Forty-Five Years of Mystery


-- चार हजार दो सौ पचास छः --

I don't have much to say today, and I really mean it this time!

Yesterday I walked home from work listening to Fleetwood Mac's pre-Stevie Nicks and pre-Lindsey Buckingham album from 1973, their best one (and one of only three to sell at least half a million copies) from the pre-Nicks era, Mystery to Me, even though I perhaps should instead have been reading my library book I'm taking a bit too long to get through but whatever. I'm on a Fleetwood Mac kick right now. I realized something about Mystery to Me for the first time while listening to it yesterday: it features only two vocalists, Bob Welch and Christine McVie, and you would think songs with one of them as the lead vocalist would be distributed evenly. They are indeed distributed evenly on the first half (originally, side one), each of them singing three of the songs. But in the second half (or side two), Bob sings four songs and Christine only two. So, total on the album, Bob sings seven and Christine only five. Give Christine more time, damn it! Okay this is album is forty-five years old but whatever.

It's starting to hit me how much of the classic rock I listen to is now really old. It was thought of as old when I first got into it in the early nineties, at which time it was merely twenty years old -- and I discovered the likes of Fleetwood Mac, Heart, and Supertramp in Dad and Sherri's music collection. I proceeded to collect every album by all of these bands, Fleetwood Mac being by far my favorite. Now even more time has elapsed since I discovered these bands than the twenty years of time that had elapsed since their commercial peaks when I first discovered them. It's a strange thing to consider. Members of these bands will likely begin dying off within the next decade. Stevie Nicks, the true "Queen of Rock and Roll," will be 70 in May of this year. Can you believe that shit? She's still fucking awesome, for the record.

Anyway! I used the bathroom when I got home and then Shobhit and I walked to the library together to return his library book, which he hadn't finished but was two days overdue. He kept trying to convince me to count this walk as a point on the next Social Review, but I won't do it. Running an errand, even if walking, does not qualify as social activity. It just doesn't!

-- चार हजार दो सौ पचास छः --


-- चार हजार दो सौ पचास छः --

We made dinner when we got home. Half the Asian noodle packets from a six-pack we got at Costco last weekend, mixed with a bunch of sautéed vegetables to add volume. He's working late both tonight and tomorrow night -- his first evening shifts in quite some time, since the first week of January -- and he wanted a couple days' worth of leftovers for lunches. I still need to make dinners. I think I'm going to make macaroni casserole with veggie chicken tonight.

We watched Sunday night's episode of Last Week Tonight with John Oliver, which finally started its fifth season after being on hiatus since November, while we ate. That was only half an hour of TV, after which Shobhit went back to his news shows on his laptop. So I went to the bedroom and I made a couple of iTunes playlists: one with an "apocalypse" / end of the world theme; the other with a days of the week theme: start with Queen's "Lazing on a Sunday Afternoon" by Queen and end with "Saturday Night Forever" by Pet Shop Boys, and songs about other days of the week in order between. Okay, I did tack The Beatles's "Eight Days a Week" at the end. Clever, right? I really do get slaphappy with the iTunes playlists. It's a sickness.

A bit later I heated up the rest of the work-sample blueberry cherry apple pie, which was super tasty. I got into bed right around 9:45 and started watching the Hannibal Buress Netflix comedy special but had to stop halfway through not because it was bad -- it was okay -- but because I was simply getting tired and falling asleep. Ironically I woke up two hours later and had a terrible time getting back to sleep, partly because Shobhit was snoring so loud. In the past I could at least partially ascribe my inability to get back to sleep to being distracted by hearing Ivan, but there's no Ivan at home anymore. Sometimes I just have trouble sleeping for no discernible reason, I guess. Most of the time I can sleep in spite of Shobhit's snoring.

-- चार हजार दो सौ पचास छः --


[posted 12:17 pm]