Almost finished reading Songbook by Nick Hornby. I'm nearly done with it, and it's been good but hasn't provided as many resonant moments as I'd hoped for. The Klosterman has spoiled me.

p.17
Dave Eggers has a theory that we play songs over and over, those of us who do, because we have to 'solve' them.
--So true. Hornby goes on to make the point that once we've solved them they fade from the forefront of our interest and eventually from our memory. Perhaps it's the songs that take the longest to solve that then become all-time favorites?

p.22
The culture with which I surround myself is a reflection of my personality and the circumstances of my life.
--A universal with the possible exception of hideously boring people.

p.74
Rubbishing our children's tastes is one of the few pleasures remaining to us as we become old, redundant, and culturally marginalized.

p.117
I can't afford to be a pop snob anymore, and if there's a piece of music out there that has the ability to move me, then I want to hear it, no matter who's made it. ... You're either for music or against it, and being for it means embracing anyone who's any good.
--This is pretty much the conclusion I've come to over the last several years. I like a really wide variety of music and I can only share certain segments of it with certain people. Certain groups of friends appreciate some sorts, and other appreciate others. This is one thing I like about Tadpole - he's young, but he's figgered this out.

Speaking of Tadpole, he's occupied with Big Drama these days, so he's off the roster for the time-being.

Spades coined a great phrase recently. On the LU message board, someone (Young Sean?) commented on something and then wrote "LMAO" as a postscript. Spades wondered what it stood for, and one of his suggestions was:
Love Makes Anne Ornery
Perfect!

Last night I went for a Black Sheep at Kaya and once again managed to be at the coffeeshop for an open mic night. This one was far worse than the previous night's (at the U Cup), not least of all because Dan wasn't performing. There were the requisite sub-par acoustic renditions of the Black Crowes' She Talks To Angels, some Hendrix, and Freebird. But there was one tremendously horrific performance that stood out among the rest: an at-most 19 year-old covering Toto's Africa. Not that that in itself isn't bad enough, but then he put a scat breakdown in the midst of it. I can hardly find words.

I've been having a correspondence with a boy the last week or so, and I have to say that his lexicon and discourse has me smitten. I'd almost be afraid to meet him in person (for fear of spoiling a good thing) but my curiosity has the best of me (comme toujours). He likes horror and gothic literature and claims to be the gentlemanly type that I prize so.