Saturday morning’s New York City Marathon training run threw off my entire weekend.

It was an absolutely perfect morning. The air was cool and dry. The sky was piercing blue, filled with billowing white clouds. I was underslept, and underprepared, and spent nearly three hours in my head, which was way too much time.

Three songs capitalized my mental iPod (I don’t run with actual music, just my brain): Simon & Garfunkel’s ‘The Only Living Boy In New York,’ Shawn Colvin’s ‘Poloroids,’ and Air Supply’s ‘All Out Of Love.’

Lemme’ explain.

As I’ve written (and recorded) in The Morning Mix (and below), ‘The Only Living Boy In New York’ (like black and white) captures the moment, though I’m not sure why, and I’m not sure I want to do any more thinking about it, or explain it. (Just have a listen.)

I was considering my new CD, or CDs, as I often do as I gear up for another “album cycle” (the phrase Big Record Labels use that I’ve co-opt to be funny). I’m weighing — and I’m still not sure here — whether to release the aforementioned, previously recorded ‘Christopher Street EP’ concurrent to whatever I come up with when I hit Control One Studios next month. It’s the age-old question (for me): one great album, or two good albums (or in the case in point, one great album, and one good album). I’m leaning towards one 12-song CD, and — stay with me here — as I was running, I was considering titles (as I often do as I gear up for another “album cycle”).

Because I may be combining both efforts, I thought of the title ‘Poloroids.’ This albums looks to be pretty up, kinda’ poppy, full of three-minute snapshots from any given moment in the last year. And I’m not sure the album will have the narrative cohesion of ‘Almost Home. Hence, ‘Poloroids.’ Another title consideration, for reasons you can presumably deduce, is ‘Love (And Other Indoor Games),’ which cheesy as it is (for reasons you can presumably deduce), but I’m still pretty fond of it.

So Shawn Colvin’s ‘Poloroids’ was in my head (as was Judy Blume).

But Air Supply? Dude!?!

You’ll recall, Dear Reader, that I was Iowa last weekend. I had brunch with my mom’s sister’s family, three generations of whom came out for Ethan’s Iowa Debut. Growing up, I always looked up to my cousin John. He’s about eight years older than me, so when I was in grammar school, he was in high school. He was strong, fast, and funny, with a quick smile, a quick wit and a thin trouble streak. And he loved music. John’s room was in the basement. He had an eight track stereo with those big puffy headphones. When all the other neighborhood kids with playing football or maulball or generally beating each other up, I would sit on the floor in the cool, musty basement listening to ‘All Out Of Love’ over and over and over and over…

Last weekend, John suggested I cover it.

Now, I’ve gone as far as to acknowledge my affinity for Phil Collins (I covered ‘Take Me Home’ on the ‘Summer’s Gone EP), but Air Supply? On a record? Unlikely. But adorable. And appreciated.

And it got me thinking. Not only about the lyrical and emotional content of the song (and my mental playlist in general), but of the potential for The Morning Mix. What if it was like an interactive, singer/songwriter jukebox? You drop in a donation, and a few days later (God willing and the sun don’t shine, as my father would say), I’ll upload an MP3 of your request. Assuming it’s not, say, Rush or Slipknot or something. Look for that functionality coming soon.

Meanwhile, I still haven’t explained how Saturday morning’s New York City Marathon training run threw off the entire weekend, though perhaps I’ve gotten at it in some why while dropping some album-related news on you. Obviously, I was (I am) thoroughly exhausted. By midnight Saturday — after lunch with my mom, a BBQ with John and Marni, and a rock show with Shiv, I could barely stand. My hips, knees, calves and quads are still sore (though that’s to be expected). I’ve got it, and I think I figured it out right here before your eyes with all of my sidetracked musical ramblings: I can’t get me out of my head. I can’t stop thinking so hard. I can’t find a quiet place, it’s all rocknroll and Air Supply. Somebody, please, I love it, really — but for Heaven’ sake, turn it down a minute, will ya’?

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