This book had an odd effect on me (although I suspect not a *unique* effect on me: not an effect others won't have, and not an effect I wouldn't expect from other books). I found myself finding in tunes I used to like having new meaning. Tunes I somehow and for some reason either memorized all the words, or just somehow picked up on the lyrics over time (or in some cases, remembered a girl I...
more This book had an odd effect on me (although I suspect not a *unique* effect on me: not an effect others won't have, and not an effect I wouldn't expect from other books). I found myself finding in tunes I used to like having new meaning. Tunes I somehow and for some reason either memorized all the words, or just somehow picked up on the lyrics over time (or in some cases, remembered a girl I used to like, and recalled the said girl singing the said lyrics). That's really odd, I think. Not recalling what the girl ever said to me, or recalling how said girl made me feel or think about her, but recalling said girl looking at me, in my eyes even, and singing the lyrics ... and yet, not singing the lyrics to me, but rather singing the lyrics to a brick wall cleverly disguised as me. And why didn't I kiss her, or talk to her, or strike up a conversation or even a prelude to a relationship with this girl? Because I didn't care for the song, that's why. And that's odd. Really odd. This book explains all these oddities and others, as well, I think. It's because some tunes are best kept for relationships gone bad, or gone incomplete, gone with hopes or expectations out the window, or just plain gone. But we have those tunes, be they on records or mix tapes, or now, buried on an iPod. It's why some tunes are best kept under three minutes long.
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