January 15, 2004
I used to think that I was obsessed with music. I have about a thousand cds, love hearing new music, and used to go see live shows fairly frequently (less so in the last year or so, though). Then I met Peter.
My obsession was nothing compared to his obsession. My thousand cds? Paltry next to his two thousand. My interest in new music? I'm like 3 years behind, comparatively. Live shows? The boy travels alone to NJ or deep into Brooklyn to catch a band he likes. I generally don't leave the island of Manhattan unless there is a really special reason (Clinic in Hoboken or Radiohead at Liberty State Park are the only exceptions I can think of).
We met at a britpop/indie club. He was in a band and though he didn't despise new Radiohead like I did, I was happy to meet someone who shared my interest in music. Very quickly, though, it got to be too much. Music would be on 100% of the time if it was up to him. Spending money on travel? That interferes with cd buying, unless of course the trip can be viewed as a music buying extravaganza like our trip to Britain a few years ago. I got tired of what I call the 'incessant' music playing. He joked that he was deceived into dating me, thinking I liked music as much as he did.
Sometimes, though, I'm right back to being gaga over my music loving boyfriend. I love his post today on his music site about the Field Mice. I have, of course, never heard them but his passionate and excellent writing about them makes me want to hurry home and have him play them for me. I could picture him in the store, clutching the cd and eagerly running toward his stereo. It made me miss him after being away from him in DC for these past two weeks. Go read it but don't go falling in love with him too. He's mine.