The shame.
Everyone in New York has an iPod, and if they don’t, they don’t need one because they are treated to everyone else’s music all the time. You see, the subway is a noisy place. So to avoid listening to the noise, or to our own thoughts, we crank the volume wheel all the way to the right, to drown out that terrible grinding sound when the train brakes in a station, or to avoid making eye contact with another panhandler.
The result of all of this noise cancellation is that everyone’s music is leaking through their ear buds out into the common air. On days when I don’t have my iPod, I am ready to strangle everyone around me. Because I don’t particularly want to hear Czechoslovakian rap music over The Black Eyed Peas over Celine Dion. It’s not a good mash-up.
Nobody has to hear my iPod music. I play it at a moderate volume, not only to be considerate but also because I suffer from acute iPod shame disorder. I don’t want other people to hear what I’m listening to, just like I don’t want them peeking at my screen when it lights up as a search for a new song.
I have a lot of crappy music.
But then, you already knew that. I post it all shamelessly here every night. But you’re my friends, kind of. And if you judge me, it’s anonymously, behind your computer screen. Not face-to-face as you stand next to me for thirty minutes.
You understand that I’m not just listening to music, I’m engaging in Time Travel. When Paul Simon’s “Father and Daughter” plays I’m remembering when I KNEW that my sister was going to give birth to a girl, because the song came on at a bar right as my sister called me. When I hear Jagged Edge’s “Let’s get married” I remember laughing hysterically to Gene’s politically incorrect adapted lyrics. When I hear “Toxic” I’m at a dance party in college. And when I hear “I was born to make you happy” I am driving to the mall with Cara Shannon and Erin Mulcahy, huge cups of Diet Coke in hand. See? Each choice is totally defendable. Except for George Michael’s “Father Figure.” That I cannot defend. But I can love it.
The only feeling I can compare this iPod insecurity to is being in church as a child and being certain that God was reading my thoughts, the thoughts of all parishioners, as if they were dialogue bubbles in a Family Circus cartoon. Church was also, I might add, when I thought my worst thoughts. The one that sticks out was when I was wondering what Satan did while all the Catholics were at Mass, and if his life was any fun. I then tried to cover up that thought ubble with one that said, I LOVE GOD SO MUCH! I LOVE YOU GOD!!! MASS IS GREAT!!!!
It wasn’t so much that I actually wanted to party with Satan, it’s just that mass was head-bashingly boring half the time. All the time.
Anyway, if there is any moral to this story it is that God can read your thoughts, but he doesn’t care about your iPod. But everyone else on the R train? They want you to turn down the f*cking volume when you’re listening to Arabic pop music.
I just wish that the iPod could keep you from smelling other people on the subway.
When I got on the bus Sunday, the bus driver wouldn't leave until somebody turned down their music. I couldn't even hear it, but the bus driver could, apparently. He also said that he wouldn't tolerate "that Nextel direct stuff."
Nora,
God just told me that if you MUST have George Michael on your iPod, he would really prefer "Faith" to "Father Figure."
I also made another iPod realization. OK - there was really a two-fold realization.
Part 1: The iPod determines my walk. I watched my shadow walking the other day and noticed that I shook my butt too much. For this, I blamed (thanked!) the Latin music on my iPod. Then some chill Damian Rice song came on and I got a very slow, gliding, depressing walk. Then "It's Raining Men" made me smile widely at every man that enjoyed my previous Latin butt shaking.
Part 2: The iPod Shuffle feature is to portable music listening as call waiting was to the phone conversations. I find that my songs have to compete for one another. Sure, Donna Summer sounds fun - but lets see what's next? Elliot Smith? Oh yes, lets be depressed. Well, lets see what the shuffle has next, ooh - Monster Ballads - Whitesnake! Hurray. Until I get annoyed - and then it's skip.
Anyway - so there you have it. The ipod. All powerful. Changes your walk and gives you more options than you ever wanted.
A-D-D GENERATION UNITE!
I'm sorry I didn't comment on the volume. I like it loud. On mine, that is. So I don't have to hear the man on the subway say "My wife died last week. So sad. I have to feed my children all by myself. And what that means to all you ladies out there is that I'm single!"
And that was yesterday's comment. Today, a (homeless?) man on the street asked me to marry him. "Marry me," he said "I won't make your life miserable."