Army of Fun

 

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Tuesday, April 29, 2003

 
For the last couple of months or so I've noticed a bit of a extra lift in my step, an easing of the saturnine grip on my withered, pharoah-hard heart. Maybe, I thought, it was the pleasant California winter the best I'd ever experienced and so much nicer than the winters I'd spent over the last few years in overcast, dank, though oh so atmospheric Seattle or the bitterness, both emotional and weathr-wise, of Chicago which we shall never speak of again. And then, maybe, it wa the growing length of the day. The invigorating sun splashing down on my shoulders from early morning to well into what only a short while ago was the pit of night. Or, even, dare I hope a fundamental shift in my psyche toward a more positive mental attitude.

Well, today I discovered that it was none of these things. Today I discovered that it was not the lightness of the sky nor a intrinsic lightness of my heart. Today I discovered that such foolish hopes are better left to protein deprived cultist or the gullible consumers of Successories if indeed there is a difference between the two. Today I discovered that I owed my sense of well-being to nothing more than advances in consumer technology, for today I left my iPod at home.

I didn't intend to do it. It was a simple oversight. I was distracted after reading something very funny and entertaining, and left my house with out it, my ears naked and exposed to the world. And, I discovered, or more acurately re-discovered, that the world and its inhabitants suck. Suck like cretinous, sub-morons trying to pass off losing lottery tickets as winners to the clerk at 7-11 while I'm trying to buy cigarettes and still make my train; suck like middle-school students who take up the entire side-walks with their, oh, I'm such a big man talk when what the little knee-biters really deserve, and it would shake the cool of them in a second, is a good cop-raping; suck like the ignorantly gleeful, or perhaps pained, cries of the occupant of a passing sped-sled; suck like the blank-eyed sad faced BART commuters of whom I usually manage to take no notice; suck like the guy who sits across from me playing some game, grating buzzes and nail across blackboard bleeps; suck like the homeless guy who tries to cadge one of my hardwon cigarettes; suck like you; suck like the book I'm reading for my book club (okay, maybe iPodlessness does not as much as that book); suck like this blog entry; suck like my own undrowned out thoughts.

Well, as god is my witness I shall never leave this house iPodless again. And apparently I could even upgrade to a new and somehow even better iPod. One that stores up to 7500 songs yet still only has the battery life to play 32 (and that's just 32 not 3200), yet still is somehow a giant consumer electronic product leap forward. But on the other hand, fuck Steve Jobs. And fuck you all, you nattering boobs. You all suck.


Fyrste, 9:44 PM