Today, while I was taking a shower (yes, dear readers, your faithful bloggist occasionally deigns to cleanse himself of the accumuluted dirt/grit/grime of the Rock And Roll And Baseball Lifestyle tm), I heard voices from my living room. But when I walked out into the room, no one was there. There was soft acoustic guitar playing from somewhere. I thought to myself, "hmm, is my roommate Logan playing a soft, sweet melody, just out of my sight?" But that would've been ridiculous, because a.) there would have been nowhere for him to sit except the foyer, the stairs, and other places that aren't really fun to hang out in, and b.) he's a drummer, and plays the acoustic guitar like it's a form of strange, stringed floor tom.
No, as it turns out, my living room stereo turned itself on completely by itself, and began playing the "Mermaid Avenue" album, which I'd been listening to the night before and which I had left in the machine (why not?). Or maybe it was a poltergeist that turned on the stereo? Regardless, that's the kind of life I live - I'm surrounded by self-aware electronic appliances and phantasms of the ether, and they all want to listen to my Billy Bragg and Wilco CD, almost more than me...
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