My iPod, a slick 60 gig red and black number, recently had its fifth birthday. I took the opportunity to brag to all of my friends about how long my iPod has lasted, and how it will never ever break.
Naturally, the God I don't believe in took this (and maybe the me not believing in him stuff) as a challenge, and sent a gust of angelic wind to rip "Broken Arrow" from my hands just as I was about to lock in Air's "Talky Walky," my favorite going downstairs music. Tragically, I was going downstairs at the time.
A series of heartbreaking sounds followed: First, the sounds of my little man bouncing blithely down each stone step of our apartment building and into the street. Seconds later, as I cradled his injured frame in my arms, came the horrific clicking sound of his hard drive’s death rattle, like a thousand hearts shattering in unison.
And finally, nothing but silence. A grim, dire silence couched in the whistle of a summer breeze blowing as if to remind me that there actually is a world outside my headphones. I’m telling you, it was terrible.
So I’ve been iPod-less for a few weeks now, and singing loudly wherever I go is starting to get tiresome, especially since I only know like half the words to most songs and just kind of improv. But the sad fact is, I can’t afford a new 60 gig. At least, not without cashing in some of my stocks, and I’m kind of waiting for my WaMu shares to rally a bit first.
In the meantime, I spend a lot of my day scrolling up and down Apple's website, debating with myself about whether to buy one of them