iLove my iPod

Today, as I was getting ready to head to class I couldn't find the headphones to my iPod. Naturally, I reacted as if the Angels had just lost the World Series or as if the Lakers had just gotten obliterated by the Boston Celtics.

I was devastated. It was like someone had ripped my heart out and hid it with the headphones that I did everything but put out a search warrant for.

Jump back to last summer.

I had the unfortunate privilege of buying two iPods for someone else. No, I didn't wrap them in snowman wrapping paper and give them away as a Christmas gifts - I had them stolen. Not just one iPod, mind you, two. One of them I didn't really care for, for my parents had just bought me a new, more celebrated one.

I always used my iPod for music while driving and this night was no different. Unfortunately for me, I not only had my primary iPod (Ben Frank, as I called it, for it's green hue) with me, I also had my other one (Pablo Picasso, as I called it, for it's blue color) stahsed in the center console. "I'll just take Pablo out when I get home," I thought. I deposited Ben in the center console with Picasso as I hopped out of the car. I walked out of my friend's house that night, I jumped in my car, overjoyed to be in my Ben's presence. I opened the center console, where I had left the apple green Nano and raspberry blue shuffle, and much to my chagrin Ben and Pablo had grown legs and abandoned me.

I cursed the person who broke into my car and stole my iPods that night. Much to my dismay, I reached for my emergency CD case, which was so conveniently left behind. As I wrapped my fingers around the leather trim of the black Bodyglove case, it felt as if I was reuniting with an old friend. You know, the friend you used to talk to, but all of a sudden stopped when you realized they were a dweeb and their social status was that of a Dungeons and Dragons enthusiast. The shared bitter feelings were made evident by the jammed zipper.

At that very moment I realized I had wistfully abandoned my CDs without providing an acceptable excuse.

As I slid in this mix I had made many years prior to the MP3 boom, (I think it had "All Star" by Smash Mouth and "Wild Wild West" by Will Smith and some other pre-pubescent songs on it), the first track started to skip. "This wouldn't be happening if I had my iPod," I said under my breath. Immediately the CD ejected.

Driving home that night I realized what an entity my iPod was to me. I had my whole musical encyclopedia in a machine the size of a Kit Kat bar. With every push of the 'next' button, a new song played, a new world unfolded. I was engulfed in the new technology of the 20th century, and how could I not be? Walking around with a CD player was so 90's.

Flash forward to a few months ago.

I decided that I wanted - more like needed - a new iPod. I was dying of iPodlessness. I was getting tired of burning new CDs every time a few new songs came out. Every week or so I would burn a new CD, 16 songs of pure genius production, then Lil Wayne would put out a new song and back to the iTunes burner I went, cursing the iPod thief.

Looking at iTunes everyday was like taking a Floyd Mayweather blow to the chest. Scrolling down my 'Music' playlist left me with fond memories of life with my iPod. Not seeing Ben attached to the F: drive was like watching season eight of That 70's Show. I had iTunes but no iPod. I had a cast but no Eric.

I was patrolling around my apartment, looking frantically for my Sony headphones, calling their name hoping they would pop out and say "Gotcha!" They never did.

I went to school that day iPodless. I boldly risked so much that day. What if someone had walked up to me asking to see my iPod - wanting to judge my coolness on my 'Top 25 Most Played'? I would be humiliated. The thought of not going to class that day crossed my mind. Am I overexaggerating? Maybe. However, my iPod offered my protection. With headphones in my ear, the weezy, fat, crusty dude who sits next to me in class wouldn't dare to interrupt my music. But, headphone-less, he'd feel free to conversate with me, letting me know what he had for lunch without ever mentioning it.

As I scanned the apartment one last time, I left my silver 80 GB Classic iPod on the kitchen table amidst unfinished homework and ketchup stained paper plates. I shed a tear as I closed the door. And as I rode away, I knew that my iPod was doing the same.