My pod
I've owned an iPod for about a year and three months and it has worked for a total of one of those months. It's not really the iPod's fault - first of all I had to find a computer fast enough to cope with the software (i.e. not my one, which was hewn out of twigs, string and scarecrow spit in the middle ages, is powered by a panicking sparrow in box and will no longer talk to the internet because we've upgraded to broadband).
Unfortunately, the computer I eventually cosied in on was dropped and broken, leaving me with just 103 of my favouritist ever tracks - all of which I now loathe. I moved house and lost my charger, the battery ran out. I got a new charger for my birthday. It doesn't work. The iPod has been living behind my bookcase in a child's sock since the summer.
Over Christmas, my technically capable little brother took the luckless pod into his care, hand-fed it electricity and backed its files up onto his computer. In the process of resurrecting it he somehow managed to merge our music, meaning he's now got my 103 tracks on his shiny new Nano or whatever it is, and I suddenly have 536 of his. Which seems a little unfair, as quite a lot of mine sound like this: mmm-tch, mmm-tch, mmm-tch, mmm-tch, douf, douf, douf, douf. They're all dance music classics, but I imagine they'd be pretty difficult to appreciate without nearly a decade of 'aving it experience. Mind you, he has been listening to them with a bemused grin on his face, perhaps we'll have him big-fish-little-fish-cardboard-boxing it on a podium yet.
I'm quite enjoying riffling though his record collection, so to speak. After years and YEARS of wandering into his bedroom to find my long-lost favourite albums (including the precious signed ones) cowering under a dirty sock/leaky biro/ashtray/beer can, it feels karmically correct that I should suddenly acquire a great number of his tunes. I listened to the whole Lilly Allen album on the way to work, I see what everyone has been going on about now. She is quite good, isn't she, the gobby little brat. I don't know who or what most of the others artists and albums are, so I'm just going to stick it on shuffle and see what happens. Hopefully I'll get though them all before the battery conks out again.
It was an unusually musical Christmas in the Catt household. My mum recently decided that she wants to get down with the kids by updating her music "collection" (which stood at at two pan pipe tapes). It was her 60th birthday yesterday, she has a new DVD/CD player so asked for lots of music and none of that "old people stuff - I want the Scissor Sisters". I got her their first album, as well as Alright Still, Robbie's greatest hits (for those not-so-edgy days) and Amy Winehouse. I know that most of these druggie, boozy, hedonistic artists write some rather racy songs but after a great deal of consideration, I've realised that you can't protect them forever. She's old enough to listen and judge for herself. I just hope I'm not there the first time she listens to Tits On The Radio.
Unfortunately, the computer I eventually cosied in on was dropped and broken, leaving me with just 103 of my favouritist ever tracks - all of which I now loathe. I moved house and lost my charger, the battery ran out. I got a new charger for my birthday. It doesn't work. The iPod has been living behind my bookcase in a child's sock since the summer.
Over Christmas, my technically capable little brother took the luckless pod into his care, hand-fed it electricity and backed its files up onto his computer. In the process of resurrecting it he somehow managed to merge our music, meaning he's now got my 103 tracks on his shiny new Nano or whatever it is, and I suddenly have 536 of his. Which seems a little unfair, as quite a lot of mine sound like this: mmm-tch, mmm-tch, mmm-tch, mmm-tch, douf, douf, douf, douf. They're all dance music classics, but I imagine they'd be pretty difficult to appreciate without nearly a decade of 'aving it experience. Mind you, he has been listening to them with a bemused grin on his face, perhaps we'll have him big-fish-little-fish-cardboard-boxing it on a podium yet.
I'm quite enjoying riffling though his record collection, so to speak. After years and YEARS of wandering into his bedroom to find my long-lost favourite albums (including the precious signed ones) cowering under a dirty sock/leaky biro/ashtray/beer can, it feels karmically correct that I should suddenly acquire a great number of his tunes. I listened to the whole Lilly Allen album on the way to work, I see what everyone has been going on about now. She is quite good, isn't she, the gobby little brat. I don't know who or what most of the others artists and albums are, so I'm just going to stick it on shuffle and see what happens. Hopefully I'll get though them all before the battery conks out again.
It was an unusually musical Christmas in the Catt household. My mum recently decided that she wants to get down with the kids by updating her music "collection" (which stood at at two pan pipe tapes). It was her 60th birthday yesterday, she has a new DVD/CD player so asked for lots of music and none of that "old people stuff - I want the Scissor Sisters". I got her their first album, as well as Alright Still, Robbie's greatest hits (for those not-so-edgy days) and Amy Winehouse. I know that most of these druggie, boozy, hedonistic artists write some rather racy songs but after a great deal of consideration, I've realised that you can't protect them forever. She's old enough to listen and judge for herself. I just hope I'm not there the first time she listens to Tits On The Radio.
posted by Elizabeth at 2:30 PM
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