I want a band I don't have to love. (Yeah, that's a Bright Eyes reference. Go ahead. Make fun. As if you don't have his CDs, too.)

My fiance worked at an independent record store in Toledo all through college.

He was -- no, scratch that -- is a music snob. I'm talking grade A, "don't tell him I like this band because he'll throw their CD in the bargain bin," more-than-a-little snotty about his music choices. The guy has Japanese punk rock rap crap, obscure jazz (which I still think sounds just like someone putting a microphone inside a washing machine) -- basically, stuff normal people wouldn't even think existed.

His friends weren't much better. Aren't much better.

When they'd ask me what kind of music I liked (and that actually happens a lot when you're dating a record-store guy), I'd blush and stammer, develop a sudden interest in carpet, and try to think of obscure bands, or I'd just give the nonchalant "Oh, you know, a lot of stuff ..."

Snob or no snob, his association with the record store there opened up doors for us. We always knew about the new CDs, and heard them before anyone else. And the live music, oh, the live music. The independent music scene wasn't too shabby in Toledo; well, at least for a mid-sized Midwestern city. We got into shows free, we got some bands' crappy CDs (and a few good bands' CDs, too). Sigh ...

It was a charmed life for a college kid and his girlfriend. Now ... not so much. For the most part, those days are over. I mean, he's still a music snob, and I still love music (of my choosing), but there's something missing.

It's so quiet. There's no crazy jazz. No "WAAAAA HNNNFHHAAAAA" (that's what Japanese punk rock rap crap sounds like).

He's letting me listen to the Postal Service in his car. It's like he's given up his snobbiness.

Something is wrong.

But you know what? I can't keep crying because my precious Toledo bands, We Are The Fury and Rediscover, aren't coming to Wisconsin to tour. We've gotta get out more. I may be getting old. I may have a real job. I'm not going to take that all lying down.

Plus, the fiance's getting antsy sitting at home. We're not homebodies. We need to stop pretending.

Yes -- a late-in-the-game New Year's resolution I want to keep.

That working out thing really isn't working out, anyhow. (I'd cue some kind of triumphant "end of blog" music here, but he'd just make fun of it.)