I awoke yesterday morning, much like so many times before, with a strong inclination to hear a certain song. Perhaps it's just subconcious residue left over from my dreams, but i've always felt it's something stronger, a premonition. These songs usually have some relevance to their respective days. This time it was One More Time by Daft Punk. It's a kind of cheesy post-techno club hit, without much relevance to anything really (except: dancing, partying) and would feel out of place in my apartment on that particular day, my only plans being eating some yogurt and reading a Thomas Pynchon novel. ( The Crying of Lot 49.) But still I searched my apartment High and Low for a copy of this song anywhere, digital library and a stack of mixed cds notwithstanding. I gave up.
Tess, enigmatic, called me hoping I could give weight to one of her options for what she should do that evening. I suggested she go out, which she did. What this meant was any possibility that someone might call me up that evening wanting to hang out was exhausted. I proceeded to the coffee shop to finish my book. A word I couldn't remember haunting me like the song I couldn't listen to that morning.
I was distracted. Oedipa was peicing together the Trystero mystery before me, but I still couldn't keep my mind with her. Justin Timberlake overbearing though the near-empty cafe's speakers. I couldn't place that word! No thesaurus in sight, and unwilling to go back home for it, I was close to calling up T. or J. and asking if they could help me place it. It was a mathematical term, I knew that. I decided to keep reading. A page later, and there it was. That fucking ghost of a word was right there in the book: congruency. For some reason I immediately found this ironic not knowing exactly why, a firing of brain synapses later I realized why: Justin Timberlake had given way to Daft Punk's One More Time.