One More Thing...

“Shit.”

It was a hair-trigger reaction and I uttered that word, in an exact tone, for the second time in three months to the news I just heard. That “shit” meant someone is dead. Three months ago, it was Pat Boland, whom I worked with at the radio station for the last seven years. A few hours ago (I am writing this at 1:30am, so forgive me if I'm all over the place), it was for Steve Jobs.

I’m not going to equate Jobs’ death with Pat’s death. That is unfair and cannot be equaled out. First off, I never met Steve Jobs, nor did I have a desire to meet him. It would have been nice, but it is not a desire I had in life. I was happy enough to enjoy his products. Second, I don’t want to seem like Jobs’ or Pat’s death is more important or sadder than the other. They both had an impact on me in their own special way.

It does seem silly for a second that Jobs' death would even remotely impact me, especially for someone that I haven't met, but I also never met Billy Joel. I'm certain I'm taking a week off of work when that day comes.

I was reading quote after quote after quote from Jobs during his life. All were inspirational. All were true and correct. His commencement speech at Stanford University in 2005 is the stuff of legend. Life advice poured out from a man who thought he had just dodged the Grim Reaper. His views on death were cogent and startling. No one wants to have death staring them in the face everyday, but it is. It’s a fact of life that death will happen.

“Remembering that I'll be dead soon is the most important tool I've ever encountered to help me make the big choices in life. Because almost everything -- all external expectations, all pride, all fear of embarrassment or failure - these things just fall away in the face of death, leaving only what is truly important. Remembering that you are going to die is the best way I know to avoid the trap of thinking you have something to lose. You are already naked. There is no reason not to follow your heart.

“No one wants to die. Even people who want to go to heaven don't want to die to get there. And yet death is the destination we all share. No one has ever escaped it. And that is as it should be, because Death is very likely the single best invention of Life. It is Life's change agent. It clears out the old to make way for the new. Right now the new is you, but someday not too long from now, you will gradually become the old and be cleared away. Sorry to be so dramatic, but it is quite true.


“Your time is limited, so don't waste it living someone else's life. Don't be trapped by dogma — which is living with the results of other people's thinking. Don't let the noise of others' opinions drown out your own inner voice. And most important, have the courage to follow your heart and intuition. They somehow already know what you truly want to become. Everything else is secondary.” - Steve Jobs

When someone dies that you feel close to, almost all the time you adopt, albeit briefly, a notion to improve your life. From now on, you’ll grab life by the balls and take no prisoners. You’ll be nicer to people. You’ll give to charity. You’ll be that improved version of you that you’ve always wanted to be. That lasts... what... three days? There’s an episode of The Simpsons where Homer has a near-death experience and after this life-affirming he does, he’s back to watching TV in his underwear, eating potato chips. So much for taking the world by its balls. The ins and outs of life begin to creep in, take priority, and all those thoughts and notions about taking the world by storm get stuffed to the back of your mind like your old baseball cards in the attic. Every once in a while you revisit those cards, but you always end up putting them back. I’m doing that right now, for sure, but I’m hoping to at least drag some cards to the coffee table. I don’t want to take over the world in big chunks, I just want to get better each day. I think that’s all everybody wants, to be better each day. However, most of the time we fall short. That's just part of being human.

I’ve wondered myself from time to time why I hold back with feelings, emotions, ambition, etc. I keep thinking to myself that something will be lost if I fail. There will be consequence to all my actions and the most likely person to get hurt will be me. That’s what I think in a day-to-day under-the-flourescent-lights sort of mentality. But when I relax and truly concentrate, what do I have to lose? I’m going to be dead anyway. Fact. Go balls to the wall and enjoy it. It’s not a license for me to go out an be a slimeball to everyone because I adopted a complete “fuck it” mentality. That is not the point. The point is to not be afraid. Do not be afraid to fail. Hell, my father said that to me three weeks ago as he was trying to convince me to go back to school, start a business for myself, or run for office (yes, run for office - I’ve thought about it).

We are all going to be dead soon. Assume no afterlife, it will only hold you back. It's freeing and incredibly scary that this is your one and only shot, so make the best of it. My old roommate told me a story of how he didn’t believe in an afterlife (he believes religion was created to ease people’s minds about death). A girl he knew was in disbelief that my friend didn’t not believe in heaven. “Don’t you want to be part of something greater,” she asked. “Yes,” he replied, “it’s called the nitrogen cycle.”

After Pat died, we had (still do, actually) a running joke where we would say “Pat would’ve wanted it that way.” We used that for the dumbest and silliest things. Should I knock off work early? Should I tweet this disgusting joke? I don’t know if I should drop $1.10 on this candy bar in the vending machine? The answer would be “Pat would’ve wanted it that way.” Even for important questions, if they ever came up, the real answer would be that he wouldn’t give a shit. Pat’s dead. If there is any semblance of an afterlife, he wouldn’t care at all, why should you? It all ends the same way, so you might as well enjoy the ride. Learn the lessons you’ve experienced from him and anyone else who has passed on in your life and just be a good person.

"Follow your heart"

"You have nothing to lose"

"Don’t be afraid to fail"

And in the words of a dying Warren Zevon, “Enjoy every sandwich.”

One more thing...

Pat left behind a note that he had stuck to his office wall when he was battling cancer. It served as a reminder to him what he was going through and not to lose sight of what was important. It is as important, to me, as any of the quotes I trotted out earlier in this post. And just like the quotes before, maybe some of these should be rules to try to live by everyday in our quest to live a happy life and to leave nothing on the table. I hope this inspires you, too.

Sent from my iMac... thanks, Steve.

Eating While On the Toilet: An Essay

Sometimes in life, you have conversations that shape your life, mold your world view. I remember those conversations in college where you'd stay up until 4am solving the world's problems, life's problems, and how you're gonna take the world by its balls, put them in your pocket and be a force of nature. Those are fun conversations. This is one of those discussions... 

What do you think is more disgusting: eating a sandwich or a bowl of chili on the toilet? 

I'm beyond aroused.

I'm not advocating eating in general on the toilet, but I do want to explore the level of degree. Most people would say the sandwich. With good reason! You’re HOLDING an item with your bare hands and eventually eating said sandwich surface when you get to the end of the sandwich. Bread is porous and may absorb the smells you are creating. Who wants to eat Shit Bread? I don’t. It’s also a sad, sad, sight to behold if you are ever walked in on in the bathroom. I will give you the fact that a bologna sandwich may be less disgusting than say, a tuna sandwich, but now we're just splitting hairs. I'm merely comparing the vehicles of food.

The bowl of chili (or cereal, soup, et al), I feel, is more disgusting. First of all, you are bringing hardware into the equation. You’re holding a soup bowl, spoon, and if you’re super-classy, a saucer underneath said bowl. If the chili or soup is hot, you'll burn your exposed legs! This is exactly why the sandwich, with all its pitfalls, is a better option. Other than the soon-to-be-leavings, there is no evidence of your meal. With a bowl of chili, you have, minimum, a bowl and spoon to be mindful of. Since you’re already lazy and eating at the shitter, what do you think is going to happen? You’re gong to leave the bowl next to the commode, or worse yet, leave it in the bathroom sink. You already leave your dishes in the kitchen sink, so what makes you think you’re going to transport all this to a sink far, far away? You won’t and it’s going into the bathroom sink. Sure, you’ll eventually bring it to the kitchen or to the dishwasher, but you’ll slip up eventually and leave it behind when you have guests. When your hopeful-ladyfriend comes by and makes this discovery, you’ll have a lot of ‘splaining to do, Lucy.

Should’ve gone with the sandwich! 

1973 Topps #615

I handed over forty cents to the kindly old woman behind the counter at the Arway Pharmacy. Exact change. She had seen my face many times before with my family. This time around, I'm with my dad. He was picking up a prescription for my allergies (actually, we all had allergies, so it wasn't just for me), and he let me pay for the only thing I wanted in the entire place. "The Pharmacy" was literally across the street from where I grew up. It was the rare occasion actual drugs were purchased there. It was a corner store and there seemed to be one every half-mile. Actual people owned them, literally a mom and a pop. Your neighbors ran the place and knew you by name. It was the place you'd get a Coke, the Sunday paper, candy, and cigarettes. I know, I know, you don't see those places anymore. It is not extinct, but the corner drug store is as rare as me having a date. No matter how much Walgreen's, CVS, or Rite-Aid tries to be convenient and all encompassing, nothing could beat "The Pharmacy". Making that one-hundred foot trek back to the house, I knew a tiny Christmas was about to happen. The bag was set on the dining room table, prescription removed, and there it sat: One pack of Topps 1987 baseball cards. Forty cents, fifteen cards, one stale piece of gum. To this eight-year old, it was simply heaven.

Long before his "Seinfeld" appearances, 

Keith came into my life as my first baseball card. 

1986 Donruss #190.

I went through the pack and looked for favorite ball players and specialty cards. I liked players from other teams than the Phillies. Although I attended a lot of games in the late 80s, I was open to rooting for other teams, which would be a clear violation of sports fandom as an adult.  My parents, specifically my father, just enjoyed baseball as a sport, and it was widely acknowledged during that time that the Phillies sucked, so we were free to root for any other team. Plus, in the driveway, where many a Whiffle Ball game* was played, we had to represent a team. No one was the Phillies because everyone wanted to be the hometown team. So, we picked non-Phillies teams. I was always the Mets, Blue Jays, or the A’s. Because of that, I followed those teams in real life more closely. But to be clear, the Phillies were, and still are, my favorite team.**

*Since I don't know where to put footnotes in a blog, I'll just do this here. The mere mention of Whiffle Ball usually brings howls from my sister, dredging up memories of how my brother and I never let her play. Well, we did, but we made her the permanent catcher. Her job was to prevent the Whiffle Ball from rolling down the driveway and under the neighbor's fence where the ball would be eaten by a giant dog named King. Occasionally (re: rarely) we let her have an at-bat and she'd take three swings, told she struck out, and shuffle her back to her catcher's spot. I'm pretty sure that ended, or was on its way to ending when she caught the end of a Whiffle Bat in the mouth on the backswing. So were we mean because we never let her play? Maybe. But she was four, and there were playoff implications, damnit!

**This was how easily I could be swayed into fandom then. I rooted for the Mets because the ’86 World Series was the first World Series I ever watched. I remember Ray Knight scoring after Bill Buckner let that ball run through his legs. Keith Hernandez was also the subject of my first baseball card purchase. I rooted for the Blue Jays because I won a Blue Jays hat at Dorney Park. The A’s love came when Mark McGwire and Jose Canseco tore up the American League from ’87 to 90. Yes, I loved juicers. The only significant Phillies moments for me during that time was when Mike Schmidt hit his 500th home run and when he retired two years later. So you can see why I gravitated towards other teams early on. The Phils didn’t get me back full-time until 1992. 

The phenom who talked to the ball, jumped over 
the foul lines, and took a picture with Big Bird. 

One of my favorite cards, and it's a "Cup Card".
1977 Topps #265.

Going through a pack of cards was our little kid version of the lottery. Maybe, just maybe, you'd get your favorite player in that pack. Maybe a card is there to complete your team set. Or maybe you got that rare error card. If it was a pack full of common cards, at least you got a piece of gum that was as pliable as a tongue depressor and lost its flavor quicker than Chumbawumba. Early on, I wasn’t into trading, but simply accumulating and completing sets. I liked completing the "Cup Cards" where the player  had the "Topps Rookie" trphy logo on there. I don't know why, but I was drawn to those cards. My favorite being a 1976 Mark Fidrych card.*** It wasn’t until a few years later that we realized these cards were worth money that we started pouring over the newest issue of the Beckett Baseball Guide to find out how much our cards were worth. And that changed everything. Now, we were after cards that were worth a lot. Allegiances out the window, to a degree. Saturdays were spent in intense negotiations with friends over trading baseball cards. The Beckett Guide was our arbiter and settled and standoffs with the cold hard facts of how much they were worth, not how much we thought they were worth. And if we had the scratch, we could always buy an elusive card to complete a collection, or get other types of cards that The Pharmacy never had.


***Ok, you're probably saying,"The fuck is up with the footnotes this time?" Settle down. I just read Zombie Spaceship Wasteland by Patton Oswalt and it was loaded with footnotes, so now I'm footnote crazy. Bear with me. The only reason I knew anything about Mark Fidrych or teams like the A's and Blue Jays was that I read all the books about every baseball team in grade school. We had a fairly new library built around 1986. I was in second grade. It was freshly stocked with books, especially sports books. When I graduated in 1993, I'm sure not one book was added to that library. We had "library time" once a week and not one new sports book came in over those seven years. I knew this because I plowed through all of them in 1986 and 1987. The baseball books were all the Major League teams and the history of the teams, with each team getting its own book. Reading the story of the Detroit Tigers was how I learned of Mark Fidrych. I learned his rookie card was a "Cup Card" and purchased him for three dollars at The Baseball Diamond, upstart rival store to The Baseball Man. I had to buy it because I was pretty sure none of my friends owned any cards that were printed before 1985. 

The Baseball Man was always around during the baseball card days. He was visited frequently when we had the money and he had all the varieties of baseball cards. The pharmacy only had Topps. The Baseball Man had Fleer, Donruss, Score, and the new kid on the block, Upper Deck. Plus, he had cards displayed that you could purchase individually. Or better yet, he’d buy the cards off you and you’d have a cash payout for your cards (in which he’d take them to a trade show and make more money off your original cards). He had tons of cards in display cases, from all eras. I brought my camouflage velcro wallet one day and nearly pulled the trigger on a 1976 Topps Robin Yount card. It was twenty dollars, and all I had on me was a twenty. It seemed like a lot of money at the time, and decided against it. It would actually be worth quite a bit today. It’s one of my great non-purchase regrets. By the way, The Baseball Man was the name of the store.You wouldn't get away with that today. It sounds like the nickname of a pedophile who got locked up. 

One of three pages of the Mike Schmidt 
collection I still have. 

I only traded and collected baseball cards for about seven years. Once I got into high school and the hormones were raging, music and girls were front and center. The baseball card business also got heavily diluted with competing companies, too many sets to keep track of, and interest was lost not just for me, but the entire industry took a dump. The market got flooded and the value of cards plummeted. I did make sure to hold on to my baseball cards, though. I was never a victim of having the mother or father who threw out all their cards. I have two binders worth, still half-stuck in their plastic sheets. All but one baseball card desire still burns. To collect all the Topps (and then maybe Fleer and Donruss) Mike Schmidt baseball cards. Mike Schmidt, is, and always was, my favorite baseball player. And even though I stopped collecting cards, I still wanted to collect his cards. I haven’t purchase any cards since I stopped, but I always thought about purchasing a few here and there. I have about thirty cards of his already, but I wanted to get THE card. The rookie card. The Holy Grail. The 1973 Topps #615.

When I got my first job, it was as a bag boy for the supermarket Genuardi’s, just outside of Philly in Rockledge. I was in high school at the time. I had no expenses. I told myself that the first thing I was going to purchase with my money was a Mike Schmidt rookie card. Back in 1997, one in decent shape was worth two hundred dollars. It was the only thing I wanted. I’d put it in a high quality card holder, maybe even some sort of frame to display it. That money would be about two paychecks worth. To me, it would be money well spent. I don’t know what happened, but I didn’t buy it immediately. In fact, I never bought the card while I was working there, piling up money for God nows what. During college, out of college, and a few jobs later, I never set aside the money to buy that card. Right now, as I’m typing this, I can go on eBay and buy that card in various conditions. I have the money. A “near-mint” condition card goes for over five hundred dollars. And that’s the upper end. There are cards for about thirty bucks. I never said I wanted a pristine card (although that would be nice), just the card itself! Yet, to me, it is still The Holy Grail. An unattainable object. Every time I get that feeling to go out and get it, that evil, sick, responsible voice pops in my head telling me that I have better things to spend my money on. The car needs to be fixed, I need clothes to buy, or save the money and use it towards a vacation. Stupid needs. Stupid responsibility.

The Holy Grail. 1973 Topps #615.

I think deep down I wanted The Holy Grail as a gift. I wanted, and to this day still do want, someone to purchase it for me as a gift. One of those, "I knew you always wanted this" type of gifts that make it extraordinarily special, especially if you were not expecting it. Here's an example of the complete opposite sentiment of such a gift. My favorite book is Catcher in the Rye. I owned the plain-looking paperback, but always wanted to have the hardcover. It wasn't expensive, but wanted it to be one of those types of gifts I described earlier. In June of 2007, my girlfriend at the time wanted to get me a gift for our fourth anniversary. She told me to pick out a gift and she would get it for me. There was a Barnes & Noble in the complex in Altoona where we were that day, so we went, I got the book, she paid for it, and I finally had my book I always wanted.  I told her the story of how I always wanted that book, it was my favorite, and all that stuff. I'm pretty sure it wasn't the first time I told her that story, but whatever. I had my book and she technically got it for me. Happy ending, right? Wrong. Although I didn't know it that day, that weekend was the last weekend I ever saw her. We broke up three weeks later, over the phone. I never opened that book.


So, although I'd love that card as a gift from a special someone, I'm a bit gun shy of who give me that gift. That gift is then tied to that person for a long time, at least in my mind. It seems so silly when I reread those last two lines, but I can't help it. Now, I'm not fishing for someone to go out and buy me that card, in any condition, for me. I'd appreciate it greatly, but that's not the point. I probably should go out and buy it, put it in a big frame with an autographed picture of Michael Jack, something real nice to put in the basement bar to show off. Yet, in an even odder way, I like having that card out there. Its a dream, a goal, something to look forward to that I never intend on actually doing. Within reach, but yet still so unattainable for whatever reason I decide to make up in my head. I am attracted to unattainable women, so this would be no different.


Would that feeling be gone if I just logged onto eBay and bought it right now?


I want to try to resolve that... I also want to open up Catcher in the Rye.

The Ability to Leap Tall Buildings

I always grew up believing I was special. Mr. Rogers beat it into my head every day. But not special in my own personal uniqueness, but deeper than that. I was special in that I possessed some quality, some trait that nobody else had. I just didn’t know what that was. 

I always had this incredibly self-absorbed idea as a child that I was in the middle of a TV show. I was the star and everyone else were actors... or maybe even robots. Somewhere, somehow, an audience was watching. I think I made up my own theme song, and the show was called “Tom ’87” and so forth. Mind you, I didn’t believe it, but it was more of a what-if scenario. Imagine my surprise when that very same idea was the basis for “The Truman Show” when it came out in 1998, about ten to twelve years after my robot-TV concept. 

So, maybe my life wasn’t being broadcast to some faraway audience (I think), but I still had the dream that I had some sort of talent, unique trait, or super power that nobody else had. I’m not the only kid to daydream about these things. How many times have you heard a story of some kid hurting himself because he thought he was Superman and tried to fly off the roof of their house? At least I knew better and used my bed as a testing ground first. You can understand why we dream. Being able to fly would be awesome. X-ray vision would be incredible. By the way, how creepy was it that whenever x-ray glasses were advertise in Mad Magazine, or the last few pages of Boy’s Life (if you were in, or knew someone in the Boy Scouts), those glasses were on some dude checking out some woman’s undergarments. Is this what a twelve year-old boy would do with these glasses?  Check out girls’ underwear? Now that I think of it, it would be. No question.

I hope my super powers are
better than Meg Griffin's

When kids dream about these things, it’s just that. Dreams. As you get older, our super powers are relegated to more human capabilities. Downing four shots in a row and not throwing up, eating a family size bag of potato chips inside one hour, belching the national anthem, and bedding the next door neighbor thanks to your slick moves and offer of pot.  You know... important stuff (I could’ve been sappy and said a super power could be “being a great dad” but c’mon, I’m trying to entertain). However, over the last three months, I discovered not one, but two super powers I possess. 

My first super power is quite simple. I have the ability to choose the wrong line at the supermarket. No matter what line I pick, something always goes wrong. I’ll get stuck behind an elderly couple who can’t swipe their credit card correctly, someone has an issue with their kumquats, or there’s a till change that for some reason take an incredible amount of time and I just want to pay for the two items I’m purchasing. The superpower is in effect about sixty percent of the time. That ratchets up to about ninety-five percent during holiday shopping. Even if I had the option of using that super power for evil, I’d have no idea how I would. 

My second super power was confirmed just hours ago: For the 2010 season, I decided the fate of the Pittsburgh Steelers. During the season, the more I rooted for the steelers to lose, the more they won. If I was indifferent, or resigned myself that they were going to win the game, they lost. Since I hate the Steelers (some of that hatred, outlined during this podcast), I didn’t want them winning the Super Bowl, but that exact hatred would lead to their victory. So how did I ensure satisfaction no matter the result? I bet money on the Steelers to win. I don’t bet money. I don’t gamble, aside from my poker playing days. But I figured if they won, and I had money on them, then I get a nice chunk of change as a nice way to compensate for the shitty behavior I’ll have to endure from all the Steeler fans I know. If the Packers win, then I paid fifty dollars for knowledge of  my super powers and bring down an entire fan base through my newly confirmed powers. And after the Steelers couldn’t convert 4th-and-5 a few hours ago, I may have lost a crisp fifty dollar bill, but it was worth knowing the powers that I hold. You would easily fork over fifty bucks if it mean you knowing a hidden talent or super power! You’d do it in a heartbeat. 

I know that the super power theory is bullshit. I can’t possibly decide the fate of an entire football team or have the elderly have their minds go to mush when they are checking out a six-pack of Ensure at the store. It is fun to think and to daydream “what if”. What if you are that exceptional person, a one-percenter? It does stop and make you think what have you done with that exceptional quality of yours... if you think you have one. Did you use it for good? For evil? For anything? Do we have an obligation to do so if you were aware of such things? It almost sound like the political debate we’re having now. Share your super powers with the world, or keep them for yourself? I bet no one would call you a socialist if you did share your powers by using your Spidey-sense to capture the bad guys. 

I still dream of realizing my super powers and secret talents. Maybe I can knit an awesome blanket in twenty minutes or hone my craft of weaving through pedestrian traffic in crowded areas? We all have in some small way our own super powers that we either take for granted or just don’t realize how awesome our "super powers" are. I still wonder and dream if I already know my powers or they are still waiting to be discovered. I do not desire the ability to leap tall buildings in a single bound, stop a speeding train, or have x-ray vision. 

Although super speed would be really, really cool. 

iTunes: 1990 Style

I did not have an allowance as a child. In fact, I never received an allowance and envied any friend of mine who did have one. The concept was so foreign to me, but my father said if I wanted money, the lawnmower was in the garage. Hell no! So when it came to money, I had two ways to acquire it... legally. One, I would have to ask my parents for money. This was a problem because my parents would ask me what the money was for, a major crimp in my plans. Explaining to Italian immigrants what my wishes as an American child seemed like an extreme excess to them. Not wanting to endure the third degree over any potential purchase, I was forced to go to plan B: Birthday money. Birthday money and, to a lesser extent, Christmas money was my income for the year. I could do with it what I wanted, despite my parents’ cry to save my money and put it in the bank. For what reason? Baseball cards needed to be purchased! Wiffle balls need to be replenished! And dare I even use my money for a video game? Damn right I will.

One of my landmark purchases during this time happened in early 1990. My first music purchase. My musical taste was primitive and was largely based on what my brother had playing on his boombox in our room. He controlled the radio. Very few exceptions. So I mirrored his tastes to an extent. At this point, I don’t think we had moved to rock. We were disciples to Eagle 106, a Philly Top 40 station featuring John Lander and the Nut Hut. So Top 40 we liked. Paula Abdul, Janet Jackson, Rob Base and DJ EZ Rock, Young MC, Tone-Loc, Guns N’ Roses, Tom Petty and whoever was burning up the scene at the time was what was consumed. I took it in since I had no choice in the matter. I liked it, that wasn’t the issue. The issue was getting my own music instead of crudely taping the radio on a cassette I was hoping no one needed.

My first music purchase wasn’t from the usual suspects. Billy Joel wasn’t a force in my life until late grade school/early high school, I had almost no knowledge of The Beatles, so I had to rely on what I heard on the radio and watching America’s Top 10 with Casey Kasem every Saturday morning (I wouldn’t get cable and subsequently MTV for another six years). So in December of 1989, a song that had been released a few months before had finally made it to number one. I was in love with the song and wanted to listen to it constantly. To this day, I have no idea WHY that song enthralled me, but it did. A couple weeks later, after it spent a more time at number one, I decided I needed to own that song. It was “Another Day In Paradise” by Phil Collins. It was a song about homelessness in America. Did that message strike a chord within me? Was I moved by the imagery of the video? Of course not. I was ten. Processing empathy at that age, let alone now, would be a struggle. I guess I just kinda liked the melody and Phil Collins’ distinct voice.



Being poor, I made the economical choice in my purchase. It was also the popular household choice for purchasing music. I bought the Cassingle. Ah yes, the Cassingle! Two, maybe three songs if you were lucky, were held on this thing. Encased in a simple cardboard sleeve, the Cassingle allowed you to purchase just the song you wanted to hear and not all the other crap for the sweet price of $0.99. Two songs for a buck. Sounds similar to our digital model now. I don't remember the purchase, but I remember it was at a Sam Goody in the Roosevelt Mall. They had rows of singles and I had found Phil in a stark black and white cover. The Phil Collins Cassingle came backed with a song "Heat In the Street". I think I listened to that side of the tape three times. Maybe four. No matter. I purchased that tape for the A-side and it would join the rest of the Cassingles in the collection.

Cassingles were everywhere in my room. Mostly tucked away in our nightstand drawer, neatly arranged, alphabetized. My brother bought the clear majority of them, again he with more money that I, but it seemed a better alternative to us rather than getting an album and slogging through a bunch of filler. We were children of Top 40, so naturally all we wanted to hear was the hits. We had no intention of hearing the other album tracks to Was (Not Was). Just wanted to “Walk the Dinosaur”.

The Cassingle boom was short lived and so was my fascination with Top 40 pop. Eagle 106 went away and WYSP with Howard Stern in the morning and their classic rock format during the day were planting the seeds in my soul (due to my brother because he still controlled the radio). I got my first CD/cassette combo player in 1992 and CD singles, along with actual full albums, were being purchased with my stockpiled money and whatever Santa left me under the tree. Cassettes were still being played (thanks to rampant copying), but the Cassingle was a memory. I left Phil Collins and Top 40 behind and my current musical personality started to take form. I still to this day can’t figure out what really appealed to me about that song and why I purchased it. It’s a good song, but it was never one of those memorable tracks that defines you. It just happened to be right place, right time.

I’m sure that cassette is still at my parents’ house, along with Living Colour, Bobby Brown, Taylor Dayne, Biz Markie. God knows what other Cassingles were in that nightstand drawer. I miss those tapes.