Someone said recently possibly one of most disturbing things I've ever heard. And it wasn't just anybody. It was a local rock star. He said, "Hey — I was just at a party at your childhood home!"

It was unthinkable to me. Yes, I understand the house I grew up in was sold. I don't know to whom, but now that I know it was sold to hipsters, the thought of keggers happening in this childhood home of mine had me just completely reeling. And it's not exactly like my house was a sitcom household growing up … but it really made me think of how many memories are contained in the childhood home you grew up in.

I'm not a super nostalgic person, necessarily, but all the things that happened in that house became all of a sudden kind of sacred to me. And I know this guy when he said, "Hey, I had a party at your childhood house," he didn't realize what that actually was going to mean to me, but it just got me thinking: sometimes when everything around you or within your family is sort of crumbling, sometimes the physical structure of the house you grew up in is the most solid part of your family.