This morning, there was a can of Comet on my bathroom sink.
I encountered it shortly after rolling out of bed. Surprisingly, I was lucid enough to not use it as:
1. Talcum powder for my sensitive male skin
2. Coffee sweetener
3. Stuff for a protein shake
But I wasn't quite sure what to do with this Comet. Its presence was totally unexpected and, frankly, out of context for me. So, where should it be, I asked myself in a slow, pre-caffeinated way.
[PROCESSING . . . PROCESSING . . . ]
How . . . about . . . the cabinet under my sink? A superb answer. (Witness the self-affirmation.)
As I contemplated this move, I realized I wasn’t exactly sure what resides under this particular sink.
I mean, in our house, the under bathroom sink space is one of those forgotten storage places. And it's not ideal, what with that U-shaped pipe violating what could be premium space, turning it into a one-off novelty act. If I had to characterize the hierarchy of storage spaces in our home, it would go something like this.
1. Kitchen cabinets (These reign supreme – all other storage space is subservient and bows to this one. Similarly, every piece of stuff in our house aspires to reside in one of these cabinets. The equivalent of beachfront property.)
2. The bedroom closets
3. The hall closets
4. Under the kitchen sink (high toxicity and utility)
5. Bathroom cabinets
6. The kitchen drawers (This loosely configured community is comprised of sundry coupons, primitive and occasionally violent drawings from the Boy, and calendars emblazoned with the toothy grins and “helpful hints” of sellers of real estate)
Now, at the bottom of the list are our home’s versions of treasure chests, grab-bags, wild-cards. Spaces filled with low utility items, probably not touched since our move into the house. The upside to this is we enjoy minor game-show revelatory moments when we get a look at what’s . . .
27. In the attic!
28. Under the beds!
29. And under my bathroom sink!
So this morning, as I held the Comet and my breath with a certain degree of anticipation, I bent slightly at the waist to creak open the under-the-bathroom-sink cabinet door and cram that can of cleaner up against a big, unmarked cardboard box. And would you like to see what’s in the box, contestant? [OPEN THE BOX] You just found valuable baseball cards! (Retail value: Over $300! APPLAUSE!) But that’s not all. Because sitting on top of the box are three long, narrow vinyl cases that contain . . . [UNZIP ONE OF THE CASES . . . THIS IS SO EXCITING!] a variety of cassette tapes from the 70s and 80s!
As I soaked in the imaginary adulation from the studio audience that wasn't there, my eyes were drawn to the handwritten titles on the cassette sleeve. The writing was mine, and usually declared a theme of the tape’s contents. I slid one entitled “Rock and Rhythm” out of the case and set it aside for my morning trip down 75 (and memory lane). Yes, my 20th century "auto" has a "audio-cassette player."
And what a tasty treat of early 80s music it served up.
While listening, I made these quick observations:
1. The tape is more rock than rhythm.
2. Back in the day, treble was king.
3. Music wasn’t as disposable.
4. Songs were eminently singable.
5. Oingo Boingo was underappreciated.
6. Lyrically, the stories were more fun.
7. iTunes doesn’t have a vast catalog of musical selections from Tommy Tutone or Gary Myrick & The Figures
That’s what I learned when I tried to recreate (sans tape hiss) the mix digitally. Regardless, here’s the link to the Mix Tape iMix. It’s a little heavy on the Clash (And the problem is . . . ?)
The whole experience reminded me of how the mix tape was such a labor of love. Finding the music from various LP collections around town. Agonizing, High Fidelity-style, over which song to open with, how to create just the right mood and flow. Applying suspect math skills to ensure not a second of the 90-minute Maxell was wasted with dead air.
Listening to the tape today -- some 25 years after authoring it -- was testimony to what a powerful stimulus music is. Each song seemed to bring to mind sights, experiences, posters, people . . . This tape unlocked portions of my brain I haven’t used since the Reagan Administration.
And as I sang and sailed toward downtown in my SAAB, I smiled at the wonderful surprises found in those dusty, nearly forgotten neural storage spaces.
