grobanite

If you knew me during the college years you're probably aware that I spent a large a portion of my 20th and 21st years thinking about this man.

Yep. (In hindsight I realize that any portion of time spent thinking about a celebrity who's path will never cross your own is too large a portion.) Along with my dear friend and partner in obsession, I traveled 3 and a half hours by bus to see him sing in Montreal. And I vividly remember wandering the beautiful city dreaming about what we'd say were we to randomly run into Josh buying a croissant in a little bakery, or strolling the streets documenting his travels. I remember the certainty that comes with consuming, girlish crushes that Josh would recognize in me a kindred spirit and appreciator of his music. And we, like he, were American. That would surely have made all the difference. (The following summer I traveled 3.5 hours again to see him perform in Dallas. That time he would have appreciated that I, like he, was a non-Texan.)

Five years later I have missed out on Josh's last few (two?) albums. Somewhere along the way my interest in classical pop fell off. I discovered Indie Rock and never looked back.
But I feel it is important to document the fact that I may be regressing. I have discovered @joshgroban on twitter. His tweets are inane and funny. Self-depricating. Sometimes they are politically and socially pertinent. He's 28 now, instead of 23, so he's really the pefect age for me. And, most importantly, these days he looks more like this!

Flannel. Glasses. Scruff. Appropriately-sized hypoallergenic dog on a leash.
Josh, I can honestly say I no longer have any interest in your music, but I think we should move into a charming little place in Fort Greene, buy some Dirty Projectors for our vinyl collection and join a co-op. Mkay?