This was supposed to be a quiet, peaceful morning - a relaxing respite from the 21st century’s annoying concoction of curs, vipers, vermin, polecats, mongrels and insects that whore of the will of the people. Maybe its just my brain demonstrating its independence. Maybe I’ve finally reached curmudgeon enlightenment years ahead of schedule. Maybe it’s just the goddamn news, but I attempt to start the day with a renewed sense of calm. I don’t read the paper. I don’t turn on the radio. I don’t turn on the TV. I don’t read my emails. It’s a blather free morning.

But while I sit at my desk wondering what I should write about next, the sound of jack hammers suddenly emanates from the house directly behind us. My neighbor is actually tearing up his entire cemented backyard and plans on putting in a garden! There you have it: gentrification!

Anyway, here is one last look at some of the art work on our boxes of used 7 inch records. I wish I had done some of this artwork myself but, like the jackhammers, my only true talents are more in the nature of noise: the ability to make those kind of sounds 5 year olds forge and the aptitude to blather - like the venerable curmudgeon chain smoking at a bus stop in Hollywood, nursing a cup of coffee from 7-11, jawing about the flotsam and jetsam that has decimated some of the finer gutters in Los Angeles. “Strength through blather! Strength through blather!”

But back to the subject at hand—art. Enjoy.