Learning the Language of Ipod

Post Valentine’s and I’m learning the language of my new Ipod. I’ve wanted an Ipod for thousands of years. Though H.o.p. has a broad musical vocabulary, there’s a major generation gap going on and I would prefer to not spend all my waking hours listening to “Carmina Burana” and “Ghost Riders in the Sky”. Thus, for the past I don’t know how many years I’ve gazed with longing on the Ipod.

Yesterday, Marty brought me an Ipod. The Apple store sent us an email confirmation so I realized, before being given the gift, he’d bought me something there. I didn’t open the email as I didn’t want to spoil the surprise, but I guessed it was likely an Ipod.

I’ve never used Itunes much and not owning an Ipod I had no idea of the importance of play lists. I plugged in the Ipod and it synced to my Itunes and lo and behold, what did it grab but hundreds of sound effects that I downloaded for H.o.p. several years ago, when he was thinking of using sound effects on his movies. He never did use them. And now here they all were on my Ipod.

So I read some of an online manual and discovered the importance of play lists and how to have my Ipod import only select play lists.

Thus far I have built two. “Baroque” and “Baroque 2”.

We’ve such a wealth of music that when I face our collection my mind goes blank on what to add next, though nearly every day for the past several years I’ve thought, “If I had an Ipod, that would be on it. And that and that.” The only thing that pops to mind for the “next” is Thelonious Monk. Last night and today, when I scan my brain for the next essential, “Thelonious Monk” is all that comes to mind.

Oh. And Ennio Morricone. Of course. Now that comes to mind

Maybe some Nino Rota?

Then my mind goes blank again.

Bob Dylan!

What else? I can’t think. The world is so big. I close my eyes and try try try to think what should be next. How small is my mind that I can only think of BAROQUE, Monk, Morricone, Rota and Dylan. There is so much more.

Then it occurs to me how do I load in the music and then dump it off my computer (can’t have it taking up all loads of memory) yet retain it on my Ipod the next time I sync up to my Itunes library? I’ve not gotten that far in the manual.

H.o.p. is very excited about the Ipod. It has a 1 and a 1/2 inch screen. He saw that one can download videos and it seems that to H.o.p. there could be nothing better than watching videos on a 1 and a 1/2 inch screen. I told him I didn’t think so.

H.o.p. was still very excited about the Ipod. He is of the confirmed belief that the Ipod is also going to be his, seeing as how my cell phone has turned out to be also his and increasingly whenever I want to find it I have to phone myself and find where he’s placed it on my desk, if not his.

Me vetoing the notion of the Ipod becoming a miniature DVD player for H.o.p., H.o.p. comes running over and drops on my desk the first two CDs he wants me to import into the Ipod, still convinced that mommy should do as she teaches and share.

They were Arvo Part’s “Misere” and Brian Eno’s “Ambient 4, On Land”.

A little later I was getting on him for the hundred thousandth time for never ever cleaning anything of his up and vainly trying to convince him of the utility of a hairbrush. His response? “But, mom, I can’t. I’m a born pig.” In other words, because his innate nature is to be a pig, I should just accept the fact already and get used to it.

This from the child who dumps “Misere” and “Ambient 4” on my desk, jumping excitedly up and down at the idea of these selections being always available for him to hear on the Ipod, barely able to contain his joy that he was born in the waning days of 1997 instead of the dark ages, like when mom was born. Somehow “Ambient 4” and “Misere” don’t correspond in my mind with born pigs.

It really was selfless of Marty to get my the Ipod as I know his worry is that I’ll pop in the earphones and never speak with him again.

Bob Mould’s “Hoover Dam”. Of Course. Maybe I’ll put that on next, even before the Thelonious Monk.

P.S. Happy Camper just ordered a multipurpose case with clip and armband so I can listen to Yoyo Ma when taking out the garbage. Standing before the trash can with Bach playing softly in your ears, the rats scampering away into the parking garage at your approach, will change your life. If you haven’t tried it, you ought to. It will be so much better live than in my imagination. Though it’s not bad in my imagination either. It’s actually pretty good in my imagination. Not actually doing it but imagining my taking out the garbage, Bach accompanying.

I’m going to be truly obnoxious. I sing Sammartini and Telemann and Forqueray all over the apartment with only my Ipod accompanying, silent to the ears of all others. “Can you hear me?” H.o.p. asks. Soon coming to a street corner next to you? You should hope not.