the record store is my local pub. record store owners are like your local bar keep.
when i have a bad day, like yesterday, i headed straight for the record store half a block away (now you *know* why i'm always broke).
convo with one of my favourite said bar keeps:
z: "what does it say that i come over here in tears??!!"
"it means you are a DJ girl... all lady DJs, producers... some even who i've dated.... bad day? record store. break-up? record store. work school kicks your arse? record store. i think i have a great shoulder. you ladies come in here and cry and then uncle ____ picks out a record or two for ya'. win-win situation."
yesterday one of my dj buddies busted out the great tunage for me to heal my grief. it's difficult to not laugh your arse off when the scene of the wizard of oz where the wicked witch was melting is juxtaposed over top of some slamming beats.
then he turns to me and says, "should i have played that clip for that long? i'm thinking probably not :-)"
mad props to in house records.