And then I would drive. And drive. Along the lakefront. Up to Milwaukee. Around and around the Weiner Circle. Wherever and however long it took me to get in a few listens.

Now I can't be bothered to remember the release date — even though I put the damn disc on my Amazon wish list for that very reason. Here's the thing: When you're looking forward to something, you remember it. Simple as that. Look, I very easily remembered to watch the premieres of "The Bachelor" and "Survivor"... both without incident.

But on the music tip, it seems I've evolved from "Dear god, get that sound in my ears now!" to "Eh, I'll get it tomorrow." I wonder if there's anyone who'd warrant a night-before, record-store trip. The D-Plan? A reunited Soul Coughing? A reincarnated Jeff Buckley? I dunno. Where my passion went is another story. I blame it on the lack of good stuff out there. I tell myself it's too hard to weed through all the crap. Which is partly true, and partly not.

Today marks an official change. The Change, perhaps, since I find this far more disturbing than menopause.

end