I took a half day off yesterday to get my tire fixed. Thankfully it turned out I had just run over something that punctured it, so the shop patched it up quickly. For once, automotive drama arrived as a short story instead of a full-length novel.
However, they informed me they "couldn't" get the spare tire back under the truck because the fastener was "stuck." Being a longtime student of learning how to muddle through either repairing things correctly or mucking them up, I pulled into a large parking lot afterward and decided to investigate. Having never lowered or raised the spare before Sunday, I fully expected an engineering nightmare. Instead, I gave it a little tug, the cable came down smoothly, and I was able to get the tire slipped right back into place. Amazing what can be accomplished when someone actually tries.
The day's second battle involved the washing machine repair company. Apparently the replacement part being shipped directly to me instead of them created some level of cosmic disturbance (and probably impacted their reimbursement). After a bit of discussion, interpretation, negotiation, and what might qualify as hostage diplomacy, they finally agreed to come out Wednesday. With any luck, my washing machine will once again be an appliance rather than a large decorative monument to unfulfilled potential.
Knowing the roofing crew may start work today, I spent part of the evening recording songs before several days of mandatory silence arrive courtesy of hammers, compressors, and gravity. At this point, this blog has become part music page and part therapy session where I process minor disasters through obscure records. That'll be fifty dollars please.
As for today's selection, does "Ghosts" count as a Halloween song if it's really a metaphor for lost love? I say yes. Heartbreak can be terrifying. Especially when your evening plans involve eating cold SpaghettiOs straight from the can while staring into the middle distance and wondering where things went wrong.
Two years ago, I posted the version by The Fall. In a confession that may cost me my Record Collector License, I never paid much attention to the songwriting credit and had absolutely no idea it was a cover version until I picked up this copy earlier this year. Then the dots connected.
R. Dean Taylor is primarily remembered for "Indiana Wants Me," although someday I hope to own the red vinyl promo copy with the picture sleeve because apparently I enjoy expensive, unnecessary quests. But this double-sided soul monster deserved to be a massive hit. Instead, it followed the familiar path of many great records: ignored by the masses, adored by collectors, and eventually priced high enough to make grown adults mutter obscenities at record shows.
Naturally, I paired it with one of the classic Motown Hitsville sleeves because sometimes the music, the label, and the artwork line up so perfectly it feels like destiny.
Or maybe the ghosts made me do it.
