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Dear Dionysus XII

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Dear Dionysus XII

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Dear Dionysus,

I recently went through all my old records and zines and show flyers and posters. It brought back a lot of memories for me, some cherished and others rather painful.

Before I met you, my main hobby/vice was collecting records and punk paraphernalia. I was obsessed. I would spend every dime I made at my job on records. I’d scour eBay for hours looking for the ones I wanted, in addition to at least weekly visits to the local records stores.* I was a teenager: I didn’t have any bills or alimony or child support and I hadn’t yet met you, so I had a lot of disposable income. And how I disposed of it, Dionysus.

I had what I like to believe was the most impressive punk rock vinyl library any teenager ever amassed. If I liked a band, I would seek out every last seven inch they ever did, in addition to any compilations they appeared on. One of my favorite compilations was a late 80s ten inch called “Make The Collector Nerd Sweat,”** which had a caricaturist drawing of the proverbial audiophile on the front sweating profusely as he scoured through scores of records.

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