How do you mend a broken iPod?

A few days ago, I was singing along to Cheryl Lynn's "Got to be Real" on my iPod while dancing and washing some dishes, when a disturbing thought (more disturbing than the image you have in your head of me doing all this) hit me:

What if all of this is just...temporary?

And by "all of this" I was not talking about the world, steady food and water supplies, nuclear war stability, or Tom and Katy's marriage. No, it was none of that.

I was talking about the completely one-with-myself feeling I get from listening to my iPod. I mean, there, in my kitchen, sponge in hand, dish in the other, microphone in the other, "To be real, It's got to be reeeeaaaaallllll!!!" escaping my lips, I could not have been more at peace with the world.

Well it seems I spoke too soon, because later that day, as I walked down Commonwealth Avenue, my iPod flew out of my sweatshirt pocket, onto the sidewalk, and finally began the journey to leave the physical world behind, and to meet his maker: Steve Jobs.

As I attempted to turn it back on to resuscitate it, I was brought to my knees to see the following image on the screen:






























I think there's a lot that can be said about my generation's reliance on technology for bits of happiness, and how we look to immaterial objects like iPods to fill something within us that we think is missing. Or how we use them to fill a void that's been there since childhood, or how they keep a constant soundtrack going on in our heads, which speaks to our subconscious fears of silence and things like that. I, however, am not going to speak to these theories, since I don't believe a WORD of them.

I proceeded to cry for about 19 hours, over the happiness I will no longer be able to feel, ever. And I started to feel like a piece of me was missing, some kind of void, maybe from childhood. And then the silence kicked in. OH GOD! The deafening silence! It's terrifying.

My iPod was truly a world traveler. Together, we traveled across Ireland, the UK, Spain and France, all around the United States, and countless treks between Boston and New York. Of course, how could I forget these fond memories as well:

Mt. Rushmore,















The Leaning Tower of Pisa,




















The Great Pyramids,














and the Lion King.












I brought my iPod to the Apple store to see if there was anything they could do for me, and was told that the internal bleeding was so bad from the impact of hitting the cement head-on, they were shocked it was giving any response at all. Its pulse so weak, its breath so faint, its warranty long expired, it was time to pull the plug.

All I could think about was how lucky I was that this didn't happen a week earlier. Or else I would have had to travel to and from the West Coast with nothing more than a BOOK! What did people do on planes before these things?? And in June, when Beth and I go Israel, what if it broke right before then? I wouldn't know what to do with myself for that long. I might actually have to be aware of my surroundings for once. Devil be thy name!

While I wait for my replacement-best-friend to arrive in the mail, I have been shamefully hauling around my roommate's old discman. When I carry this around, I feel like I'm being punished by god for unintentionally judging people who use outdated things. You know, like big Nokia cell phones, and film cameras, or huge belt buckles. What goes around comes around, I guess.

There's a lesson for you, kids. Never judge someone for using old technology. Or else you'll find yourself listening to cassette tapes while you wait for your one-hour disposable photos to be done at Wal-Mart.


We had a good run, iPod. RIP.


-ev