But you know, I know when it’s a dream

It’s been a simple, lovely birthday.

I received my absolute favorite 45 that my mom handed down to me as a kid, which I played over and over and over again in my room. I immediately popped it onto the turntable, and every pop and hiss that I remembered is still there, in the exact same spot. Frankly, the song doesn’t sound right to me on CD, as the scratches specific to this copy are part of the song in my mind. I’d been listening to this song a lot in the past week and thinking a great deal about it and its influence on my musical tastes overall, so it was amazing to be reunited with this old friend again today.

And apparently, there’s one hell of a florist on the other side:

Thanks Mr. Martin, wherever you are. Your taste is impeccable.

Thanks to all for your kind wishes!

Off to dig through the record shelves, see what else sounds good today; eyeing up After the Gold Rush, a few of the Dean Martin (hey, it’s the least I can do, with the flowers and all) and Wilson Pickett records that I haven’t spun yet, and maybe David Johansen’s self-titled (Frenchette is calling me.)

And if anyone’s in Ballard tonight, stop by the Sunset for a beverage and the London Calling cover night, where folks from an assortment of different bands are going to cover the Clash classic from start to finish, in order. It sounds like the perfect, low-key birthday to me…