Fucking blah. Must it always be an obsession, can it not simply be a pleasure? How can you enjoy something that you've vivisected, backed over, and waved around for all to see until it was grizzled and frayed beyond recognition? Some geek is now selling it on eBay in what he claims is excellent condition. He loved it so much he never even played it.
I can't imagine I would ever engage any of my girlfriends in a battle of musical one-up-womanship if one revealed a favorite song to me. If I did, she'd just shrug and change the subject. But it's impossible to change the subject with you, boy, because you have no other competitive interests. You don't engage in physical activities because, why? -- they cut into your listening/bragging time? Or maybe it's because you might get pounded, and it's impossible to feel smug while you're getting pounded. You learned that way back in grade school, I'm sure. So now, what should be a pleasure, a beautiful collection of sounds that make you happy and you enjoy, instead becomes a battlefield in which knowledge of the ultimate obscure project signals a goal. No scratches (unless you count the personal foul you just committed). Yahootie equals touchdown, and he'll sing your victory song to you and you alone, because you're the only one in the game. It's yours; you won it, and you can have it. Alone.
