A Luddite's Guide to Dating: Books and Music Required

When I got my second Great Dane a good (male) friend told me I’d never have a boyfriend again. It seems to be turning out that he’s correct, but I think there’s more to it than just my giant sleeping companions.

I blame my lack of male human companionship squarely on technology.  I don’t want to go into the myriad of reasons that online dating hasn’t worked for me except to state that I am really picky.

I goes without saying that whoever I’m with must love dogs (and horses, and cats and birds), but they must have great music and reading tastes as well. For one thing, they need to read.  Newspapers AND books. Graphic novels get half points.

Reading is a biggie for me. As far as dating goes- and life for that matter - you can tell an awful lot about someone by what books they read. For instance, I’m not really a fan of or going to be hanging out with anyone whose go-to guide to living is Mein Kampf. Or the Left Behind series.

I’m more of a Donna Tartt, Doris Kerns Goodwin kind of gal. With a little weirdness from Steve Erickson on the side. You know, good stuff.

It used to be that when you went to someone’s house, it was pretty easy to check out what they were into. You just looked at the bookshelves in their home  and bam! there it was.

Obviously there had to be bookshelves. If there weren’t any, that was the end of that, no further discussion needed.

But Kindle and Nook have ruined all that. While perusing someone’s bookshelves is kind of darling, opening and checking out their E-book is snooping, plain and simple. It’s like looking through their emails or riffling through someone’s wallet. It just isn’t good manners, no matter how nosy you are. 

Another huge issue for me is musical taste. I have broken up with men who had awful taste in music. Life is simply too short.

I mean, really, what kind of person can stand listening to Coldplay?  And who listens to Phish? What the heck is wrong with someone that they’d listen to Phillip Phillips? Just thinking about it gives me the chills. And not in a good way.

Back in the day, people proudly displayed their CDs in towers all over their house—though usually close to the stereo.  I could tell right away if this person understood the genius that is Steve Earle or Bruce Springsteen. If they liked the Old 97’s, My Morning Jacket or Wilco they’d get a total free pass on other things.

Not so much anymore. Oh, there are the occasional folks who, God bless ‘em, have gotten into vinyl, so it’s out there for the world to see. But a lot of those people are hipsters who have way too much other baggage going against them.

But again, going through someone’s IPod, or far worse, their phone, is an invasion. If you explain that you’re just interested in their music, they’re going to get suspicious.  First they’re not going to believe you and if they do, they’ll judge you for being snoopy.  And I don’t mean the dog.

One of my many bosses/clients  is a talented and terrific guy.  He’s a renaissance man with a great deal going for him. But whenever he talks about music, I find my respect for him dwindles. A lot. I want to put my hand over his mouth and tell him to shush.

For God sake, the man takes his music cues from pop radio. Ugh. I just want to sit him down and give him a playlist worth hearing.  Something worthy of his time and brain power.

There are some people that think I should just get over these seemingly irrational biases. That I should be more tolerant.   That, they say, is how I should go about meeting new people.

To that I say ‘Pshaw!'  Music and reading are part of the fiber of my being. For heaven’s sake, I was a music journalist for a million years. People used to pay me a great deal - okay a small pittance, but enough of them did so that I could support myself- for my persnickety musical taste.  

I’m not completely unreasonable. I don’t even mind people that don’t get how important music is. I understand if someone’s driving force is not music. I get it. Sort of.

But if they’re going to hold tight to their love of Rascal Flats, they really, truly, can’t subject me to it. That’s a deal breaker.  It also doesn’t work if they actually try to convince me that Taylor Swift is a country artist. Trust me; she isn’t.

But if someone has a Miley Cyrus fetish AND adores The War on Drugs, we might be able to work something out. Maybe. As long as they’re not reading Dan Brown as well.