She Was Cute, But She Liked Kevin Cronin Way Too Much

As someone so involved with music on a daily basis and virtually consumed with it since the age of 11, do I have the right to judge when someone takes their passion about this art form just a tad bit further than the average bear? Because I can think of several examples from my past when my concern about a particular person's musical obsession was enough on its own to shut down that relationship cold. Or at least make me think the other person was certifiable.

For instance, there was the girl who liked to entertain me by lip-synching to Pat Benatar and AC/DC songs while dancing provocatively. Once or twice, sure. Maybe kinda sexy even. But daily? See ya...

And then there was the young lady who boasted to have seen The Rocky Horror Picture Show 47 times (by the time she was 16). I get it. Iconic, fun, kitschy classic and I don't wish to denigrate the cultural phenomenon of it all and those who feel the need to dress up as characters and yell at the screen. Well, I sort of do. Hell, I've probably seen the film about a dozen times - but over the course of several decades as opposed to, say, that particular week. So I wanted to give her another chance, but the chain-smoking put it over the top. Okay, singing the entire soundtrack on the first date didn't help matters either. She was one and done.

And then there was the gal who told me her primary goal in life was to be a groupie for Kevin Cronin from REO Speedwagon. I didn't hear it from a friend who heard it from a friend who heard it from another she was out of her mind. She admitted this. Hot as can be, she was. Two dates and done she was too (despite the hotness factor).

I love a great band as much as the next guy, don't get me wrong. Well, actually maybe not. One gent from the past spent a summer sleeping on park benches in Europe while following Kiss around. Another fellow and otherwise good high school buddy relentlessly listened to Foreigner songs in my presence because he told me they "spoke to him" as he processed the pain of losing a girl he stewed about nonstop. Never mind the fact he had never met her or spoken to her. The songs still applied.

On the other hand, I couldn't bring myself to schedule a second outing with a head-scratcher of a woman who told me she wasn't into any music whatsoever. Is that even possible? The extremes are bad in either direction. Like the one who absolutely couldn't stand The Beatles. Or the jazz-hater. Any and all jazz was the bane of her existence. Even jazz that was not jazz.

I wonder about some of these folks and what they are doing decades later. Did they outgrow their former frenzies? I'm guessing that stalking what's left of REO as they headline middling county fair shows in Nebraska might no longer tickle the fancy of that now-50-something one-time mega-fan. But ya never know. And has the Virginia Slim-slamming sinephile just celebrated her 3,483rd view of Tim Curry forever in drag with mascara streaming down his face? Maybe. Time is warped, isn't it?