I went to the library this morning to pick up the books I had on hold, one of which was Just Kids, the other being Girls Like Us: Carole King, Joni Mitchell, Carly Simon — And the Journey of a Generation. (I feel like this season is the best one for indulging in 70s rock nostalgia! Hypothesis: because of fall fashion?)
When I found my holds on the shelf, I noticed that two of them where not for me but for a guy named Matt with my last name, and having never encountered another Marvel outside of my family, I was filled with the kind of prying curiosity that comes from someone encroaching a little too much on part of my identity. So I took his books off the shelf to assess what this “Matt” dude was all about, and one of his books was Rock Roadie: Backstage and Confidential with Hendrix, Elvis, the “Animals”, Tina Turner, and an All-star Cast, which can only mean that he is the boy version of me (in the extremely narrowly defined version of myself that is reduced to the library books I check out)!
In the movie of our love affair, I would have left a cute note in his book, and he would have then turned out to be my age and handsome. Oh, and not related to me.
