Pssssst! Hey, record shopper. Yeah, you over there, wading through the rows and rows of Beatles releases — please help me! I'm the cassette single (a format heretofore referred to as the "cassingle") for Danzig's "Mother," a big hit in 1993. I've been at CD Reunion probably since then, and now I'm sitting in this cardboard box with a bunch of Cure and Mariah Carey cassingles, generally feeling a little claustrophobic and moody. Lo, that I might have been a CD or vinyl release, like most others in the store, for perhaps then I might actually have a chance of being bought. I mean, my metal and punk brothers in arms, those lucky bastards, get an entire section to themselves. The KSHE classic-rock soldiers, racks upon racks. Even the massive amounts of CD singles — even the Madonna and Pet Shop Boys pop fluff — get to stretch their legs with the big boys. I only take comfort (and it's cold comfort, mind you) in the fact that the boxes and boxes of '80s, '90s and '00s nearly forgotten gems dwarf my meager existence. And even they — the promos, the never-weres, the should-have-beens — dominate the store's landscape, enticing treasure hunters with hints and whispers of excellent music at dirt-cheap prices. O unmerciful gods, why must I be made of magnetic tape? Why?