No. 708 – You’re Not the Only One I Know

Performer: The Sundays

Songwriters: David Gavurin, Harriet Wheeler

Original Release: Reading, Writing and Arithmetic

Year: 1990

Definitive Version: None

Jin gets full credit for getting me into The Sundays, but I definitely associate this song and this album with Laurie.

When I moved to Chicago in September 2005, I took next to nothing with me—a few changes of clothes (emphasis on a few), a couple milk crates and beer crates of books and boxes of paper files, my computer and scanner, a few CDs (emphasis on a few) and a board to build shelves with the aforementioned milk crates, like I was back in college.

The reason was mostly practical—I didn’t have room for anything more than that in Laurie’s apartment. Laurie’s apartment in one of those good-old-Chicago multiunit complexes had four rooms—a living room, bedroom, dining room and kitchen—and all four were small. Only the dining room had anything like free space, and that’s where I more or less set up shop.

The dining table became my office—except for when I needed to be on the phone for my dial-up Internet—which would necessitate a move to the living room. I built my bookshelf along one wall. Laurie turned over a file cabinet that she was using more or less as a table, so I would have a place to store my files.

But elsewhere you’d have to look hard to notice my presence. Laurie had no room for any more furniture in her bedroom, so my clothes ended up in the coat closet by the front door in the hallway.

Laurie at least removed most of her coats from it after we went to the store to get a garment rack for the basement, where Laurie had a 3-foot-by-3-foot storage space. And my shirts and suit for interviews shared the coat rack with my one jacket and winter coat. The shelf above it was used for my pants and any foldable shirts. I was at least able to cram a plastic storage unit in the bedroom for my underwear.

This was supposed to be a temporary arrangement until I got a job. Then I would find my own place and move up the rest of my stuff. It was cramped, but by that time, I was pretty well used to living in somewhat austere conditions after my Cleveland experience. The point was not what I had with me, but that I was living in Chicago and all that that implied. I couldn’t have been happier.

Back then, the CD player on Laurie’s mini stereo system didn’t work, so we listened to tapes most of the time, as I’ve mentioned. This album was one of the regular plays while she was fixing brunch or doing chores around the apartment. Now that we have a mini stereo that plays MP3 files on a thumb drive, we never listen to this tape or any others any more. Time marches on, I suppose.