... Like Excited Monkeys

While sitting in the living room the other day with "the boys" (Aka: Butters, Satan, Guido -my little brother- the pimp), I was wont to dig through mom and dad's collection of albums. There have to be close to 100 there on the last shelf of the TV throne and it's been FAR too long since I've laughed through them. Why laugh? Bands such as Santana, The Guess Who, Zepplin, and Janis Joplin all have mom's maiden name written on them, while all the John Denver, Carly Simon and Cat Stevens albums are dad's.

Sad but true. A very strange duo they make, that's for sure.

At any rate, upon the realization of my "The Chipmunks Sing The Beatles" album's presence, the boys absolutely insist that they hear this. Now, dad's turntable is still hooked up to the speakers he bought in 1970 (and are hooked up to the television as well), but the table isn't plugged in because no one can remember the last time we used it. Still, I rescued an old record player (complete with internal speakers) from Rae's new house when they were moving in. I'd yet to have a reason to use it, but this proved the perfect opportunity.

So the four of us ran upstairs with an armfull of albums and a gleam in our eyes. I hopped onto the bed, assuming that boys being boys, they'd want to work it. It took exactly 2 minutes for me to dissolve into a fit of giggles at the "Excited Monkey" scratching and tilting of heads. Apparently none of these children has ever had to work such a contraption, and first and foremost couldn't figure out how to put the album ON the table, let alone how to get it to turn. They played with every single knob the poor thing has (all what, five?) and then turned to me, with big eyes and bewildered looks. They shoved out the album and Satan added "YOU do it... it's broken."

I of course had very few problems getting it onto the table, or the table turning, but in the process of their happy excited monkey phase, they had turned the speed all the way down, so the Chipmunks sounded like...well, normal humans. In fact, they ALMOST sounded like the Beatles. I fixed that easily enough, though, and then of course they were incensed... boys being what they are, you know. They wanted track one and five.. so I played one and pointed, telling Satan he could play five if he wanted. This was bad. He slid the needle all the way across the album to try and get it to the last track...and I nearly killed him. I explained that you have to LIFT the needle.. and he still insisted on calling the album a "CD". How is it that already the generation has lost this invaluable skill? The only people who deal with albums anymore are DJ's... but there have to be people my age who can remember playing records, right? I can't be the only freak out there!