so this is happening.

If I may expound for a moment on the topic of music.

Sometimes I feel like an imposter, asserting my love for music without being able to claim even half the musical knowledge shared by some of my friends (Adam, Amanda, Pavla, Jakob, oh I don’t know, EVERYONE).  I wish I could participate in the (seemingly) compelling conversations between Adam and his friends, discussing the pros and cons of bands while I’m simply learning of their existence.  Always discovering new sounds, introducing new bands, new ideas. 

But then I put on a particularly favorite (albeit well-worn) album, and find myself completely lost in the music, enraptured to a point where I am shocked by the depth of my love.  That’s when I am reminded that it’s not necessarily the number of bands you’re familiar with, the amount of lyrics you have memorized, the multitude of concerts you’ve seen, or the relative obscurity of the band currently being discussed.  Granted, those details can all be fairly accurate indicators of love.  But for me, it’s the feeling that washes over you and completely consumes all your senses when you hear a track that moves you.  When you hear a song that sparks a memory so intense that the nostalgia is overwhelming.  Or when a song fits your current place in life so profoundly that its very presence in your world brings a clarity and perspective otherwise lost.  That is what I think it means to love music, and that justification allows me to stand by my claim.  Although that doesn’t mean I’m not ashamed when I have to ask Adam, “wait, is that a real band?”

I’m sorry if this got too ‘real’ for anybody.  I promise more mammary jokes tomorrow.

vincentpeone:

if you are wearing a red beret and just hailed a cab on park ave 15 minutes ago please contact me so we can be married immediately.

I want to know EXACTLY what it is these NYC girls are doing to make my level-headed guy friends fall in love with them at first sight.  First Patrick, now Vinnie?  Explain yourselves, you visions!