The plot sounded cute: a guy sells and gives away his old vinyl, and then decides he wants to get these records back. Not just the music, but the actual, individual albums that he specifically owned. He would hunt for the actual albums in record stores and conventions, looking for the Bon Jovi album that had a high school girlfriend’s phone number written, in pen, across the back. Or his beloved Replacements album with the half-missing sticker on the cover, etc. It’s a true story, and it sounded like a fun adventure. Unfortunately, very little of the book is about the hunt. Most of the book consists of the uninteresting ramblings of a guy who, I thought, fit the profile of the kind of guys I hung out with and could therefore relate to, in high school and college. Sadly, this guy is just not very interesting. I didn’t care about the bands he obsessed over, and his hipster sense of irony wore pretty thin. I didn’t want to hear about his past girlfriends. His life was boring, and putting up with 90% tedious stories for 10% marginally interesting record hunting wasn’t worth it. The entire book is one long desperate attempt to recapture his youth through these records, and he really belabors the point. I get it. Enough already.