I consume music, movies and media of all varieties. I have OCD in my blood, and therefore I collect. Much to the dismay of my wife (and eventually my daughter, I assume) I often seek shelter among this stuff, these collections, these Threadless t-shirts, books, movies, video games and music.
When I contracted some of that uniquely first-world depression that’s been going around, I sought help in *gasp* therapy, a practice I’d long regarded as frivolous self-obsession; however, when I found myself unable to function, unable to enjoy anything about life, I could think of nowhere else to go. From these ongoing therapy sessions, I took away an important concept: I hadn’t been present in my own life for some time now. As I clawed myself up out of this pit, I found solace in a new collection. I sought nostalgia.
I returned to the turntable and the vinyl record. I returned for childhood nostalgia, for the albums I hadn’t heard in twenty years. I returned for the soundtracks of the 80’s, and the cover art and, most importantly, to be present in the moment and aware that life is going on all around me because someone has got to flip the damn record. I returned because new artists are once again embracing the medium. I returned because visiting the record store and sifting through new records became something I could do with my daughter. Even though she doesn’t yet understand the thrill of the hunt, sifting through stacks and stacks of tattered sleeves fishing for a curiosity (like the 1984 soundtrack for Fritz Lang’s Metropolis headlined by Freddy Mercury, Bonny Tyler, Adam Ant and Loverboy), she’s begun to love music of all kinds. I’m proud to be the parent of my very own vinyl-loving daughters. When they want to listen to “tunes” they want records. Not iTunes. Not Pandora.
This therapy begat the creation of this bl-g, a receptacle for my thoughts on movies, music and nostalgia through occasional digital journal entry. Many words will be devoted to the things of my childhood — the movies and music I loved. Nostalgia is good… when curated and managed in the name of mental health.
“Love Kills” by Freddie Mercury (from Metropolis)