Statement of purpose

When I talk to some people who are more passive about music, sometimes it seems I come across as a bit obsessive. Take, for example, my girlfriend. She thinks its odd that the primary source of my disposable income is buying music. I counter (of course) with the statement that I don't really have that much music.

Editor's note: I own (I think) somewhere near three hundred and fifty albums, either on CD, wax, or my lone cassette (my beloved copy of Sebadoh's Bakesale), and have another hundred twenty five or so copied to my hard drive.

Now, this is not yet another "yeah, well [people with habits other than me] spend their money on [something else blah blah blah], which is either just as "bad" or worse [due to your typical record self-important/aggrandizing pretentious reasons] argument.

This is an open love letter to looking through a hundred albums, and a couple thousand songs, and realizing that most of them are good. Good, but not always perfect; this goes beyond the typical Summer_Album;Nighttime_Album arguments (I can still dig Pinkerton in December and Dummy in the middle of a sunny summer day). Then, settling on a selection, and realizing its perfect. Absolutely perfect. Its a happiness that nothing else can really touch, or, at least, with far less frequency. Its a reason to spend money I shouldn't on a few more albums, a reason to update a blog no one will ever read, a reason to troll record stores looking for a single that I can guarantee will not be there, and, above all, a reason to live.