Objets trouvés

Let’s getup to date on one of my still-loose-ended personal Odysseys. So far, I’ve managed to find two of the three Michael Jackson albums that are worth the owning. The ownable trilogy we’ll call it: Off the Wall, Thriller, and Bad (and some would quibble about Bad).

And when I say found, I don’t mean I typed their names into Google, which did its algorithmic alchemical thing and conjoured up a gazillion links I could click, along with as many white boxes as I could crunch my credit card numbers into.

When I say “found” I mean “discovered, came across, happened upon, or stumbled over.” Found as in found.

And when I say “albums” I don’t just mean albums, I mean “pieces of civrular, black shellac, 12 inches in diameter, in cardboard sleeves with foot-high pictures on the king of pop printed on the front.” Vinyl records.

Number one, Off the Wall, I found, pleasingly enough, on a wall. It was in Oxford among a pile of posessions some long-since-ex-teenager had left out for the bin men, vultures, or a future blog post. “Thanks for the memories,” this person had said to his or her LPs, swingball set, and sodastream, “but here’s the spot wher you and I part ways. See thee at Philipi.” Or somesuch.

Then years later I found Bad in the loft of a house some of my friends were moving out of. It wasn’t theirs: they’d not even been up their in their whole five-year tennency so I swooped in like a swooping collector of ephemera and collected it.

So now, Thriller‘s all I’ve got left to complete the hattrick. And what a grand symphony of circumstance it would be, if, this week, I turned up a copy on the top deck of a bus or dragged by a city fox out of a wheelie bin.

The rules I’ve decided don’t allow me to accept gifts, so you can’t hop down to your local second hand pop peddlar, pick up a copy, break into my house (not so difficult – the burglars will leave a key out for you) and then secrete it in my bathtub. But I am going to allow myself to accept copies of the album that people find on my behalf. So keep ’em peeled everyone. In churches, hospitals, launderettes, or zoos, what’s called for here is ceaseless vigilence.

Actually, if you do the bathtub thing I might be so touched I have to bend the rules in recognition of a startling and inventive act of awesome kindness. Not that I’m dropping hints: don’t actually do it. Just, if you do, I’ll be touched and impressed. But don’t.

Do keep your eyes open though.

~ by David Thorley on October 11, 2010.

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