One of my most favorite memories when I was young was laying in front of my dad’s console stereo on a Saturday afternoon, listening to his albums. I loved the album covers about as much as I loved the music. I wore out Simon and Garfunkel, The Fifth Dimension, Herb Alpert, Chick Corea, Chicago, Blood Sweat and Tears, Three Dog Night, The Mama’s and The Papa’s, and of course, the Eagles. Now I have a playlist on my iPod with these artists. But it’s just not the same. I miss the crackle of the needle on the album and the smell of the covers, kind of like an old bookstore. Upstairs at my parent’s house, my dad’s old console still sits, with the albums still in them, and all of those memories.