‘You’re gorgeous, but sometimes you’re a bit creepy’
No, I’m not talking about anyone in particular. Im talking about something.
More specifically, my iPod.
I bought it about a week ago, and a few days ago, while still enveloped in the euphoria of finally owning a piece of expensive hardware I have lusted after for months, I decided to run a little test. I took the little devil to work (which has become one of the biggest consumers of "pod time" during my day), slapped on the tiny headphones and left them on for the whole work shift, at a very low volume, so that I could hear everything around me and could avoid putting my life at risk in case there’s some catastrophe and I’m the only one left ticking away at the keyboard in my cubicle when everyone had evacuated. I also set the thing on random play.
Well, I don’t know if it’s just me being a paranoid little fucktard, but it seems that for every different thing I did throughout the day the little bugger had the appropriate song for it. It started my day with some pump-me-up trashy rawk shit. A little of Velvet Revolver, followed by Disturbed, The Darkness, and a little bit of Avril (If you could call that rock, anyway). Groovy.
As soon as I sit down to work, suddenly I get a barrage of easy listening shit. Where’d all the uppity songs go?! Suddenly I’m bombarded by Delerium, Kelly Clarkson, Björk, Balligomingo, Sarah McLachlahëimenmõrgengûgenshmidt (whatever the fuck her last name is) and the mope festival goes on and on for a couple of hours. Right before lunch time I’m about to fall asleep, and then Boom! here comes the upbeat electronic dance shit outta nowhere! Suddenly my head’s all full of 2 Unlimited, DJ Encore, Darude, hell, even AQUA (liek, teh horror!!). I turned it off to give it a break while I ate, and when I came back to my beloved instrument of ostracism, it still was bent on giving me a healthy dose of electronica, sprinkled with some hip hop to please the inner ghetto bitch. It went on until it was time to leave.
On the way home, it started sputtering some soft-core pussy rock, you know, something bouncy yet not too loud or boisterous to distress my already overworked brain. You know the kind, that Sixpence None The Richer-y, Michelle Branch-y, Roxette-y stuff. Ahhh, now I just need some chamomille tea and– Wha… what the hell? Hey Mama by the Black Eyed Peas? shit! Oh well. I proceed to shake my ass accordingly in the sanctity of my car while people stared blankly. I also confirmed that all those silhouetted people dancing like fucking idiots in the iPod commercials are not a trendy advertising gimmick, you actually DO shimmy along with the songs that damn thing pushes into your head. And the worst thing is, you actually don’t give a fuck.
As soon as I get home and the millisecond I step inside my house, that tiny white devil in my pocket starts playing The One-Winged Angel, or, as we game geeks know it, Sephiroth’s Song, from the final battle of Final Fantasy VII. It is a very creepy symphonic masterpiece that sounds like a cross between Carmina Burana and those horrible violin shrieks heard in the murder scene of the horror classic, Psycho. An awesome song, but a rather disturbing choice of soundtrack for when I enter my house and see my mom standing in the kitchen, holding a butcher’s knife, while the violins go "eek! eek! eek! eek! eek!" inside my head. *Brrrrrrr*
Anyway that’s when I put the damn thing aside. Taking the headphones off after having them on all day made my ears feel butt-naked. And my head felt kinda… Empty. And boring. I hope these things don’t create a dependency on music-philes, because I just quit smoking. Developing another vice would suck enormous sour frog ass.
Oh well. as long as MP3 player’s don’t cause cancer, fuck everyone else. Let the music play.
