The other weekend, Brandon bought a Hammond organ, which resulted in days’ worth of hilarity because if you think we can talk about Brandon’s “organ” in a mature manner, you’re sadly mistaken.
Brandon’s organ was so heavy that he had to have a friend come over and help him lift it. Brandon plans to spend a lot of time in the basement, playing with his organ. I am, of course, welcome to go down and play his organ as well. A few days ago, Brandon printed something off the internet on how to service his own organ. He concluded that servicing one’s own organ is too complicated. I told him that I’ve heard that one before.
But before all this, we had to make some room in the basement, so we rounded up a bunch of basement flotsam, including my high school yearbook from senior year. I put in a pile of other stuff and took it upstairs. (Where, incidentally, it still sits.)
Later I flipped through it. Here are Beth and I. I remembered that we’d worked on the high school literary art mag together. I did not remember however, this level of dedication to Cosby fashion.
Maybe my sweater's design is a Rorschach blot. I kind of see an organ.