I recently have discovered something kind of silly.
I should not wear my iPod while I’m out in public. Not ever. I should buy a base for it or play it in my car and never make the mistake of inserting those delightfully tiny earbud earphones and attempting to look in any way as cool as the random dancing shadows in iPod commercials.
The other day, a friend of mine watched Herr Meow while I dashed to the neighborhood store with the impossibly narrow aisles that make most navigation within the store a delicate dance of wills and concentration, and which would probably be more successful if patrons carrying large purses or weighing over 105 lbs were issued a radar system and a medal of St. Brendan the Voyager.
So as I march down the seven or eight blocks to the store, I unfurl the iAccoutrements and plug in to enjoy a few minutes of rest from my completely focused and hypervigilant mother brain. Hey, mothers out there: does your brain ever get tired of always having to be ON when you go out with your kids?
And well, some good and some cheesy and some unmentionably bad music comes blaring out into my ears and creates a wall of sound that cuts off most aural input while dulling all other senses and making it feel within my head as if there is nothing. but. song.
And then it starts– the transformation. The juggernaut. The iJuggernaut.
At first it’s subtle. A finger-snap here. A head-shake there. Keeping pace with the music. A subtle shimmy.
Then it becomes a little bit of throaty, quiet humming.
Suddenly I find myself unwittingly skipping, mouthing, almost singing aloud, Nay, I find myself almost belting it. I smile my cowpie-smorgasbord smile and get into song after song.
And then reality hits as I brazenly walk into a store while an old Roxette song is drowning out everything else: I must look pretty ridiculous trying to suppress the Broadway antics.
So as I see people wearing their headphones and marching expressionlessly day in and day out in the Metro and around the town, I have to wonder if they’ve had to come to terms with their struggle to keep the inner Kevin-Kline-in-"In-And-Out" in check and under wraps with every song that streams through their iPods.
Or maybe they just pick the boring songs for their commute?