2003-06-12 - 3:38 a.m.

I was in the Garment District a couple of weeks ago.

That's one good thing about having a girlfriend (and being me), is that you get to go to the Garment District. Going there alone (and being a dude) is like drinking alone in a bar. You don't look like you're there for any other reason than to be kinda creepy. And yes, I care what other people think--I'm not obsessed with it or anything. But if I care about something, then it's something I care about, so (since I'm a smart dude) I shouldn't be ashamed of it.

So anyway, I was in the Garment District and I was hunting and pecking through the CDs, and I loved the one that was playing. (It's always the one you can't buy, isn't it?) I bought a Hayden CD that day--a steal, and I felt lucky to find it. It's a really good CD.

But the chick didn't know who Hayden was. Which kinda softened my resolve. Which kinda made it easier to ask what band was responsible for the CD I had been enjoying whilst browsing.

Maybe I wouldn't have asked otherwise.

And she told me that it was the Magnetic Fields. And she told me a little about the album. This was two weeks ago, and it was a good introduction to the CD, which I have now, which is actually three CDs, which is irrelevant since they're all on my computer, and I'm listening to the effort right now.

I don't even remember what the girl looked like. I care about what other people think of me, even if it can't possibly matter, even if I really do know, in hindsight, that it's like giving directions--there's some I can't believe that this person doesn't know something so obvious to almost everyone else here going on, but more than that, there's helping, there's guiding, there's I hope you enjoy it when you get there, there's I'm glad I helped someone today, and there's I hope that someone can help me in that way if I need it someday. But I didn't feel stupid after I asked. I felt timely. I felt like I had just snuck by a dozing security guard. I remember being so excited when I left the Garment District, and I remember thinking I will have it.

And now I do. I asked this guy if he had it, even though I totally knew he would. I should have saved five seconds of both of our lives--I should have said bring me 69 Love Songs by the Magnetic Fields 'cause I know you have all three CDs. I will return these CDs tomorrow, but not the yellow stickie--please treat with better care than I have

I love 69 Love Songs. There's so much there, little to no filler, and why comment too much? I have 69 new songs to be surprised by for the first, or second, or third, and so on, time, to ogle, to yearn for when I'm away, to not appreciate when I'm home and preoccupied. That's what's great about it--like Racially Yours by the Frogs or Isolation Drills by GBV, or to a lesser extent We're Only in it for the Money by Frank Zappa, there's so much to digest, it's overwhelming. I've heard five songs so far, and I've been surprised by them all. I already trust this album. This could be a link for me--why I finally start liking X, or how I discover Y, or how I start to reevaluate my theory on why Z is a genius for which I am not yet ready.

I'm glad I have a girlfriend, so I could go to the Garment District, so I could hear the album for the first time. I'm glad the girl playing the CD didn't know who Hayden was, which leveled the playing field, so I could ask her what CD she was playing. I'm glad I have a Buddy I could ask, who owned the CDs. I'm glad I have a 'puter into which I could import said CDs, ethical questions notwithstanding. But most of all, I'm glad I exist, I'm glad that everyone else involved in me listening to this album this very second exists (or existed enough to get it to me), and I'm glad that there's a Garment District that I can visit with the Roommate.

Oh, and oxgen. I'm glad that there's oxygen. And gravity.