Bob Dylan’s Blood on the Tracks is playing on my stereo, and I’m blowing the dust off of old photos, and paging through the weathered journals that I find next to them.
In short, I am packing. We are moving.
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I admit it: I like rummaging through those “Top” lists I often find on websites to which I would never venture without being prompted by a link on a site I normally visit. Brief stints of boredom at work prompt me to scan through the Top 25 Guitarists of All Time, the Top 10 Beatles Albums, the Top 10 Brando Movies, the Top 50 Worst Songs of All Time, the Top 25 Horror Movies of the 1990s, and so on. The brevity of the annotations for each enumerated item makes it easy for me to complete a list in five minutes or so. I quickly agree or disagree with a summation and even learn some bar trivia along the way. Really, though, raking through lists like this is what I consider to be a “guilty pleasure.” I surely should be doing something more productive, yet I click onto the next “Top” list.
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