INDICATIONS OF LOVE, PART 2

My wife would prefer it if I were still a practicing punk.

She’d like the Pogues to pogo off the living-room walls, Nirvana to grace the Odyssey, The Clash to rattle the kitchen...

I mean it, man!

I don’t think it’s about aesthetics. I think she just finds the mutability of my passions to be a little disconcerting.

It’s as if life would hold one less little puzzle for her if my musical taste had ossified the moment we met. If my passions could have remained fixed...

But they have, dear. They have.