Just when I think you're out of my head, I hear a record you played or see a book that you read

Los Angeles, California -
A long way from Hughesville, Pennsylvania

My vinyl has made a reappearance.

This is important in many ways, the least of which is that my relationship with many of these discs has been some of the the longest and most meaningful of any I’ve ever had.

And I hope to pass these on Jack and Ruby, although right now it would only be a physical, and not emotional, transfer. Jack loves to collect things, including old Tonka trucks and Magic cards. But so far, the record disease hasn’t infected him yet. And Ruby is just a bit too young to care, I think.

My original pressings of “Kinda Kinks” and “Meet the Beatles” or my “Darkness at the Edge of Town” picture disc mean very little to them. So far. Jack likes that I have an original Capitol copy of “Help,” which is his all-time favorite album (well, the Parlophone CD is anyway). But in the end, that slab vinyl means very little to him.

But it's precious to me.

I used to say that I could learn everything I need to know about a person by looking at his or her record collection -- long ago times for sure.

But every album on my shelf has a story – memories that can be happy, heartbreaking or those of coming of age. Or reminders of mistakes, loss and triumphs. Listening to my quadrophonic copy of Poco’s “Deliverin'” that I played for hours with the four speakers trying in vain to hear the “quad” difference. Hearing the greatness that is “Rubber Soul,” my first Beatles album. Getting Monkees albums and staring at the photos on the jackets for hours. Listening to “Dark Side of the Moon” over and over and wondering what the fuss was about. Reading “White Album” and “Born to Run” lyrics like scripture – which they were to me. The first record I got after my mom died -- "McCartney" -- and hoping that the album could fill the emptiness. Nice try, but no.

I’m writing this while listening to Jackson Browne’s “Saturate before Using,” a reminder of dipping my toes into the singer-songwriter waters and trying to discover my sensitive side to show off to all the girls. Not many girls in Lycoming County knew about Jackson Browne in 1972, though.

I learned something about myself through this music. Dealing with my mom being gone, I retreated deeply into these records, and my dad felt sorry for me; indulging me and giving me money to buy what I wanted. He may have hated 99 and a ½ percent of what I listened to, but he played a huge role in the development of my musical knowledge.

On to “Schoolboys in Disgrace.” A so-so record that still takes me back.

Thanks Dad.

Was she reality, or just a dream to me?

My first crushes that I can remember were Peggy Cass (really) and Patty Duke. Of course, this is not counting my male non-sexual crushes Paul McCartney and Davy Jones.

But of course these were celebrities and completely out of reach. And besides, they were all much older anyway.

Enter Susan Cowsill. Close to my age, cute as a button. And in a rock and roll band. And the first time that I saw a girl as interesting.

What more could anyone want? Well, other than the fact that she too was a celebrity.

Didn't matter, in my eyes. In fact, she didn't know it, but she was my girlfriend for several years.

The Cowsills had a few catchy hits, I especially liked "Indian Lake," even if the band themselves hated it. And now, with its harmonies, production and bubblegum psychedelia, I'll be damned if "The Rain, The Park and Other Things," doesn't sound to me like a mini-pop Masterpiece, with a capital M. In fact, it's one in a ever-increasing line of pop tunes from the past that makes me well, a bit wistful. I'm not sure if the human race will ever sound so innocent again:

They disappeared, and not not just from my view. Internal problems were rampant, as evidenced by the documentary "Family Band," which I watched yesterday. It's wonderful, if tragic.

This has caused me to do a reappraisal of their work, especially that which was recorded in the past 20 years or so. Of course, I posted this the other day, and some of their material is startling as well. I knew my crush Susan was a member of the Continental Drifters, an under appreciated band, but The Cowsills themselves were (and still are to a degree), powerpop masters.

I mean, listen to these later cuts and tell me something special wasn't going on.

And Susan is still cute as hell (and even more talented); some crushes never go away.

I'm gonna be a real gone cat

Happy Birthday to one of the greatest and most unheralded musicians in the history of this country.

An influence on Paul McCartney, John Lennon, Billy Joel and countless others, he sold more records in the 50s than any other rock and roll pioneer, save for the King himself.

He had countless hits, many of which became part of the American fabric: "Blueberry Hill," "Ain't That a Shame," "I'm Walkin,'" "Blue Monday, and my personal favorite, "Let the Four Winds Blow."

This is his house in his beloved New Orleans, the one in which Antoine Fats Domino is turning 87 years-old today.