Over the weekend both our cars were broken into. Nothing too serious, just a change box and the handful of CDs in the carrier — all the CDs, that is, except for one, which pointedly got left behind on the driver’s seat: My copy of Nilsson Schmilsson.
I love the record, Lowell hates it, and we’ve bickered about it a kazillion times the way you do when you’re married and go everywhere together and are appalled by what the other one wants to play on the stereo on the way there. You can tell Lowell feels super-vindicated that the car burglar took his side.
Terry Teachout on the arts in New York City
An ArtsJournal Blog