You gave me the best mixtape I have...

I spent the better part of tonight working on this:



Silly really, but doing stuff like this makes the long-distance thing easier.

Ditto making mix CDs. Since we've been together, he's made me about twelve mixes (eleven of which I got for Christmas and still haven't gotten all the way through) and I've made him thirteen.

I put a lot of effort into my mix CDs and fully adhere to Hornby's axiom:

To me, making a tape is like writing a letter — there's a lot of erasing and rethinking and starting again. A good compilation tape, like breaking up, is hard to do. You've got to kick off with a corker, to hold the attention (I started with "Got to Get You Off My Mind," but then realized that she might not get any further than track one, side one if I delivered what she wanted straightaway, so I buried it in the middle of side two), and then you've got to up it a notch, or cool it a notch, and you can't have white music and black music together, unless the white music sounds like black music, and you can't have two tracks by the same artist side by side, unless you've done the whole thing in pairs and...oh, there are loads of rules.

There's got to be balance, there's got to be some semblance of eclecticism (even if you're making a mix dedicated to a single artist, you can mix it up a little by including a couple of live tracks and some really tasty covers) and every good mix should inspire at least one, "Oh my God! I love this song!" moment -- either from a forgotten gem or from a breath of fresh air.

I'm really proud of the mix I'm working on right now. It's a Valentine's mix -- lots of honeyed acoustic guitars (Stevie Ray Vaughan, Jack Johnson), twinkle-toed pianos (Something Corporate, Butch Walker) and the requisite sonic surprises (Queen, Big Bad Voodoo Daddy).

One of my favorite quotes about writing comes from German novelist Thomas Mann. He said, "A writer is a person for whom writing is more difficult than it is for other people."

As a writer, I could pen a thousand pages, telling Dan how I feel. How he makes me feel. I could wrack my brain and come up with anapestic analogies and indelible imagery.

But you know what? None of it would ever sound as good or make as much sense as, "Wild horses couldn't drag me away."

Six little words would completely K.O. anything I could ever write.

And God, do I love that.

That's the beauty of the mixtape. Mixtapes, like love, make poets of us all.