Monday, July 25, 2005

Hey Mr. FedEx Man

Thank the Lord I lived another year. Thank the Lord I made it through half a year without an iPod. Because salvation is on the way. My mother-- to celebrate the fact that she was very pregnant with me for a very long time and I was a very heavy baby (10lbs, 2oz at birth, bitches) and because I was so big she was cut open like a ripe watermelon to get the juicy, cool wonder of Amy out of her-- has bought me an iPod. 20GB of freedom from uncomfortable conversation on the T in the morning ("Sorry, crazy tourist! I can't hear you over the angry shouts and wails of Tori Amos!"), the freedom from bringing my CDs into work one at a time and ripping them into my work iTunes and thus listening to Boys for Pele ad nauseum, freedom from long train rides home listening to the hyperactive daycare group screaming two rows back. I am to be free once the device shows up and loads my mp3s onto it's glorious hard drive, displaying the song and artist info in color, and it even holds digital photos. I can show people all the pictures of the kids, me in various states of inebriation, and do slideshows. But, most importantly, the music won't stop.
If you need me, I'll be updating once every ten minutes to see if the tracking info has been updated. You'll also hear me screaming when I find out nobody's home to sign for the package, and I'll need to get to South Boston or something to pick it up. I will once again be the life of many parties ("wow, Tom Waits, Sir Mix-a-Lot, and Destiny's Child. This party rocks"). Good times.

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And in the new millennium, God made the iPod. And misanthropes were good.

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