It was music that brought us together, which is funny when you consider we often have such different tastes. For instance, he thinks cranking some Tori Amos while taking a hot bubble bath is swell, while I find the very idea akin to suicide; when curling up with a good book, I like to listen to some classical lieder, an past-time he would typically describe as “poop-facey.”
Our first connection was made on Friendster. You young ‘uns won’t know anything about this, but long, long ago – before there was Facebook (yes, it’s true!) – there was a site called Friendster, which amounted to about the same thing: letting you maintain the illusion that you’re “in touch” with everyone you care about and simultaneously allowing you to seek out companionship with strangers based on what movies/music they list as liking.
“He’s a surgeon who looks like a young George Clooney but oh – I could never date a guy who likes 311 and Matrix Reloaded. Our babies would have webbed feet.”
“Hmm… she lives on the opposite coast of America than me, but she thinks the Rolling Stones’ Black & Blue album is under-appreciated and her favorite film is Nights of Cabiria. I guess I could fly to Maryland for a first date…?”
Anyway, a little over four years ago, Friendster was rapidly declining as its members left its restrictive, controlling environment for the orgy of narcissistic freedom promised by MySpace. Amidst this crumbling empire, the boyfriend “sent me a smile.”
Now, normally I would never respond to anyone who “sent me a smile” (kids, that’s Friendster for “poke”). To me it’s the least you can do, and if you’re looking to start a conversation with someone, you’ve got to employ more effort than that. It’s like approaching a cute girl at a bar and using, as your witty opening line, “Hi.”
Even so, I took the time to gloss over his profile – to see what kind of lazy guy this was sending me virtual muscle contractions. One thing that caught my eye – besides the fact that he was an editor at a famous magazine and therefore had no excuse for not constructing a proper introductory message – was that he sited “early Fleetwood Mac” as one of his favorite music acts.
The term “early Fleetwood Mac” instantly aggravated my music snobbery (see also: eligibility to work at Amoeba Music). Usually when people (see also: plebeians) refer to early Fleetwood Mac, they mean the beginning of Lindsey Buckingham and Stevie Nicks’ involvement in the band, which resulted in such fantastic hits as the band’s eponymously titled album in 1975 and 1977’s Rumours. This doesn’t take into account their lesser-known, but equally existent, life from 1967 to 1974 – much more accurately defined as early Fleetwood Mac. (There are, to date, at least three religious wars in developing nations stemming from debates as to the defining of various eras within the band’s history.)
Getting back to my relationship’s origin, I decided to, rather snarkily, ask this magazine editor if, by “early Fleetwood Mac” he meant… and you can fill in the blank with the above paragraph. To my surprise, he was well aware of the more blues-oriented (and truly) early Fleetwood Mac, furthermore, he identified Christine McVie as his favorite member of the band.
Christine McVie! It was significant because she’s my favorite member, too, and is so often overshadowed by Stevie’s sparkling, twirling, Wicca. I knew then that this guy had potential to be someone special. (This is a true story, by the way, ridiculous as it may sound. I really did decide to meet him based solely on this fact.)
We met for drinks at a bar called Well, a few blocks away from Amoeba Music. I arrived early because I am me, and always do. The cute bartender bought me a drink, so I figured if my Internet date turned out to be a dud, I had back-up romance potential with the bartender.
My date showed up and we spent over three hours talking, which went by as quick and easy as the next four years, during which time we’ve rarely been separate.
Happy Anniversary to us.