I don't remember exactly what was first, but some of the early cassettes I bought myself were Dire Straits Brothers In Arms, Air Supply, Falco and Rick Springfield's Tao.

My first albums my dad bought me for Xmas: Pyromania, Thriller and the Stray Cats.

Nice job, Dad!

I really want a digital clock at the pool. If I bought them one, maybe they'd put it up? Turns out I really do race the clock. Have been having shit (for me) times of late. But for some reason, my goggles didn't fog today, so I could see the damn second hand from 30 yds away. And while I didn't best the 68:15 I did in Ellicott with the digital, I did do 69:15. And the last two laps I did in 1:45. Fastest I've ever done a lap is 45s, and that's PUSHING. So that was nice. Considering I was finishing up a 2 mile swim!

Lokis is everywheres. It's really nice out and so I even had the deck door open for ventilation, so that means BUGS! He's chasing down all of 'em. OH, and the summer tenants' cat? She's got the same coloration and markings as Loki. Just skinny. Any maybe not so nuts, but she's super affectionate like him.

Remind me I need to raise the glass on the upstairs storm door before I go to bed/it starts raining. That thing keeps it from raining in the kitchen doorway.

Heh. [link] Stay classy.

My dad bought me Quiet Riot, Metal Health, which was the first record that was actually mine.

the first album I bought with my own money was Spirits Having Flown, The Bee Gees. I have no clue what the first 45 was.

The first cassette I remember having is Madonna's True Blue. It probably wasn't my actual first (hmm, Bangles Different Light?) but I remember it because I had to campaign for a year to be allowed to get it, because of "Papa Don't Preach." Trufax. And look! I did not become a pregnant teenager! I'm not even a pregnant adult!

I didn't have Pyromania but my brother did. I remember his first cassettes better than mine. He also had The Thompson Twins, and Ray Parker Jr. (Ghostbusters, doncha know), and Weird Al In 3D.

I think my first album was Kenny Rogers' The Gambler, on cassette. To which I practiced roller-skating routines in our driveway.

No meeting for me -- the car was shuddering and making sad suspicious groaning noises, and I got nervous and pulled right over.

But the friend who alerted me to the meeting in the first place just called with an update: The new pastor is both an asshole and in extreme likelihood an intentional hitman, whose last two parishes folded under his watch. He's fired all the Spanish speakers on the parish payroll, alienated both the liberals and the conservatives, and gotten in a shouting match with the two most dedicated parishioners they'd ever had and essentially fired them from the parish.

The old man who presided at Hec's and my wedding will probably have to move in with relatives in New Mexico; tomorrow's Spanish mass is probably the last one he'll give. So everyone who can, no matter what language they speak, will show up to support him, and there'll be a polite letter to the bishop, signed off by as many current and ex-parishioners as can be tracked down. And then, when politeness fails, a pissed-off letter, letters from a network of pissed-off priests, and cc'ing all the media we can think of (plus possibly President Bartlett, who was a close friend of the rabble-rouser whose death in '04 precipitated all the other changes).

Then I'm sure the bishop will shut the whole works down and a bunch of people will leave the Church permanently, but at least the diocese will look like a bunch of ugly assholes in big, glaring public view instead of quietly behind closed doors.

And, in completely other news, Matilda was just talking about caterpillars, which she called "callah-pittlers." Emmett corrected her a bunch of times but her caterpillaring got more and more outrageous, and I warned him that now he'd end up messing it up himself the next time he tried to say it, so possibly he should go with another term, like "larval butterflies."

"That works," Emmett said.

"That works!" Matilda echoed. "Marvelous butterflies!"

I called them cappatillers. And still sometimes mess it up after mentioning it. Except now I want to call them marvelous butterflies for ever and ever.

I am sorry the Church is causing such pain. It hurts me to read about because I have such dear people still quite involved with it and so I know it's not just your diocese.

Oh god.

Last night the electricity flicked on and off a couple of times. And I thought no more of it.

Well, today, my apartment has been ridiculously hot. I just figured it was - well, the weather. But then, I kept hearing this clicking sound. I just checked my heater and it's running. No doubt when the lights flicked on and off last night the heat came on.

And my flashlight is dead and the light in the basement next door (where the fusebox is) is out.