I've been listening to vinyl lately, so much vinyl, so little time, but so much time, nothing is as it seems. It's not that I do nothing while listening, but there is always music now. Music came back, it had hitched a ride somewhere, and when I woke up, three years ago, it was drilled into my skull, The White Stripes, and Ween. This one has been a good old friend.  Beck, One Foot In The Grave  There's just something about my turntable, damp weather, and vinyl.   Nothing of consequence has happened in the four years or so since I disemboweled this blog.  I started another one, but then said, phooey.  It wasn't laziness, lack of want to connect, I have no idea what it was.   I realized a long time ago, to put my feet on the floor every morning and say "I know nothing."   "Well, there ain't nobody left to impress And everyone's kissing their own hands This 666 on the kitchen floor Ain't no fire in the pan? I get lonesome So glad to be a slab Stiff as a stick on a board I get thoughts and dirty socks Piled in the corner I get lonesome Getting fat on your own fear Bring that beer over here I stomp on the floor Just to make a sound" Beck Listen to it again and again. . . that is all.