2008 Woodie Awards
iPod counterculture shallow, satisfying
Issue date: 2/25/04 Section: Culture
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by Luke Nihlen
Daily Lobo
There's this romantic notion among hardened computer dorks that ideas, thoughts and language are more real than everyday objects.
Our very view of the world is skewed toward language rather than actuality - this is why I just had to have an iPod.
My girlfriend thought it was a load of bull, too.
But it's true. Here in America, we consume to become. If you want to be slimmer, you don't eat less, you buy exercise equipment. If you want to feel wealthy and powerful, you buy an SUV.
I wanted an iPod. I wanted to quietly announce to the world that I am a part of the information counterculture. Like a civilized barbarian of the information age, I wander the plains of the Internet with unconventional, non-traditional tools. I am hacker. Hear me type.
But there's more to the iPod than a personal statement. It contains my entire musical collection, a life's worth of memories, opportunities, juxtapositions and discoveries. Its epic storage capacity feels almost archival, like a tiny library of Alexandria, automatically organized and with optional belt clip.
I envision archeologists, thousands of years and many great wars from now, unearthing my corpse to find, to their great amazement, my still intact iPod clutched in a desiccated paw like some musical Rosetta stone. Perhaps my music could serve to lend these scientists some empathy, even some understanding of the madness of our times. Or would the shuffle play function reveal some horrible destructive farting noise?
With this sobering thought in mind, I promptly rip all the Al Green I can find.
Apple, being good capitalists, knows that the best drugs are the ones that come with accessories. When I'm home, I store my iPod in its charger. If I need to leave my house for any reason, the car audio adapter allows me to listen in my pickup truck.
Upon my arrival at school, special headphones will tide me over the walk to my office, where another charger and a more humble set of speakers await. I realize the iPod has facilitated my character to becoming like a Quentin Tarantino movie. I may be obnoxious and somewhat shallow, but at least I have a great soundtrack. It is as if God left reality for a little while, and you finally get to turn up the universe's stereo.
Daily Lobo
There's this romantic notion among hardened computer dorks that ideas, thoughts and language are more real than everyday objects.
Our very view of the world is skewed toward language rather than actuality - this is why I just had to have an iPod.
My girlfriend thought it was a load of bull, too.
But it's true. Here in America, we consume to become. If you want to be slimmer, you don't eat less, you buy exercise equipment. If you want to feel wealthy and powerful, you buy an SUV.
I wanted an iPod. I wanted to quietly announce to the world that I am a part of the information counterculture. Like a civilized barbarian of the information age, I wander the plains of the Internet with unconventional, non-traditional tools. I am hacker. Hear me type.
But there's more to the iPod than a personal statement. It contains my entire musical collection, a life's worth of memories, opportunities, juxtapositions and discoveries. Its epic storage capacity feels almost archival, like a tiny library of Alexandria, automatically organized and with optional belt clip.
I envision archeologists, thousands of years and many great wars from now, unearthing my corpse to find, to their great amazement, my still intact iPod clutched in a desiccated paw like some musical Rosetta stone. Perhaps my music could serve to lend these scientists some empathy, even some understanding of the madness of our times. Or would the shuffle play function reveal some horrible destructive farting noise?
With this sobering thought in mind, I promptly rip all the Al Green I can find.
Apple, being good capitalists, knows that the best drugs are the ones that come with accessories. When I'm home, I store my iPod in its charger. If I need to leave my house for any reason, the car audio adapter allows me to listen in my pickup truck.
Upon my arrival at school, special headphones will tide me over the walk to my office, where another charger and a more humble set of speakers await. I realize the iPod has facilitated my character to becoming like a Quentin Tarantino movie. I may be obnoxious and somewhat shallow, but at least I have a great soundtrack. It is as if God left reality for a little while, and you finally get to turn up the universe's stereo.
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