"Girl You'll Be a Woman Soon", he sang. And he was right.

Back in the day when I was single, like a black widow spider plays a deadly game catching unassuming flies with her web, I used to catch boys with music. No, no, no, not music I sang or played (gawfah!), but a deadly combination of knowledge and taste--usually of the classic rock variety. I'd start by asking about their musical preference and if the words "country" or "Creed" was included in their response, I was out the door quicker than you could say Crosby, Stills and Nash. If their musical taste was acceptable, then it was game on. Oh you know I'd first lure them in with a "You know, Led Zeppelin got their name from when Keith Moon told him that their band would go over like a lead zeppelin," which was a double whammy because that also implied that I knew who Keith Moon was. And then maybe a one-two punch with some commentary about Bob Dylan or David Bowie. Then a little while later, I'd bring out the big guns and make parallels between acceptable modern artists and classic rock gods and then, AND THEN, I'd make them a mixed tape of lesser known artists with classic rock roots and if I was really set on sealing the deal, an elaborate cover was made for the cassette. The more colorful it was, the more interested I was. Or more desperate for physical affection. Or more bored and in need of pointless drama. Usually all three.

My freshman year at college was when I first feasted my eyes on Go and I was instantly intrigued. I knew if I just had the guts to turn around in art history class and talk music with him, he'd be mine. But I was chicken. He was a boy without a real name, just dubbed "Art History Boy." Then my sophomore year, when my roomie Katie came home talking about a "Brandon Reynolds" she ate lunch with, I asked if she was interested in him, she shrugged and said "Actually, you guys would be great together," but I didn't end up meeting him until a year later and made the connection that this kid standing in front of me with greasy overalls on was Art History Boy AND The Brandon Reynolds. I remember asking Katie about his taste in music because honestly, those overalls really threw me. (Insert Go's urgent "THAT WAS WHAT I WORE FOR MY WINDOW WASHING JOB! I HAD JUST GOTTEN OFF OF WORK! GEEZ!") "Um, I think I remember him talking about Jimi Hendrix..." Allright. We can hang, I decided. On our first date, he did not wear overalls. Score five points for that one. Then he serenaded me with Neil Diamond. Scored some more points there for humor but I was still a little iffy if Neil was all he listened to. Did this guy just sit in his car with his overalls on and listen to Hot August Nights? I played it cool and waited until our second or third date when I ventured into his glove box and found several obscure artists who I also was into. "You know G Love and the Special Sauce?" I said and he was like "Yeeyah. I practically invented G Love and the Special Sauce." Katie was right. We were a good match. And it was done. The game was over. I tagged out and that was the last time I ever played the game.

Looking back, it never ceased to amaze me what kind of powers just liking cool music had. I mean, I was averagely cute, but let's be honest, I was no super model. I did not stop people in their tracks with my looks. Guys didn't get in car accidents because I walked down the street. What I had going for me was that I listened to cool tunes and I got their jokes quicker than most other girls and I did all right with the fellas.

But I always wonder, if I wasn't as into music as I was, would I had the same dating experience? Would I have married the man I married? What if I was really into model airplanes? Or Chinese Checkers? Or Steven Segal? Or the English translations of Spanish writers? What would my life be like? I had a little taste of this the other day when I went into Borders. After reading The Shadow of the Wind by Carlos Ruiz Zafon a couple of years ago, I have been waiting for his second book to be translated into English. This book wasn't exactly a household name--it was no DaVinci Code or Tuesdays with Morrie as far as popularity goes but seriously 100 times better than both. Not knowing whether to look for Ruiz or Zafon, I asked a Borders employee and he furrowed his brow behind his coke bottle glasses and was like "Hm. That's a good question. Who exactly are you looking for?" and I said "Carlos Ruiz Zafon" and I swear to you, it was like I was in college again and I had busted out with the Eric Clapton/George Harrison/Pattie Boyd love triangle story behind Clapton's song "Layla." His gigantic pupils turned into the shapes of hearts and he was all "You know Carlos Ruiz Zafon?" and continued to follow me around the store like a puppy for the next hour. I think he wanted to have my babies. And those babies would grow up reading awesome authors but probably listen to Hoobastank, Nickelback and the like. I'll take Go and his Neil Diamond and his Harry Nilsson and his G-Love and his Andrew Bird and his Josh Ritter and his Simon and Garfunkle and his Okkervil River his Bell X1 and his Glasvegas and his Ryan Adams and his Spoon any day.