I continue my so‑called staycation today — which, let’s be honest, is really just me doing chores in different emotional states — with an early‑60s doo‑wop throwback spinning in the background like I’m trying to summon a simpler era when appliances actually worked and repairmen had functioning brain cells.
I’ve already been to the laundromat this morning, because yes, the repairman came yesterday to install the new part for the washing machine and yes, correct again, it did absolutely nothing. Not a flicker. Not a whimper. Just the same useless, mocking hunk of metal sitting there like, “Oh, you thought I was going to cooperate? That’s amusing.”
I’m trying to stay positive and not unleash an un-biblical storm of profanity, but the man should’ve ordered all the parts he suspected two weeks ago when he first came out. Instead, he decided to play “Guess That Component,” which is a fun game when you’re at a carnival, not when you’re dealing with a washing machine that isn’t even a year old. UGHHHHHHH.
And because the universe enjoys piling on, I’ve also got an early‑morning haircut today, followed by tackling one of the spare bedrooms — both bedrooms have been in a state of post‑remodeling chaos since last September. I keep walking past them thinking, “I should really clean that up,” and then immediately choosing fun life activities instead. They currently look like storage units curated by a hoarders convention.
Meanwhile, this 1963 doo‑wop 45 I’m spinning is fantastic — absolutely fantastic — but it showed up to the party about three years too late. By ’63, the airwaves were already shifting, and this poor little record was out here trying to harmonize its way through a musical landscape that had moved on. Great sound, wrong era. Shame.
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