If you think you’ve been hearing full-quality audio from your portable CD player…I have some bad news for you.

Collecting cassettes is like adopting a bunch of tiny plastic pets that constantly remind you how old you’re getting, yet somehow make you feel impossibly cool—like a time-traveling DJ who refuses to update their Spotify. There’s the thrill of rewinding with a pencil (the original fidget spinner), the satisfying clunk when one slots into your Walkman like a key to a nostalgia portal, and the mysterious joy of finding that one mixtape labeled “Road Trip ’94” that turns out to be three Enya songs and your cousin whispering into the mic. It’s impractical, it’s fragile, it hisses at you—but hey, so do most of our best relationships.

It all started innocently enough — just trying to find a Discman to play that one scratched-up mix CD from high school labeled “Ultimate Feels Vol. 2.” But one late-night eBay scroll turned into a rabbit hole of vintage Sony Discman models, anti-skip bragging rights, and forums full of middle-aged warriors debating whether the ESP Max on a 2001 Panasonic was better than the Mega Bass on a ’98 Aiwa. Suddenly, I wasn’t just reliving my youth — I was negotiating shipping rates with a guy in Slovakia for a translucent blue Sanyo with “futuristic” top-loading action. My family hasn’t made eye contact with me since the “Unboxing of the JVC XL-PG5,” which I filmed in full 4K and narrated like it was a nature documentary.

Now I judge people not by their music taste, but by whether they know that a lid-lock mechanism was the true sign of luxury in 2003. My bookshelf used to hold novels and framed photos — now it’s a shrine to circular plastic marvels that came with belt clips nobody used and headphone jacks engineered to break under a stiff breeze. I listen to CDs like it’s a sacred ritual, holding the player level with two hands like a pizza so the laser doesn’t skip during Track 4 (bonus acoustic version). Sure, Spotify’s easier, but where’s the thrill in that? If your music doesn’t come with the constant threat of sudden silence and AA battery bankruptcy, are you even really listening?

Sharon Osbourne is what happens when you mix rock ‘n’ roll chaos with British wit and a handbag that might double as a weapon. As the wife and manager of Ozzy Osbourne, she’s spent decades juggling business deals, reality TV, and the occasional need to remind her husband where he left his sunglasses (probably on his head). But don’t let the posh accent fool you—Sharon is a force of nature, capable of tearing down industry titans, launching biting one-liners sharper than a guitar riff, and still finding time to lavish attention on her beloved dogs.

Whether she’s throwing ham at a neighbor she despises (yes, that happened), calling out nonsense on live TV, or effortlessly roasting anyone who dares cross her, Sharon operates with the energy of a rock concert in human form. She’s been a reality TV icon, a no-nonsense judge on talent shows, and the mastermind behind much of Ozzy’s enduring success—all while maintaining a level of sass that could power the entire city of London. Love her or fear her, one thing’s for sure: Sharon Osbourne is never, ever boring.