Complexity Between Needle and The Record

As I am typing these words the understanding of how this computer works comes so naturally. My brain articulates the sentences and then simplifies it one word at a time. These words are then filtered down to letters that my finger tip identifies on the keyboard; simple circuits then make their way to the computer tower which processes the information and puts everything back together again; projecting it on the monitor. Justin Timberlake's Ayo Technology is playing through the speakers while I type and I explain this simply as the result of a laser that scans the digital information that was printed onto the plastic disc, sending that data to an application that translates it into sounds. Advanced, are we, the generation of the iPod.

I often laugh at my parents when they fail to understand the concept behind the above. I shake my head at them when I am asked to burn them a CD. And I sit back and think, this is a good thing. As an offspring of these two individuals who met when they were in their early twenties back in the dinosaur ages, I’m doing right by outgrowing them. I mean, my comprehension of the world as we know it far surpasses theirs. God help them when they are out there having to deal with email bank transfers and skyping! And I feel good about it; I feel superior, in a sense.

Earlier, in my "single's chair", I listen as my parents talk about how they met; my father trying to be attentive with his newspaper open and my momma reminiscing on the love seat with him. “Did you know that your father is my first boyfriend? And I’m his first girlfriend? And we’ve been in love ever since?” BARF.

I put Ray LaMontagne’s Trouble record into the record player and let the needle feel the grooves in the black disc, hoping to drown out this corny romance story of theirs; an explosion of guitars, violin, vocals, harmonicas and drums flow through the speakers into my ears. Now, if you ever listen to a vinyl record you’ll notice how organic and true it is. Honestly, it is the next best thing from listening to the artist live. Why is that? I guess it has to do with a little connection between the needle and the record. Apparently, as the record spins, microscopic bumps and grooves on the surface of the disc initiate a vibration that resonates into a symphony of sounds. As tangible as that may seem, I always have a hard time understanding how bass and synthesizers, electric guitars and a human voice can come from bumps and groves and one simple needle. So as the record plays I glance over at my parents, hand in hand laughing at some fossil memories that they dug up together and I shuffle in my "single's chair". I retract my earlier statement. I’m not superior at all.

Last night I was asked, “How many times in your life have you fallen in love?”

To which I replied, “I don’t know.”

“What do you mean you don’t know?”

“I know how many times I think I’ve been in love," I think about what I just said, "It’s funny because you don’t really know that you’re in love until you’re there. Then you question on whether you were really there, when you’re not anymore. Truly, I don’t know. Maybe twice?”

Funny. Ask me about the inner workings of the latest modern hand held devices or theories of why time travel to the past is impossible and I can explain it to some degree but ask me about love and I can't give a straight answer.

My parents are still holding hands. I guess it has to do with a little connection between the needle and the record.