Vinyl.

Tonight, Alyssa and I listened to records and danced to them.

In a day when you can pull up any song you can dream of on your telephone within 10 seconds of getting the urge to listen to it, the draw of vinyl is almost inevitable.

You can touch them. They're cumbersome. You have to be careful with them. There's movement involved. You can actually see the needle progressing through all the songs. You have to get up and walk over to the record player to flip to the other side. 

And there's this warmth and richness to the imperfection of vinyl--like a beautifully stained wooden table. Like the musical instruments making the sounds are actually inside your heart, and the music is playing from the inside out.

That little scratchy sound that the needle makes when it just touches the record? That one moment is brimming with life, like the rise and fall of empires hang on it.

I could go on.