Me And My iPod

This past month I have been restoring my energy and strength after the inevitable byproduct of age, neglect and stupidity thrust itself on me.

No more workouts at the gym (at least for 2 months); no more bopping around as though I was still 15 and hearing Elvis for the first time. What I can do, am supposed to do, is ease my mind and body. As much as I possibly can.

So, in heat and in rain, and at peculiar hours, over many days, I have been walking around, increasing the distances, loving what I see, enjoying the people and the streets. Needing no further reminder of the frailty of life, the fragility of time, I also began making plans for some long-distance travel, to see loved family and friends. By bus, by train, by plane whenever possible I am going as soon as I can.

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Anyone who knows me, even slightly, also knows that music is a very important part of my life. My tastes are, and have always been, wide-ranging, and highly eclectic.

I can tell you the name of my favorite Benny Goodman or my favorite opera, the date that Earth Angel was released, the latest from Richard Thompson (mostly thanks to my brother), or the most pleasurable Fats Waller or Fats Domino or Lucinda Williams. There is joy in very early Frank Sinatra and Tommy Dorsey. And I even know the best yodeler or slack guitarist. I am clear about where I was when I first heard Little Richard and Chuck Berry and Muddy Waters or Glenn Gould and Segovia.

When I came here a few years ago into a small condo in the Back Bay of Boston I sadly had to give away hundreds of CDs and sold (for almost no money) an equal number of vinyl 33s I had been promising myself I’d listen to again for years without ever doing it. Over those years I moved from 78s to albums to CDs and from a suitcase-like Admiral, to components, to iTunes and tiny digital speakers. Now, even my remaining CDs (still plenty) mostly are untouched in favor of the music stored on my computer.

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So long trips and long walks. A lovely way to restore body and soul.

The only thing missing has been, what is for me, the best antidote of all: my music.

But it’s not missing anymore. Now I take my music with me. I have purchased an Apple iPod Shuffle. It is a refurbished model, which seems only perfect because, now, so am I.

I am one of them. I have become one of those people you see everywhere, overly long white wires drooping from my ears to below my waist, attached to a tiny (very tiny) white plastic thingy that somehow (oh, the magic!) has hundreds of songs inside. All ready, at the touch of a button to play themselves for me no matter where I am going. I am somewhere, on the street, on the bus, on the train, on the plane--- and I am going. Sometimes I even wear a baseball cap in a desperate attempt to blend in. Dumb. Doesn't work.

But I don’t care that people roll their eyes (though some smile indulgently) when they see me coming, slightly slower now, the oldest kid on the block with an iPod. I am the white haired dude amidst all the youngsters.

Come on, look for me. I am getting better, all plugged in and forgetting from time-to-time that no one else can hear what I am hearing, and (god forgive me) often singing impossibly off-key versions of Don’t Fence Me In or Splish Splash, or Desolation Row or Going To Jackson.

Come on. Listen to the music. Ain’t it great to be alive.