Wednesday, March 02, 2005
I missed my opportunity to see Jurassic Park 2: The Lost World in the cinema: sold out the first day, by the time I could have bought a ticket I couldn’t care less about going.
Once I wanted an iPod. I fancied myself as living in a world of music. Every hour was an hour I could be listening to a new album, weighing it against what else I’d heard, widening my knowledge of music. Absurdly, I thought that this actually meant something. That it would somehow make me a more interesting, better person. There was a compulsion there, a need to catch up with those who had a broader taste than my own - and pull away from those who did not. Somehow, knowing Nick Drake and Can album tracks (compared to their popular singles) would confer status upon me. It was how I ranked myself against others.
I would always have my walkman with me (later it was replaced with a Minidisc player); it would soundtrack my life on trips to the shops or work. The iPod seemed like the logical, and wonderful, next step. I could have a free choice without filling my pockets with tapes! Everything I owned, from (legitimate classical choice) to the (slightly obscure ‘60s pop group), (underground ‘70s black musician) to (jazz soloist), would accompany me, snug in my pocket. But whilst I was working out how I was going to afford it, my enthusiasm faded. Trouble was I didn’t actually want it at all, I thought that someone like me should want it. I had convinced myself that this new technology was desirable, that it would improve my existence, but the relentless cacophony of city life had made me crave silence. There was so much noise already; I didn’t want to introduce a competing bellow.
I now value my commute as time to read and think in. I’m not claiming any superiority here, just that it works for me. I don’t need the option of hearing Since You’ve Been Gone whenever I want to, and I never thought I’d write *that*.
There’s a slightly po-faced article by Andrew Sullivan here, arguing that iPods are separating us from each other. I wouldn’t know about that, but it’s quite interesting and reminded me of my own non-story.
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Once I wanted an iPod. I fancied myself as living in a world of music. Every hour was an hour I could be listening to a new album, weighing it against what else I’d heard, widening my knowledge of music. Absurdly, I thought that this actually meant something. That it would somehow make me a more interesting, better person. There was a compulsion there, a need to catch up with those who had a broader taste than my own - and pull away from those who did not. Somehow, knowing Nick Drake and Can album tracks (compared to their popular singles) would confer status upon me. It was how I ranked myself against others.
I would always have my walkman with me (later it was replaced with a Minidisc player); it would soundtrack my life on trips to the shops or work. The iPod seemed like the logical, and wonderful, next step. I could have a free choice without filling my pockets with tapes! Everything I owned, from (legitimate classical choice) to the (slightly obscure ‘60s pop group), (underground ‘70s black musician) to (jazz soloist), would accompany me, snug in my pocket. But whilst I was working out how I was going to afford it, my enthusiasm faded. Trouble was I didn’t actually want it at all, I thought that someone like me should want it. I had convinced myself that this new technology was desirable, that it would improve my existence, but the relentless cacophony of city life had made me crave silence. There was so much noise already; I didn’t want to introduce a competing bellow.
I now value my commute as time to read and think in. I’m not claiming any superiority here, just that it works for me. I don’t need the option of hearing Since You’ve Been Gone whenever I want to, and I never thought I’d write *that*.
There’s a slightly po-faced article by Andrew Sullivan here, arguing that iPods are separating us from each other. I wouldn’t know about that, but it’s quite interesting and reminded me of my own non-story.
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