping there and still sticking it to The Man!
To help them out, and to assuage my guilt, I did buy two overpriced, brand-new Hawaiian CDs.
But then I went to town in the used bins.
The place was busier than I'd ever seen it, and with used CDs discounted to $1 to $2 each (versus $7 or so), most of the crowd was circling the front of the store. People were rifling through hundreds of completely unsorted CDs in varying condition, some practically new, some barely recognizable, and many marked radio demos. The pros were flipping through the discs two at a time, several pairs per second, noisily snapping the plastic cases at machine-gun speed.
I dove into the music-scanning mob and tried to keep up with everyone else. I learned the dance you need to do when you come up against a rack-rifler rotating the other way 'round, and tried to figure out the most polite way to grab at something someone else pulled out but eventually put back down.
The sheer randomness of the collection was probably the most entertaining part. Sarah Brightmen next to Frontline Assembly next to Kenny Loggins. And just when you're about to give up on a particular row of awful pop and crude rap, you'll find a gem that makes you search some more.
Used Hawaiian stuff was, not surprisingly, hard to come by, but I got a couple of random discs. I also found two Shawn Colvin albums, which I got because they reminded me of the Ke Kalahea office at UH Hilo, where Mitchell introduced us to her music. I got some pre- and post-Natalie 10,000 Maniacs albums, even an Annie Lennox cover album.
The line to check out was long, in part because of the crowd, but in part because several customers were compelled to give the staff long, wistful hugs. My stack of used CDs came out to about $10.
I think I'll miss Cheapo, but in a way, its closure is a good thing. Just being in there reminded me of how much I used to love music, and shopping for music, and even if I stuck to the used bins, I probably could have gone broke there if I'd visited often enough. Heck, just listening to my new acquisitions on the long drive home today made me think dangerous thoughts... like how I really oughta go out and get my own iPod.
 |
Katie had her first soccer practice yesterday. Mom and I arrived after they'd already gotten started, and I actually gave myself a start when I finally spotted her on the field. I squinted. Were those teenagers?
"That's her," mom said.
"That's not her," I said. "Katie's not that big..."
Children playing soccer are as common a sight as you'll get in suburbia, especially in Mililani, but up until that moment soccer was always something other families did. I think I perceived neighborhood soccer games as being part of the scenery, just a prop in the meticulously-maintained facade of a "planned community." But suddenly, one of those running, laughing kids was my daughter.
Mom ended up having to chase Zac around a nearby playground while Jen and I watched from the sidelines. (Alex — and yes, it's criminal that I haven't finished his web page yet — was passed out on Jen's shoulder.) I was, to be honest, relieved to see that Katie was neither the smallest kid on the team, nor the least coordinated. Still, she's definitely inherited her parents' grace and athletic prowess, which is to say I was immensely proud any time she kicked a ball, whether or not it was her ball, or where it subsequently went.
I also came to understand a tiny, tiny part of why kids' sports cause parents to do some pretty ridiculous things. Because even though it was practice, even though Katie is at a level where they don't even keep score, and even though Katie was having the time of her life, a little part of me still bristled whenever another kid kicked Katie's ball away, and I still felt a tiny twinge of pain whenever Katie missed the goal. Or missed the ball entirely.
I'm not going to start a soccer mom brawl, to be sure. It wasn't anger, but a helpless and unreasonable desire to shield her from any disappointment whatsoever. Intellectually I know it's part of the game, and sociologically I know it's part of growing up, but emotionally, I think my ideal parenting setup might very well be a giant, plastic bubble.
I now know at a fundamental level that "taking what happens to your kid personally" is a basic human instinct. And the first time anything, or anyone, ever makes her cry... Jen and I are going to be a wreck.
 |
 |
 |
So far the new year has been a little... strange.
We tried to hit all the usual rituals. Jen and I kissed at midnight. We went to the New Year's service at my family's Buddhist temple in Waipahu, and to Mass the next day in town. Jen made ozoni, and we put out all the various Buddhist charms.
Yet, in a weird coincidence, both Katie and I slammed our fingers in doors. Katie got hurt first... and I think she was actually a little happy to hear about my injury. Every so often, now, she wants to compare blackened fingernails. We both got our middle fingers smashed, too, though on different hands. (It was fun trying to convince her of that, though, because as she stood facing me, she was convinced we'd hurt the same hand.)
And after Jen's car died last week (in her sister-in-law's driveway, no less), my van nearly gave up the ghost. In Jen's car, it was the starter. In the van, the water pump went, and I'd apparently been driving on a completely empty radiator. The repair job slowly expanded to include various belts and hoses also overdue for replacing. So between the two of them, we swallowed $1,500 in unexpected repairs to kick off 2005.
I remain, nonetheless, unreasonably optimistic about this year. I'll just be very careful around heavy machinery.
![[ PGP ]](/pgp.gif){kind=small}