"You win the bid on the Victrola?" Kate asked me.
"No--but I've got another one lined up. Don't know if I can afford it."
"How much is it going for?"
"Well, that's not so bad."
"Well, dude, you take the trolley to work. I gotta drive."
I keep looking at our mortgage. Right now, we can pay it pretty easily--you know, as long as we don't go to the movies every weekend or buy every CD we want on a whim. Piracy is our friend; it was before, copying movies or downloading music, but now, I swear, it's probably the only way I'll hear the new Wilco album. Which sucks, because I usually go and buy their records, not just download, like somebody who's dead or rich as sultans, like the Beatles.
But I look at the mortgage, and I look at how much money we put in the car this week, and I get nervous. I know, everybody has to tighten the belt, but...
Well, I guess I could stand to loose some weight. Let the tightening begin.