In younger and decidedly more financially flush days, I was the original early adopter of new technology.
I had my first bad internet date through Prodigy on a black screen with orange dot-matrix type. When I got my first satellite radio, neighbors were looking on the porch for the dish.
But the discussion about taking some time off from work to write came right around the dawn of the IPod.
It was natural my Mr.-28,000-CDs brother would have one and I didn't even flinch when we did the practical thing and surprised Jen with one a few Christmases back. College age daughters need IPods. Mother should be content to read about Podcasts (the equivalent of watching television on stone tablets).
In the last year, with most of my CDs packed away in Georgia, I developed a wicked case of IPod Envy. My nieces had them. My mother had one and every third person I saw on the street had the latest one.
When I started my new job in September there were so many around that I briefly hoped that IPods were standard issue office equipment.
It wasn't the case, but the person whose office and email I inherited got daily updates from the Apple about HER IPod. Pert, young, blond, brilliant and she had an IPod.
Like Ralphie's b-b gun, I could only imagine the attributes which would magically be assigned to me should I ever have the opportunity to join that very special club.
At Christmas this year, Charlie and I again made a pact to save money by not buying gifts for each other. What is Christmas except the opportunity to share in the joy of the new IPods of others?
We agreed that I would finally get my IPod if certain planets lined up within the next few months. I have frankly stopped believing in that kind of astrology, but last week the moon was in the seventh house and...
We went shopping last night. I knew the prices had no flexibility and it didn't matter where we got it, but I wanted to prolong the experience.
We went out again today. When the clerk unlocked the case with the sleek black box, my stomach lurched.
I walked away.
I made excuses.
I flat-out Monk-ed on the fact that the demo of the docking speakers wasn't working.
Be careful what you ask for...
This was a lot of money for a non-esential in the shadow of this last year.
There are so many other things we could get.
What if I'm picking the wrong model?
( and the unstated but pulse-pounding "Where are the knobs? What if I can't do it?")
Charlie talked me down as if I was on the brink of Niagara Falls. He threw me a lifeline by suggesting I call my brother and abdicate the decision to his larger experience (everyone in his family, including, I think, the Golden Retriever has had IPods for years.)
He gave me some practical pointers and I committed to the Black 30GB, my hand shook as I signed the receipt.
I did not open it when I got in the car. I needed to buy a case at the next store to protect it, but then wasn't sure what to do when we pulled in the parking lot.
Knowing me as he does, Charlie patiently debated the risk factor of the IPod being stolen from my zipped purse versus under the car seat in the locked car. He knew better than to raise the issue that in 46 years I had no problem with either location.
It didn't seem real.
When we stopped for lunch I subconsciously calculated how many of each menu item equalled one very small IPod -- 50 Brisket Platters!
When I finally opened the so-cool-with-Bono-on-the-outside packaging in the car on the way home, it glared at me with smooth black and chrome precision. I resealed the package and looked at the return policy on the receipt until I had it memorized.
The first thing I needed to do was spend most of the day clearing out the junk on my computer to make room for the music library. I had a stack of blank CDs standing by and was ready for serious cleaning.
But when I checked the disk space, I had plenty of room. It was time for fantasy and reality to meet.
I swallowed hard.
I made a pact with myself to pretend to listen to it regularly if I couldn't figure it out. I would have to remember to put it on the charger occasionally and nod my head to absent tunes. Four years of anticipation pretty much guarenteed disapointment.
I panicked at the realization of my inadequate USB 1.0, but the installation CD began to hum and walk me through the process.
The computer found some downloaded music for a friend's Divorce CD mix several years ago and instantly transferred it to the IPod. The screen told me it was ready.
Earbuds in place, I heard the first strains of "Respect." My finger accidentally glanced the mysterious circle and it got louder.
This was very good.
By the time I was subscribing to FREE podcasts and downloading a long-sought obscure album for $9.99, I had arrived in the Promised Land of the Not-Over-Hyped.
I'm surrounded by mountains of CD cases as I write this, slowly feeding each one into the new system.
I handle each with a certain wistful nostaglia.
They are so last century.



Copyright 2006 Judi Griggs