There Ain't Much Sadder Than A Record Store On Its Death Bed

New releases are eight months old, the owner is the only employee left, it's 101 degrees because he won't run the air, I think he might sleep in the stock room.

c'est le vie

Awhile back my dad reminded me that to ask why bad things happen to us is a ridiculous question. In fact, we should be surprised when tough things aren't going on in our lives. He essentially said that we live in a fallen world and we can't expect it to be like heaven. Instead, life is a series of challenges that prepare us for heaven. I think that's an important thing to remember. It's like when it's miserably hot outside and you can't stop wishing it were winter. With that perspective, the heat will seem even worse than it really is and you'll remain miserable. But if you just accept the fact it's summer and that it's going to be hot for a few more months, it's a lot more bearable. So, Jenny had another miscarriage, which brings our 8-month total to 3, including one discovery and removal of a benign tumor. Yeah, it feels horrible and I don't ever want to feel this way again. At the same time, I realize I will. Pets will get run over, friends will move away, I'll witness loved ones battle serious illness, I may battle serious illness, stuff will get stolen, parents will die. That's the nature of life on earth. Through it all, though, there's one constant: "The relation of the soul to God is a higher, unique relationship which nothing can sever and which nothing can threaten or shake (...) If we wish to follow Him, then this life, too, with Christ, is joy, even amid difficulties. As Saint Paul says, 'I rejoice in my sufferings.' This is our religion, and that's the direction we must move in." That quote is from a book by Porphyrios (a Christian monk) we've been reading at Sunday night mens group, and I know it's true even though my emotions don't always agree.

Hip to the Hop

Considering the size of their ears, I've decided rabbits are pretty weak at identifying the direction of sounds. Today, like every other day I ride the Santa Ana River trail, I had several dart out of the bushes and directly in front of my bike. They usually bounce around like a teenager in a mosh pit and then run back to where they came from, but sometimes they run straight across. I haven't hit one yet, but they're not all so lucky. A couple weeks ago I rode past a carcass with a bicycle-tire-sized gash across its neck. I wondered if it made the guy crash and I thought the cottontail probably screamed like a banshee until the lights went out. Chris has commented that the woods along the trail would be the perfect place for a person with a taste for rabbit meat. Sometimes I think about what I'd do if this country of ours got so bad I couldn't just go to the store and buy some food. I mean, what I'd do if I had to score food for myself rather than pay somebody who paid somebody who paid somebody who paid somebody to grow it or kill it. I thought maybe I'd head down to the river with a deuce-deuce and come back home a couple hours later with dinner slung over my shoulder like a Russian soldier. The thing is though, I probably wouldn't, because I've been castrated by a life filled with talking cartoon animals, cuddly teddy bears, and corporate Easters (Our profit margin has Risen!). Also, considering that Jenny called me one time, crying her face off because she'd run over a rabbit with her Suzuki, I don't think she'd eat one either. So I'd probably take my lady up the hill into the apple orchards or something, you know, depending on the season. I'd just sit there under a tree and grab some fruit whenever I got hungry until the tree was bare. Then I'd probably wander around looking for some berries until I starved to death.

Qualitative research suggests one may experience feelings of guilt when writing casually after spending extensive hours writing an academic paper in APA format. I mean....my project is straight up done, ya'll.