I had to say goodbye to my stereo today.
I received it as a Christmas gift from my parents back in 1992. The world was a simpler place back then – back before the Unabomber, before Y2K, before the Scary Movie films. It was on this little boom box that I listened to The White Album for the first time and thought to myself, “Wild Honey Pie is certainly the finest song ever composed.” During high school and college, I used this stereo to compile an estimated 300 mixtapes – some for myself, some for friends, but most for girls I liked who would most certainly return my romantic interests if I could only introduce them to a particular album cut by Collective Soul. As always, my reasoning was cogent and valid.
Well today, the romantic interest of my life told me that my old stereo is too big and ugly for our house, and told me I had to get rid of it. Bursting into tears, I pleaded for my old friend with haggard shouts of anguish and by holding my breath until I lost consciousness, but to no avail. It was time. Its CD player had long ceased working, and its cassette player ate tapes, basically rendering it an oversized AM radio used to listen to Vikings games and swear at.
It was time to take my sturdy old companion out back and mercilessly blast its head off with a shotgun, metaphorically speaking.
So I did. Upon returning, I sat down to write this post. Bitter, salty tears are dripping down my beard and into the heaping bowl of butterscotch pudding Bridgette prepared to help console me. Later today, we will go out and purchase a new stereo – a smaller one more suitable for the times we live in. I suppose I may grow to love this stereo, but it will never be the same as the one I had to leave behind.
Farewell, my old portable stereo. I hope you are being attended to by scores of virgins somewhere in home electronics heaven.