this month's collab for Dear X: it's over.
Quit Singing that Damn Song!
dear devil on my shoulder:
that's it. it's over. my wallet can't take this anymore. you go by the name of retail therapy, and you whisper to me that it's okay, really, to get just one more CD, that it can't possibly hurt.
you lie. it isn't the sweetness and light you claim it will be. you trick me into thinking that you're my friend, that you're here to help. bah! you're not helping!
oh, the siren song of the music store... and you play that tune so well. 'just for a minute', you beckon. 'it's air conditioned in there. you can just browse.' you lure me in with sweet promises. we wander the aisles, and nothing appeals. but somehow, always, you find this one rare disc, that hard to find compilation, some other obscure group from Kyoto, and fling it right in my face. you know my weaknesses, and tickle them like Brubeck on the ivories.
you blow in my ear, making like Chet Baker and his sweet, sweet horn. you moan and plead like Nina Simone and her ever alluring voice. you get all hot and sweaty, looking like all my favorite guys with guitars. you shake and shimmy, dragging me out on the dance floor with you. how can i resist?
damn it. damn, damn, damn. you know i can't resist. the pure unadulterated happiness of solid tunes blasting on the stereo, the appeal of a tight horn section or grinding guitars, the giddy silliness of dancing around my living room like a fool, not caring if the neighbors see or not, the rush of bombing down the road with a friend in a convertible, singing at the top of our lungs... you live to feed that addiction, don't you?
you've gotten sneaky lately, too. 'oh, the used CD stores will save you money. and you're supporting local business, so it's all good. right?' the prices on new CDs make me crazy, so you humor me by checking out the discount places. and see, this is how it works. you *say* you're saving me money. but really, you're just finding a way to get me to buy twice as much. cheater.
as if that weren't enough, you tricked me into shopping online. out of sight, out of mind, you say. it's like Christmas in July, or your birthday coming early when that big box of CDs shows up 'out of the blue' (yeah, right) on my desk, you say. it's delayed gratification. it's a lesson in patience. and isn't it fun to get things in the mail? especially when the thing is the Stevie Ray Vaughan box set.
and let's not even talk about the live shows.
but you've gone too far recently. it's one thing to get me to drop wads of money on new CDs. it's another thing entirely when i have to buy new furniture to support the habit. do you realize i had the collection pared down to a manageble size? bought two new CD racks, nice ones in cherry finish. had everything all organized. spent a night sorting thru and alphabetizing everything. gave up on categories, by and large, and giggled at some of the juxtupositions. i doubt Davis and DiFranco realized they'e be rubbing shoulders.
and you ruined it! you kept tricking me into 'just one more, because you really should have the complete works of...' and 'it would be so good to have this album again!' do you realize i have no shelf space left? none! i just bought two 6' racks, and they're jammed full of music i don't even have time to listen to! and you still want me to buy more! where the hell am i going to put another set of shelves? or do you really think i'll ditch $200 worth of furniture and start all over again? because, really, that's just asking way, *way* too much. really. it is. i can't do this. that's it. we're done. it's over. ciao, baby, because i don't need you anymore.
PS: i'm not going to miss you at all.
PPS: just think of all the fun i can have without you, with all that money i'm saving.
PPPS: um... hey, maybe we could hit that sale at Macy's next week?