So I’m reading Stephanie Pearl-McPhee’s book At Knit’s End : Meditations for Women Who Knit Too Much and sharing various pithy observations with my husband, including the discussion of SABLEs, and he points out that he has a SABLE, too.
(Which means, should my yarn acquisitions reach that amount, he should totally understand.)
Let me say that my husband is a wonderful man, and I’m truly blessed that he puts up with all my foibles. He is intelligent, kind, and loving; thoughtful, generally uncomplaining about cleaning up the dog shit, and funny; active, extremely physically fit, inquisitive, etc, etc. He is a high school physics teacher with a masters in physics and education from UCLA.
His SABLE is metal.
Not gold, not silver, but metal as in music. As in stuff that rarely gets picked up for a major label. Death, black, gore, thrash, stoner; those are his primary subgenres. Metallica? don’t mention them. You’ll start a rant about how they sold out, that’s not really METAL, etc. And don’t even go to power or new metal. His preferences: Dimmu Borgir, Nile, Cannibal Corpse, Darkthrone, Kyuss….I can’t remember them all, those are just off the top of my head. He does reviews now for a webzine, so gets all sorts of stuff from new bands as well. He endlessly downloads (legally) albums from the artists’ homepages. He has so many CDs were he to attempt to actually listen to them all he wouldn’t have time in his life left to do. A SABLE! and yes, he continues to acquire MORE.
For those of you aghast at these revelations, know that he generally does not subject me to his music. And I have to admit that occasionally some of the bands are enjoyable. For example, a Finnish metal-polka band called Fintroll is actually good — sounds like Celtic but really really fast and hard with growly vocals. (Dave’s called it nursery music for baby Orcs.) Oh yeah — it’s of a genre called folk metal.