In the basement at 316 E. College Ave., there's one of the most important places in my college career. A place that served not just as an adjunct to my education, but an education in itself.

The window showcases a Ryan Adams poster, a picture of him with a gag in his mouth that advertises his last album, Rock N Roll. Other fliers of musicians I adore always line the walls, currently, there's an Arcade Fire poster -- whose album, Funeral, just came out this September. (Hint: if you don't have the Arcade Fire yet, do yourself a favor, and mosey on down to City Lights and buy it already).

The only visible sign on College Avenue that City Lights is a record store comes through in a fresh poster board proclaiming the new releases of that week.

Walk down the steps and behind the desk sits either Greg or Tyler. I never really talk to either of them on a regular basis, only when I walk in to purchase a CD. But, there's a bond that exists for anyone who goes into City Lights on any semi-regular basis.

We can all argue about which band is better or best, but we all agree that we need something that does not come from meaningless downloads, Penn State's Napster or regurgitated pop culture. It's like a drug -- rock 'n' roll. But it's not just any rock 'n' roll. It's the kind that means something by ascertaining toward art.

If you need me to explain, you probably don't get it and never will.

When you wake up in the morning you need music. It makes you subsist. It keeps you moving.

If you didn't have music ... but you don't even want to think that thought.

It's that painful.

A song never leaves your head all day. You write academic papers blasting rock 'n' roll. You say the word Roustabout!, and you know what it means.

Whenever you see a guitar your fingers get an itchy feeling and you have to play, oh my God, you have to play.

You've stayed up until midnight to purchase a CD, which you already had in mp3 format on your computer.

You drive the whole way to Philadelphia, Pittsburgh, New York or New Jersey ... just to see that band you've been dying to see, while you have projects that need to be completed and a job that beckons you.

Some people like music, and claim they cannot live without it, while others give up their lives and time and money to it. There's a difference.

For that second ... during the guitar solo ... the build-up ... the chorus of "Gold Soundz" ... the instantaneous skip between beats that makes the song ... everything in your world comes together, like watching the bag with Ricky in American Beauty. A chance happening in sound, instrumentation and well, everything is beautiful.

I've spent money on CDs and concert tickets that I should have used for thousands of other things -- rent ... food ... alcohol ... E.L. Fudge cookies.

Like most audiophiles, my favorite memories from Penn State involve anything and everything from seeing live music in this town. Most people would underestimate our little villa. You know, it's all frat parties, Nelly songs and big name Bryce Jordan Center shows. I mean, I guess, if you want it to be that, it is.

But lurking underneath all that ... rock 'n' roll lives. Not just any rock 'n' roll. A vibrant scene that, when I leave this town, I'm going to miss dearly.

If you remember Jeff Tweedy's face-melting solo from "At Least That's What You Said," when Wilco played on the HUB lawn, you are half-way there. I remember standing five feet away from who I consider one of the greatest poets living-- Tweedy -- and telling him he was a God. He looked rather frightened, but pleased when my friend and I sang along to every lyric from all of the songs we knew.

I could have died that night from happiness ... not everyone can have his or her favorite band play on the HUB lawn. For that, I feel unbearably lucky.

There was a woman from L.A. at the show, who had been following Wilco all over on its Yankee Hotel Foxtrot tour. She would definitely understand this sentiment.

Plus she liked Bright Eyes.

If you remember Broken Social Scene being able to fit onto the stage at The Crowbar, you have a similar level of dedication. If you saw the Broken Social Scene side project Apostle of Hustle, it's most likely I'm on a first-name basis with you or someone you know.

If you packed into the Darkhorse Tavern to catch a glimpse of Yo La Tengo -- you definitely understand.

And if you haven't seen local rockers The Bullet Parade or Dawn Kinnard yet, you know, you really should. Thanks to all those people who work hard to make the local music scene something -- those people know who they are. Just remember, while not all in this town even appreciates, cares or knows, the people out there who identify with any of it make State College's rock 'n' roll matter that much more.

Something I've learned in college is that everything is relative to everything else -- academia, music, art, writing, culture, politics.

If you sit back and look how everything in the socialized world came out of human interaction, you realize that all art is beautiful ... any attempt at expression is beautiful.

That's why I am an English and journalism major, and why I have an unmentionable number of CDs and books that I purchased in this town, I'm fascinated by how people document the human experience. I'm a voyeur. I soak it all in.

Someday, I'll write it all back down in an incomprehensible mess (like this piece of writing) that nobody can understand except those who care -- or me. And just like my college career, I wouldn't have it any other way.