With
consumer technology, everyone's a critic, and our colleagues here at
NEWSWEEK are no different. From mobile phones to home theater systems,
from laptops to GPS systems, they've got opinions on much of the gear
that's on the market. We plan to bring you some of their musings in
this occasional feature, "Guest User." First up: Senior writer and
television critic Devin Gordon recounts his tortured relationship with the iPod.
It
was love at first sight. I got my first iPod about four years ago, as I
was heading into my late 20s and approaching that age where the process
of discovering new music becomes a "who has the time?" proposition. I
was covering film, television and sports for Newsweek, and music, my
first love, was slowly drifting toward the sidelines.
Then
I got an iPod and it was like I was 16 all over again. I rediscovered
my inner music junkie, jump-started my habit of making best friends
with a new band every week or two. I even managed to delude myself into
believing that the music scene had suddenly rebounded,
that--eureka!--great albums were being made once again, when in fact,
the only thing that had changed was my consumption habits.
Then
my iPod suffered its first heart attack. I got it fixed, and six months
later, it had another, this one fatal. I got a newer, spiffier
iPod--the 20 gigabyte model--and all was right with the world for a
while. Until that one had a heart attack, then another, then
another. Four months ago, my second iPod finally played its last note.
By that point, I was wise to all the grumbling about iPod's Achilles
heels--its lame battery life, its propensity to break down after just a
year or two. I felt angry and betrayed. I cursed iPod, Apple and Steve
Jobs for getting me in too deep, for loving not wisely but too well.
Slowly,
however, as the weeks of commuting to work without my iPod began to
pile up--30 minutes on the subway, in both directions--I noticed
something: once again, my music consumption stopped in its tracks. I
wasn't hearing anything new. I'd flip through music mags and not
recognize a single name. It was like I'd aged 20 years in a month. As
my Newsweek colleague Tom Watson dubbed aging music buffs like me, I'd
swiftly become the "guy no longer on the scene." I slowly realized
that, truly, 'tis better to have loved and lost than never to have
loved at all.
And
now, after four iPod-less months, I'm ready to patch things up. I know
I can change. I know it can change. We can make this work. I feel like
a sucker with no self-esteem trying to rationalize getting back into an
abusive relationship. But I'm gonna do it anyway. I'm getting another
iPod, dammit, and I'm not even gonna consider the other digital music
devices out there. I've made up my mind. I wish I knew how to quit you,
iPod. And when you hurt me again, I'll know it's just your way of
saying "I love you."
