For One Penny

Yesterday morning, I biked the mile-and-a-half to the waterfront, my first "just for fun" ride of the spring. All was going well and good when the wind kicked in and I found myself biking against the wind, and I couldn't turn off the earworm from a Bob Seger cassette I had as a kid. Then I couldn't turn off the memory of getting 13 records or tapes for 1 cent from Columbia Record & Tape Club.

The catch was I had to remember to send back the little card every month or else I'd be stuck with something I didn't want. I was pretty good about the little cards, and I did sort out to finish my commitment and get out of the scheme. The whole thing was a good lesson. Nothing is free, kid Marie. Or even 1 cent.

Seems like yesterday

But it was long ago

So they say. We age. Time passes. The Record & Tape Club eventually became the CD Club before going out of business, but I was no longer aware of it, because I was out buying my own choices of indie records from small businesses in Dayton, in Austin, in Hoboken. And playing them on the radio in southwestern Ohio. As one does. As one did in the heyday of indie rock and college radio.

And eventually I sold most of my records to collector Bill Ryan when he and Otis came to my garage to alleviate the burden of me carrying the damn things around. I learned to travel a lot lighter over the years. You know, not...against the wind.

I headed back to the Citibike dock and 2022, to a world where I haven't thought of Columbia House in 40 years. It's funny what a phrase or image can trigger in our memories.