Stephen Mejias

Today is Elizabeth's birthday. Lucky for us dudes, she spent the day working from home, so we didn't have to get into anything mushy like flowers, or cards, or hugs. Instead, we sat around playing poker, chomping on cigars, and taking slugs of Night Train and Thunderbird. That's what we do when Elizabeth's not around to keep us in line. It's a wonder the magazine gets made at all.

In my e-mail inbox, I saw a new item: "FedEx Shipment Notification."
Spam? I wondered.

It's kind of crazy. I go to bed each night with a little bit of worry over the words I've let loose. Nouns and verbs and other linking bits, forming ideas and images meant to be pretty, meant to be funny, meant to be interesting. These words are linked to me, just as my name is linked to Stereophile, and it all comes with

In November's "Aural Robert" (p.154 in the print mag), music editor Robert Baird sees technological advancement as the major cause for the decline of the independent record store. He writes:

Autumn came without calling first. It snuck its way in through the cracks of my old kitchen windows and made itself at home. I've asked it to spend nights on my orange couch, but, while I sleep, it comes into my bed and hogs all the blankets. It's cold in my apartment.