In June, I received an iTouch in the post. It came in an anonymous package. Due to a mistake in my address, I was only aware that I had something waiting for me at the post office after I received an email from one E. E. Even now, I’d suspect it wasn’t really meant for me, except it’s engraved on the back with run.likethewind.ca.

I only started using it a few weeks ago. It wasn’t that my old mp3 player had great sentimental value for me, only that it did the job it was supposed to do: play music. For all my geekiness, I’m not a technophile. So it surprises me how attached I’ve grown to this iPod, especially since I still hate iTunes. I have a list of reasons compiled somewhere about why it’s so great, basically just a list of its features — things like how I have a new appreciation for album covers, and how it excites me that I could create my own wallpaper (if I weren’t so lazy). And maybe I screamed a little when I discovered that this site shows up pixel perfect on the iPod’s tiny Safari screen. As a web designer, the sense of validation was incredible.

I have it with me basically all the time now, so my last.fm scrobbles have gone up exponentially (since iPods are the only music players last.fm can read). If it were waterproof, I’d be probably be dancing in the shower. The first few days I used it, people would stop to talk to me about it – total strangers sometimes. I met a man from Halifax at the corner of Yonge and Queen who wondered if I could help him with some bug he had on his own iPod. People at work, at school ask to touch it. So I was rightly intimidated all the way back in June; this is easily the sexiest piece of machinery I’ve ever owned.

I’m trying to remember now – when did I first use it? What was the first song I listened to? I can’t remember either detail, though I think I started with Nina Simone.

I wish I had a picture of it to show you – even if it does looks like every other iPod out there. Still, maybe you can identify these things by their scratches, like fingerprints. The back of mine now boasts an intricate webbing of fine lines, though it’s still shiny enough to serve as the world’s most accessorised mirror. But my camera is away for repairs, so instead of a picture, I leave you with a song.

Much love in the new year,
-f.

Odetta – Sometimes I Feel Like a Motherless Child
I use this song to put myself to sleep sometimes.