I may drive over to Scott's house just to use his stereo. My old stereo, a clunky three-disc changer with pretty good speakers, is in the dump because it started eating Bob Dylan CDs. I respect its taste, but it wasn't asking my permission first. The CDs would slide under the plastic case that was supposed to hold them up, and I could hear the player licking them and getting closer to Bob Dylan than any machine has a right to get. It hasn't been reliably reading CDs for years now, anyway, and both of its tape players were broken. The radio never got good reception, either.

Jeff's old stereo had been on the porch for two years, since the last summer Eric stayed here. He would sit out there at night listening to Ella Fitzgerald and jamming with the cats. He's long gone, to bigger and brighter porches where the spiders don't go and the people all know "Howl" by heart; the CD player was nearly unused. I took it into my room. For a while it was great. Though it was built in 1994, it read burned discs, self-released discs, slightly scratched discs, and Smiths CDs, all things that confused and angered my old CD player. For several days, however, the disc drive has revolted and refuses to open, and I am very sad. The player seems to have rejected my taste in music, and is holding out for the good old days of swing. Now no one is appreciating Bob Dylan.

I think it would be pretty sad to go to Severna Park just to listen to music and maybe use the swing set, but tonight I may do exactly that.