10:41 p.m. I've been thinking lately ... that as fabulous and as wonderful as I think my long-playing vinyl records are ... that maybe, just maybe, it might be time to take the big plunge into CDs.

I don't want to be too hasty about it, of course. I can clearly see that CDs and CD players have, indeed, caught on. The next logical question will be: Will they be around for much longer? If I finally look into buying one of these new-fangled things, will that be the end of it?

Will something smaller and faster and even more wonderful appear to taunt me with its very presence and its otherworldly shine?

I come from a long line of stubborn people who pick a particular technology to avoid and hide from and refuse to acknowledge. My brother wouldn't get an answer machine until just a short time ago. My mother will not consider owning a computer, not even a cute little Mac, not even for free.

I know people who are afraid of microwave ovens and cell phones. I don't even know how to answer our new tiny little phone -- it might as well be jewelry for all the good it does me when I carry it around -- just in case.

And then there's the cute little palm devices. So far I haven't bought one because I don't leave home often enough, with or without it. But I'm more than aware of the promise and the threat of e-books and I know they're not going away and so I think I'll get a small hand device the day they make them cuter and more rubbery. With ju-ju-be buttons.

I realize I'm babbling. Don't think I don't know it -- but I've spent the entire day having a really fun time, having wonderful conversations, taking a nice walk, taking a few nice photos, and yes -- having a few more beers. And a tequila drink with crushed ice and fresh strawberries. And some sangria.

And so my head's a little waterlogged and myself is a little sleepy and I've still got a little bit more to print out before I can call it a night and all I can think about is that I need a jukebox. A big silvery one with flashing neon and blinking buttons and big Wurlitzer sound boxes. That's the ticket.

Or a CD player. One with many little spinning platforms and the ability to program an entire evening of musical entertainment, instead of just six scratchy songs in a row. Maybe. It's spring. These are the stirrings.

Tie me to the mast and plug up my ears so I won't hear the siren song of progress ...

... yoo hooo ... come on in, the water's fine ...