On my way in this morning I heard a piece on the newly opening Louis Armstrong house museum in New York City. Apparently Armstrong did a lot of tape recording there, of himself playing the trumpet, of people conversing, even a "marital spat" as the interviewee put it. Almost a sort of audio blog. Tapes and tapes and tapes they have in archive.

Words alone are wonderful, and can be quite durable. But there is something about hearing voices. I had a cassette tape walkman with recording capability while in college, and I would sometimes tape things too. I hadn't listened to any of them for a long time, but I grabbed one for the LA-SF drive over Labor Day: a recording of a casual dorm concert given by the Irish band that our dorm's resident fellow played in. Good music, despite predictably awful recording quality and the occasional slamming of the lounge door nearby -- and the in-between talk of voices I haven't heard in a long time. I miss them.

Not that I want to be the person still that I was then. I didn't seize the day nearly enough when I was in school; if I were to do it again now I would avail myself much more of all the opportunities I had. But, if I hadn't gone through then, I wouldn't have met the same people, so. Trade-offs.

contents of the purple tricycle are copyright 2003 carrie lynn king unless otherwise noted.