Nice and tired from an easy tour of Table Bluff back roads yesterday, this morning I find myself thinking about The Byrds and Larrupin’ Sauce.

Enough time has passed since I last listened to Sweetheart of the Rodeo that right now, for one brief listen or maybe two, is it no longer worn out. This morning it feels fresh and renewed yet comfortable and old. A sing along record, a groovy morning starter–one of those rare moments when an album exactly hits the spot.

I haven’t been in a very good music appreciation groove since I moved to Humboldt. The ritual has changed. It used to be that Todd and I would listen to music at our desks all day long. It was part of work: I’d come in, and if I was there first (hopefully) I’d queue up an album. Then after it was done I’d respectfully allow Todd to select one. And repeat, choosing thoughtfully, a pair of desktop DJs trying to make the day go down a little more enjoyably. Trading riffs, swapping anthems, or sometimes more embattled and grumpy, pitting Fleetwood Mac versus primitive French black metal. What an unholy match up that was!

But this morning I’m DJing for myself and it’s me and The Byrds and a toaster creation of jalapeño bagel, egg and cheese with some semi-experimental Larrupin’ sauce inserted somewhere. It’s actually not much of an experiment because I’m beginning to learn that Larrupin’ Sauce can be safely employed almost anywhere. And that maybe it’s a sign, that through fully adopting this local elixir I’m becoming a more fully naturalized resident of the Emerald Triangle.

Now that Sweetheart is over, the next pick is Song of America.