That's Life

My car was broken into shortly before Christmas. Some jackass broke a small side window thinking that with my car (which needed transmission work, fixed air conditioning, a new taillight, and two new door handles) was a veritable treasure trove of goodies. Primarily they wanted my new cd player, but since they couldn't pry it out of the dashboard and realized there was mostly a lot of shit in my car, they opted to take my hidden cd visor.

Now I thought that I cataloged every CD that was stolen so that I could moan appropriately when anyone mentioned the artist. Kind of Blue, Giant Steps, Jason Mraz, The Beatles, The Love Below, Ben Folds Five, Cake-- the list could go on and on. About 30 CDs were taken among them was one CD of the Sinatra Reprise collection. Just one. So I thought.

I understand what I am about to write is going to make me one of maybe twelve people under the age of thirty. It's also going to make me sound like an ultra-geek, but I do not care. I love Frank Sinatra. That's right, love. And I'm not talking about the movies (well, those too); I'm talking about the music. To this day Frank Sinatra is one of only a handful of artists that I liked when I was thirteen that I still like today. The Christmas I was sixteen, I received one of the top ten best gifts ever (right up there with the My Little Pony Paradise Estates). Great gifts are always something you really want, but never have to ask for. Those things that are unexpected. And the Frank Sinatra Reprise Collection was one of them. At the time, I only owned one Frank CD (it was hard then to save up enough cash to get anything and CDs were like two weeks of allowance). My father picked up on how often he heard me listening to it and gave me four more. I cannot convey how much I loved them.

Yesterday, I began to burn my CDs into iTunes (which has been long overdue) and realized more than just one of the cds were gone. All of the cds were gone. I was crushed. No more "My Shadow and Me". No more "I'll Only Miss Her When I Think Of Her." No More "What'll I Do." That is unless I want to shell about another $100 for a new set. I felt so violated when my car was broken into and rifled through, but it's nothing compared to the crappy feeling when I realized that some of my prize possessions had been taken.

What really kills me is the thought of them (probably) in a dumpster somewhere. I can't imagine a thief appreciating any good music, especially good music from over fifty years ago.