All I Have Here With Me Are the Records and the Books That I Own
I have a lot of stuff. My room is filled to the brim with records, CDs, cassette tapes, books, magazines, zines, and DVDs — most of the books I own are about the records that I own, and most of the DVDs I own contain visual representations of the songs on the CDs I own. I like things, and I like knowing stuff about the things that I like.
However, while it may sound like it, I am NOT bragging — I feel like the older I get, the more of a hindrance this becomes.
Growing up, I had a lot of fun — I had friends, I was sociable — but there were many times I just preferred to stay in my room listening to mixtapes, searching old music magazines for articles on new bands I was discovering, writing zines… that sort of stuff. Because I read voraciously about subjects largely unimportant to the general population (Morrissey’s favorite movies, British comedy/film stars that have appeared in Blur videos, what exactly Michael Stipe is saying in “Sitting Still,” figuring out how to get original Sarah Records issues of the Field Mice albums), I started to value those traits in others — if I met someone, especially a dude, and they were familiar with my pop-culture touchstones, I deemed them worthy. I was judgmental in a weird way; I wasn’t cutthroat about it, and wouldn’t write uninitiated people off completely, but if someone knew some obscure fact about a band or comedian or movie or book or album that I loved, I instantly thought, “I can be friends with this person.” Looking back, I’m sure that’s not a unique way of thinking — I mean, everyone seeks out people with similar interests — but I probably took it a little more seriously than the average teenager. And, let’s be honest — it did make me feel kind of cool. In high school especially, being into obscure things is a double-edged sword: you’re bummed that you can’t really discuss your loves with anyone else, but you’re secretly jazzed because you know something they don’t know.
But now, it seems that I feel MORE awkward about this stuff than I did in high school! I can’t really have in-depth conversations with most people my age, because they’ve moved on and have learned about the economy and property taxes and politics and science and I’m still trying to critically analyze why Jarvis Cocker chose to have Steve Albini produce his latest album. I often meet people now and find it refreshing and very appealing if they know nothing about music or popular culture. (Often, not always. Heh. Also, it’s only appealing if it’s genuine — I got no time or patience for those douchelords who BRAG about not owning a television.) But, of course, the majority of my anecdotes are heavy on the pop-culture references, so the people that I find appealing are definitely not returning that feeling.
I’ve talked about this lately with my best friend, and she said something like, “I think this is how furries happen — they are people who are REALLY into something and have no normal people to share it with,” which sent us spiralling into panic. “Are we gonna wake up one day and be 50-year-old furry weirdos?!” I don’t think obsessively collecting and hoarding Smiths records is quite the same as wanting to have sex with anthropomorphic animals, but to some it might be close.
Last Friday night I was sitting on my bed, alone, listening to a new CD I had very eagerly anticipated the release of while reading a book about the artwork of Factory Records, and looked around my heavily postered and adolescent-esque room and honestly thought to myself, “It’s just you and me, stuff.” And sure, that sounds crazy, but look at the facts: My possessions have never disappointed me.
