Admitting I'm a 'Pod person

Recently in this space, I complained briefly about losing my iPod. It hurt. Partly, it's because the iPod disappearance happened in mid–travel nightmare (missing a connecting flight in Dallas, because the airline screwed up), and the loss felt like that bonus kick in the nads. But also because—call me a tool—I think iPods are absolute magic.

When I was 14 years old, I spent a good weekend pouring over a specific Sharper Image catalog, marveling at all the wonders inside. (Now, such a selection strikes me as a bit silly; I mean, was the world really in such desperate need for plasma balls?) One item drove me nuts: a tricked-out, high-tech 1950s-style jukebox that could hold 1,000 CDs. A thousand CDs, and you could put the whole shebang on random. That's what got me: 1,000 CDs on random. I could basically program my own radio station. Fucking awesome. $10,000.

I've always enjoyed making mixtapes, I've also been a bit of a record hoarder, so this concept seemed like some exquisite form of nirvana to me. "Someday," I vowed. "I will have a disposable $10,000, and a rumpus room, and I will buy this jukebox and place it in said rumpus room. And I will purchase enough CDs to bring my collection to the target number of 1,000. And I will load them all into this jukebox. And I will hit the random button. And I will bask."

Guess what—I never bought the jukebox. Never really had a spare $10,000 (when I have, I've spent it on slightly more practical things, like buying a New York City apartment or funding the Big Quiz Thing). But the magic of an iPod—yes, I know, of all brands of MP3 player—is it replicates that randomizing capablity in a package far more convenient, far smaller, far cheaper, and far less stupid than a Sharper Image geegaw for your typical Reagan-era yuppie scum. I dreamt of 1,000 CDs on random in my rumpus room; now, I have more than 1,000 CDs on random in my pocket, anywhere I go, for a fraction of the price. Incredible.

Or I did have that, before my iPod was whisked away to travel-mishap purgatory (you always lose something during those ordeals; if you're lucky, it's a bag of Skittles or a Michael Crichton paperback). I steamed about it for days. I braced myself to buy a new iPod, again; particularly galling since my previous unit had disappeared from my desk at work when I accidentally left it there overnight and the office was host to a party for a bunch of foodie-snob bastards who all make far more money than me. Bitches.

But the gods of portable music took pity on me. And last week, when I met up with our current guest DJ, Mike Wolf, I told him my tale of woe and he responded, "I have an extra iPod. You want it?"

Too good to be true, I thought. But I followed up, of course. "You're giving it away?"

"Yeah. I found it on the street, in a pile of snow. I already have one. I don't even like the one I have." Mike's old-school, a vinyl guy.

This is unfair, I thought. Not right. Mike jumped in: "I even posted something on Craiglist, asking if anyone had lost an iPod, and no one responded. It's yours."

And now it is mine. It's in perfect shape, it has more memory than my lost one, it does that cool album-cover montage thing that I've never been privy to before. It is a blessing.

I don't want to jinx it—and yes, I believe in that nonsense—but this year is beginning better for me, for the Big Quiz Thing. How long can I surf the wave? Will the portable-music deities continue to keep me in their good graces? What about all the other various gods that determine my fortune and/or misfortune? Am I ruining my chances by declaring myself a pagan? Only time will tell if we stand the test of time…