Attack of the iPod People

Just in time for Christmas, the nation is in the throes of iPod mania. And what better way to say “I love you, Jesus” than giving the gift of Lil Kim or Alice Cooper on the go.

I was recently informed by my lovely sister that my two adorable nieces had very simple wishes for this holiday season. Little Sara wants an iDog, which is a plastic canine likeness that shakes his junk in the trunk when hooked through any MP3 player. Carter wants an iZ; a kind of musical plasticization of the Muppet Beeker mixed with a dash of Bozo the Clown. Of course, clown boy is also programmed to shake his thing to the digital delights of young, screaming 13 year old girls everywhere. Clearly, there is no better use of the great minds this world has to offer than to come up with such products.

All this made me realize that I may be the only person living in an urban setting under the age of 40 and over the poverty line who does not own an iPod or a reasonable facsimile thereof. In fact, based on my observations, there are many people under the poverty line who have chosen to purchase a portable digital audio player rather than buy food. It has become the number one “I’ve gotta have it” piece of technology for the American consumer ho’.

The target demographic for the iPod falls directly on my head, being an avid music fan and a one time musician who makes just enough money to afford life’s little luxuries. I should logically own an iPod, but I don’t. Sorry, Steve Jobs, but you’ll have to make do without me this holiday season, because I do not plan on purchasing one anytime soon.

There are several reasons for this, but none stronger than image. There is just something about the way the iPod people carry themselves that bothers me. They seem to exude this unspoken attitude of, “I compartmentalize my entire life, I’m self absorbed and there’s nothing wrong with that, and I’m approximately 24 percent cooler than you”.

You may own an iPod, and if you do, you probably love it, and are wondering what my problem is. After all, it’s nothing more than the logical progression of the walkman (with which, admittedly, I never had a hang-up), and it’s a convenient, unobtrusive and fancy way to listen to audio, and increasingly, watch video. It comes in many fabulous colors. But most of all, that maddening inconvenience of having countless, pirated CDs lying about is now a thing of the past. But for me, there’s something more here, besides the fact that I’m getting older and all these young whippersnappers with their fancy gadgets annoy the hell out of me.

About a week ago, I was sitting in the computer room of my friend’s apartment building doing some writing, when in she walked. By she, I mean Miss iPod extraordinaire herself – the physical embodiment of the typical user of said device, female version. She was clearly just on her way to workout, and entered the computer room, ostensibly, to check her emails really quick, or maybe to see if eBay had any knock-off purses that would look good with her new outfit. She glanced over at me, I returned her glance, and then she seemingly had a change of heart about sitting down in a chair, like most people do when using a computer. Instead, she moved the chair to one side, bent over and made a show of sticking her ass in the air. She wanted me to look, and I did. Nobody checks their emails like that. I wish they did.

Her outfit was skimp-o-rific; cute little Reeboks with ankle socks, tight (I mean very tight) pink shorts made of less fabric than my right sock, lots of midriff (is it still midriff if most of her ribs are visible?) and an even tighter aerobic half tank-top that made me wonder if her boobs hurt under all that pressure. This girl was dressed to Jazzercise!

It took me a moment, naturally, to notice the iPod.

But there it was, clipped to her side, wire dangling, with little plugs in her ears. Wait! Now I know why it took me a moment to notice it. It wasn’t because I was distracted by her doggie-style pose - the iPod matched her shorts. I didn’t know iPods came in pink — this was well before my knowledge of the iDog — but I sure do now, and I have since learned that you can get “really cool skins,” like one with Pontiac Firebird-esque flames, or zebra stripes, or a Union Jack. The possibilities are endless.

Of course, the iPod phenomenon is hardly the exclusive domain of the shallow workout girl who says "like," like every 4 words. These little miracles of digital distraction are everywhere.

You’ve got ex-druggie lawyers reliving their college years by listening to the Dead at Red Rocks in ’87 (“That show was so epic!" "Which one?" "All three!" "Uh, huh, yeah, I think I went to all of them, or at least I was in the parking lot.").

You’ve got high school seniors who wouldn’t be caught dead without their iPod on display, or wearing anything from Wal-Mart (Target’s okay, I guess) who have, like, this totally HUGE crush on John Mayer.

You’ve got your IT quasi-geeks that are experts in JavaScript protocol and fun shoes, cranking Metallica and Ja Rule back-to-back (“I don’t listen to just one kind of music, I like all music – I’m really diverse that way”).

You’ve got spinsters in training, listening to Danielle Steele on audio (“Her married lover was an architect who commuted between London, New York and Hong Kong. She hated herself for loving man who would never leave his wife. But when he took hold of her and thrust his masculinity inside her, as the long, black pleats of her skirt flapped open and her hair swept from side to side, she was in heaven and could not resist”).

But my favorite iPodder of all time is "Greg," featured in last month’s issue of playlist magazine (playlist is spelled in all lowercase, because they folks who publish it are really in tune with today’s cyber-savvy consumer). At age 26, Greg has found work as a – get this – Sexuality Instructor (no, I am not making that up) and he is currently listening to “Converting Vegetarians” by Infected Mushroom on his iPod mini. His favorite artist? Parasense.

Wow, could Greg get any more hip than he is at this very moment? I doubt it. He might as well just hang it up now because he’s reached zenith of his existence, except he still has so much to teach people. Listening to obscure music on your iPod, by itself, automatically launches one directly into hipster orbit. But what about that job!?! Greg and his coitus-edifying ilk are likely the only people in America who enjoy going on interviews. When I was about 13, I bought a T-shirt at some tourist trap in Ocean City which read “Sex Instructor – First Lesson Free.” The chicks really dug that T, let me tell you, but never in my wildest dreams did I think that it was a job one could actually get.

What the hell am I doing?!? I could be teaching hot, young women the proper way to engage in intercourse and make money doing it, but no. My ego dictates that I have to have a job with a title I’m not embarrassed to say at cocktail parties. I wonder what his days at the office are like, and what he listens to on his iPod during “instruction” sessions – maybe "I Wanna Sex You Up" by Color Me Badd? No – as it turns out, that’s Greg’s cheesiest song confession. Huh? Funny, I thought that would have been one of his favorites. Shows you what I know.

C’est magnifique, Greg! Le joie de vivre!

In the end, it’s the fact that this little device has become a status symbol of sorts that gives me mild bouts of nausea every time I see one. And see them a-plenty, I do.

One would think that while riding the Subway to and from work, people would make at least a cursory attempt to conceal a $300+ device which could be easily pilfered. When was the last time you saw someone holding a fistful of dollars on the bus? Yet that’s essentially what the iPod people are doing. They want you to see how incredibly awesome their little sliver of audio joy is, which, in turn, makes them incredibly awesome too. Even though it would just be easier to put the thing in their pocket, they hold it out in front of their bosom like a crucifix. Despite recent news reports that iPod theft is becoming rampant in cities such as New York, Boston, Washington, DC and San Francisco, people can’t resist the temptation of displaying their toy in hopes that you will either be seriously impressed or incredibly jealous. Regrettably, it shouldn’t be too long before someone is killed for their little box, ala Air Jordans.

It reminds me of the days when cell phones were first becoming mainstream. Folks would go well out their way to make a big show of that fact they had a cell by having such important conversations like “Dude, I’m calling you from the street!” or “What do you want to do tonight” at three times the normal decibel level as the average conversation. But since everyone and their mother have cell phones now, a new technological device had to replace it as the official symbol of having a life.

So thank you, Jesus, and happy birthday. For a present, I got you a 20 gig, already loaded with “All I Want for Christmas Is You” by Mariah Carey. Hope you like it.

Evan Redmon is an assistant editor for a scientific journal. He has lived in Washington, DC for most of his life, with seven years of college down the drain in Madison, WI and four and a half years of doing nothing in particular in Boulder, CO. He has visited 39 of the 50 states in the Union (excluding Alaska and Hawaii) and can be reached at evanredmon@yahoo.com.