MOG

Nothing bad ever happens to me - I'm an incredibly lucky person.

I was reminded of this last week when I turned my stereo on and the speakers gave a loud pop and then a long low fizz and nothing else.

My receiver is broken. This means nothing, really. It's just equipment, a possession, something I lug around with me every time I move. It's easily replaceable and more than likely easily reparable. It doesn't matter that it's broken - it means nothing, it's not a life tragedy.

But the loss of my stereo threw me for a loop. I was being overemotional and I overreacted. I flung myself into a self-dug pit of despair.

Almost five years ago (five years!), splitting up with my husband, dividing our stuff, all I wanted was the stereo and the music. Weeks later, unpacking at my parents' house, moving back into my old room, the first thing I unpacked was the stereo system. I was so happy - I set it up exactly how I wanted it, in my aunt's old record stand turned on its side. I could listen to whatever I wanted whenever I wanted.

That summer I listened to Sonic Youth and Modest Mouse and Idlewild in the dark, unable to cry, unable to sleep, writing for miles every day. I wasn't eating. It was such a great summer. (I'm not being sarcastic about that.)

Months later, when I got back from a few months traveling around Australia, where I'd listened to my little mp3 player and radio tuner with tiny earbuds, I saw my huge stereo system with its huge speakers and my huge collection of CDs - "Wow," I thought, "is this all mine?" (I thought the same thing about my underwear drawer.)

I spent much of the next year listening to the 6ths, Hyacinths and Thistles, awake in the early morning hours, no longer flirting with anorexia but still dealing with insomnia.

When I moved to Seattle and had to do the roommate thing for the first time, I worried about whether to set up my stereo in my bedroom or in the living room. Wisely, I opted for my bedroom.

Shortly after moving there I discovered KEXP and I'd listen to that at night when I went to bed to drown out the noises of my new roommate, a filthy filthy whore. After a month I found a new place to live.

I found out about a thousand new bands listening to KEXP, and when I discovered Sonic Boom and Easy Street I bought as many albums as I could afford. I was sleeping better by this time but I still sometimes listened to music when I went to bed.

I found a music partner - someone whose music collection overlapped mine enough to give us something in common but diverged enough to make it interesting. We shared music with each other and I found out about a thousand other bands.

When I left Seattle and moved here, into my own house in an alley, I put my stereo in my living room because there were no obnoxious roommates to avoid. I could turn up the volume really loud. I jumped around my living room last fall listening to My Morning Jacket and Two Gallants and Cloud Cult and whoever else I was listening to then. Probably lots of sad music. M. Ward, always.

And then I started DJing and have found out about another thousand bands. I listen to my stereo every day. I check out albums from the station, I listen to recordings of my own show, I listen to other DJs on the radio, I listen to NPR (the televisionless person's television). I've developed this strange and obnoxious habit of listening to two things at once - something on my stereo and something on my computer at the same time.

I've been getting into electronic and hiphop and dirty garage and zydeco and all this other stuff and NOW I CAN'T LISTEN TO ANYTHING ON MY BIG SPEAKERS.

My receiver is broken and what the fuck am I doing with my life? - This was where my overemotional reaction led me. My stereo is broken and that doesn't really mean anything, I knew that, but it had me wondering again what the fuck I'm doing with my life. Why am I still here? I always leave, it's the one thing I'm good at. Why haven't I left this town, where I can't get a goddamn job and can't afford to get my most important possession fixed when it breaks.

When I was home for Thanksgiving I got a bunch of my grandpa's old 45s to play on my radio show but now I can't preview them. I have no idea, maybe Perry Como says 'shit' and 'fuck' a lot. Bah humbug.

I know, it's fine and everything will work out. But my stereo, my old friend, is broken. In the last five years I've been crushed, treated lightly by assholes I thought better of than I should have, I've moved here and there, applied for jobs and quit jobs, had crazy fun nights in the starlight and sad tear-filled nights in the rain. Made friends, lost friends, done things I never thought I would. And always music.

For Christmas I guess I will ask for a gift certificate to a repair shop.

Posted on 12/04/2007