The more time I spend with CDs and records, the less desire I have to purchase them.

I heard the Pixies' Hey in a store on Sunday and, lo, it's still knocking around in my head this morning. At which point I consider two things:

Doolittle was released when I was in 8th grade, yet it was one of my favorite albums during my sophomore and junior years of college, on heavy, heavy rotation with Liz Phair and Stereolab.

When I first heard the Pixies, they sounded so dissonant, heavy, aggressive, so unlike anything I'd heard before. Now their melodies are earworms that lodge pleasantly in my head. And some store in Brooklyn plays songs with deliciously crude lyrics.

Yesterday, I listened to some Lou Donaldson recordings (reissued by Blue Note on CD), and they reminded me of one of the first dates I went on with my then-boyfriend (now-husband):

Lou Donaldson at the Village Vanguard.

Somehow, we were seated front and center, close enough to be spat upon by Lou, privy to Randy Johnston's excellent guitar playing faces. We drank whiskey and marveled at Dr. Lonnie Smith on Hammond B-3. At one point, Lou put down his saxophone and sang a funny song with lewd lyrics. It was a fine, fine date.

Is it any wonder I married the guy?

Last year for his birthday, I made a few phone calls and tracked down a beautiful original pressing of the 1957 Blue Note release Lou Takes Off.

Is it any wonder he married me?