Kicking and Screaming
Monday, I will turn 35. "Of advanced maternal age." "Middle-aged." "Over the Hill."
Nothing makes this more apparent than the gift from my darling, fantastic, wonderful husband--an MP3 player.
"Welcome to the 21st Century!" So read the note from my spouse accompanying said gift. "Do not panic. Breathe." (Such a smartass, that one.)
Still, he was right--this thing scares the bejesus out of me. It's so...small. How does it store all those songs? How does it work? Where does the tape go?
But as I sit here downloading music I've collected in our computer over the past 2 years, I'm thrilled. Finally, a music device of my very own. Where Pat Benetar and Joan Jett can frolic alongside Elton John and Led Zepelin and even the Pet Shop Boys. (And yes, some Motley Crue for the mullet-sporting trailer trash in all of us.)
And it couldn't have come at a better time. About two weeks ago, the CD player in my car shot craps and stopped reading CDs, and I think Ben threw all my cassette tapes away when we moved (damn him), so I've been stuck with the radio since then. I'm in dire need of some tuneage, man. Dire need.
And it's small enough that I can take it virtually everywhere. Meaning I can ride in Ben's car and not be subjected to that godawful crap he calls "music." As God is my witness, I'll never have to listen to Animal Collective again!
That, in and of itself, is cause for tears of joy.
Nothing makes this more apparent than the gift from my darling, fantastic, wonderful husband--an MP3 player.
"Welcome to the 21st Century!" So read the note from my spouse accompanying said gift. "Do not panic. Breathe." (Such a smartass, that one.)
Still, he was right--this thing scares the bejesus out of me. It's so...small. How does it store all those songs? How does it work? Where does the tape go?
But as I sit here downloading music I've collected in our computer over the past 2 years, I'm thrilled. Finally, a music device of my very own. Where Pat Benetar and Joan Jett can frolic alongside Elton John and Led Zepelin and even the Pet Shop Boys. (And yes, some Motley Crue for the mullet-sporting trailer trash in all of us.)
And it couldn't have come at a better time. About two weeks ago, the CD player in my car shot craps and stopped reading CDs, and I think Ben threw all my cassette tapes away when we moved (damn him), so I've been stuck with the radio since then. I'm in dire need of some tuneage, man. Dire need.
And it's small enough that I can take it virtually everywhere. Meaning I can ride in Ben's car and not be subjected to that godawful crap he calls "music." As God is my witness, I'll never have to listen to Animal Collective again!
That, in and of itself, is cause for tears of joy.
posted by Mitzi Green at 6:41 PM
1 Comments:
Happy Birthday!
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