Fue una tortura...perderte.
So, I've finally done it...I've managed to destroy my Sony mp3-disk player. And instead of mocking me for dedicating an entire blog entry to my loss and feelings of abandonment, you all should be thanking me for providing...well, okay...I can't really admit to any moral lessons in my tale of woe. Although if you, for some bizarre reason, can find one despite my best efforts, kudos to you.
Now, as common courtesy, I ought to give the back-story as to why the death of my metallic mp3-playing best friend, (affectionately called "Sony"), has hit me so hard. I've been a music addict since I was about 13 years old (nobody better draw a parallel between that age and the boy-band rage that swept the nation then)... Ever since I randomly got a really ghetto alarm clock/radio from my parents as a "Christmas/Diwali/Oh, so that random Indian girl you hang out with gets presents from her parents?...sigh..fine" gift, I've been hooked. The sweet strains of all the soft-rock/80's songs that I had loved as a kid in static-y radio-edit form! What could be better?!... Oh how I laugh now at my childish naiveté....
To spare you the painful details of the embarrassing void that was my adolescence, I'm gonna skip right to the ripe old age of 17. At that point, I was a regular musical veteran, having already done several dirty, ugly degrading things to satisfy my craving...like my stint as a door-to-door magazine saleswoman for a shady company of ill repute, that apparently thinks selling 60 subscriptions to surly old people in 95 degree California heat is roughly the equivalent of a low grade piece of crap Walkman. Cough. And people wonder where I get my Jamnesty-donation-hustling skills from…
At this point, I can admit one thing, I’m a clumsy oaf… and sadly this has led to the death of the original radio (which is fossilized somewhere in my parents’ garage), the Betamax of all Walkmans that skipped when someone in Uganda coughed, and several others along the way. Not my fault really. I mean, c’mon who doesn’t inadvertently manage to destroy every electronic device within a few months of usage?
So, having unfairly earned this reputation after the death of my last 2 CD players, my family went ahead and made some sort of blood pact among themselves never to buy me another one. Thankfully, I saw a way around it.
My brother is (I’m convinced) independently wealthy, which is the only explanation I see for his being able to afford the latest of gadgets; nifty cell-phone, mp3-player, a watch that comes equipped with night-vision goggles…you name it, he has it. So every time he upgrades, he generously allows me to keep his discards. What unbelievable luck.
And this is how, with no effort on my part, I came into possession of $200 CD player (Sony, of course, which my bro swears undying loyalty to). It was a love-affair that lasted three years and ended tragically on the slippery rocks of the Osa Peninsula in Costa Rica. Hey, at least it died someplace exotic in the grips of a tremendous wave… the others can hardly claim the same spectacular exit.
My long-suffering brother took it in stride and presented me with his latest reject: the super-expensive Sony mp3-player which he professed even I wouldn’t be able to destroy. I would prove him wrong…but for the moment, I must confess I was convinced that this would indeed my last. It was gorgeous, encased in reinforced steel, and after having accidentally hurling it against the wall during an impromptu sock-hunt (don’t ask)…I declared it indestructible. LIES!
Armed with this technological wonder, I did marathon study-sessions, robotically took notes for hours without breaking a sweat, and blocked out hours and hours of Godfrey and Sherwin’s soul-sucking lectures. I became such a music addict that I had tunes for everything… there was the life-affirming “Believe” and "Te Vi" for those mornings when I didn’t want to go to Genetics (…okay, so every Tuesday and Thursday at 9 am), “Gasolina” (on repeat) DURING Genetics where I would simultaneously amuse and horrify myself by imagining Dr. Sherwin as Daddy Yankee. My gym mix would showcase the cheesy 90’s dance hits by La Bouche, and the walk between classes would be Tina Turner with the latin pop hit of the week thrown in for good measure. Damn it,I had a system. I had a routine. And it all came to grinding halt on Monday.
My mini-disc player, inexplicably, became corrupted, replacing its excellent sound quality with a cacophonous roaring that, I swear to god, sounded like something out of the Exorcist. I know, I know…you’re all waiting for the point where I blame Pittsburgh for this tragedy. …Yes, well the wait is over…Pittsburgh did it! Its nasty rain somehow eroded the sacred core of my beloved and ruined it forever. It was clearly a personal attack; a pre-meditated icy act of vengeance that I assure you will not go unchallenged.
Imagine if you will my confusion and outrage as this electronic marvel, which had withstood me dropping it on every known surface (including a sink full of water), backpack crushing, and near-constant usage…. being brought to a slow, torturous, hacking death by a little rain. Unreal.
The walk home was surreal, as I dashed into my apt., sidelining temporarily my study schedule for the three midterms I had the next day, realizing the fragility of life and the importance of sharing it with the ones you love. “I’m here, baby,” I cooed as I plugged it into the well-used charger, and desperately waited for signs of life. Nothing. I flicked the on/off switch gently… and cringed as the same grotesque renditions of my favorite tunes came blasting out. I stared at it, with the growing horror that this was no longer the Sony I knew and loved…it was a monster. Unable to bear it any longer, I fled the room and out into the unforgiving Pittsburgh weather that had been responsible for its untimely death.
I wandered, lost…bewildered, unable to study in my usual locations… where the memories were still so strong. I didn’t want to live in a world where I was forced to hear the insipid side conversations about who got less sleep in Biochem, or endure a cold walk back to my busted apartment without Alejandro Sanz to raspily inform me that he understood my pain.
The only thing that has been powerful enough to stave off dementia during these four years....was that I had a goddamn soundtrack to help me put into perspective all the good, the bad, and the absurd events of my life. And now what…SILENCE. I’ll leave you all with that.
Celebrate the short but glorious run of Sony. He will be missed. R.I.P.
Now, as common courtesy, I ought to give the back-story as to why the death of my metallic mp3-playing best friend, (affectionately called "Sony"), has hit me so hard. I've been a music addict since I was about 13 years old (nobody better draw a parallel between that age and the boy-band rage that swept the nation then)... Ever since I randomly got a really ghetto alarm clock/radio from my parents as a "Christmas/Diwali/Oh, so that random Indian girl you hang out with gets presents from her parents?...sigh..fine" gift, I've been hooked. The sweet strains of all the soft-rock/80's songs that I had loved as a kid in static-y radio-edit form! What could be better?!... Oh how I laugh now at my childish naiveté....
To spare you the painful details of the embarrassing void that was my adolescence, I'm gonna skip right to the ripe old age of 17. At that point, I was a regular musical veteran, having already done several dirty, ugly degrading things to satisfy my craving...like my stint as a door-to-door magazine saleswoman for a shady company of ill repute, that apparently thinks selling 60 subscriptions to surly old people in 95 degree California heat is roughly the equivalent of a low grade piece of crap Walkman. Cough. And people wonder where I get my Jamnesty-donation-hustling skills from…
At this point, I can admit one thing, I’m a clumsy oaf… and sadly this has led to the death of the original radio (which is fossilized somewhere in my parents’ garage), the Betamax of all Walkmans that skipped when someone in Uganda coughed, and several others along the way. Not my fault really. I mean, c’mon who doesn’t inadvertently manage to destroy every electronic device within a few months of usage?
So, having unfairly earned this reputation after the death of my last 2 CD players, my family went ahead and made some sort of blood pact among themselves never to buy me another one. Thankfully, I saw a way around it.
My brother is (I’m convinced) independently wealthy, which is the only explanation I see for his being able to afford the latest of gadgets; nifty cell-phone, mp3-player, a watch that comes equipped with night-vision goggles…you name it, he has it. So every time he upgrades, he generously allows me to keep his discards. What unbelievable luck.
And this is how, with no effort on my part, I came into possession of $200 CD player (Sony, of course, which my bro swears undying loyalty to). It was a love-affair that lasted three years and ended tragically on the slippery rocks of the Osa Peninsula in Costa Rica. Hey, at least it died someplace exotic in the grips of a tremendous wave… the others can hardly claim the same spectacular exit.
My long-suffering brother took it in stride and presented me with his latest reject: the super-expensive Sony mp3-player which he professed even I wouldn’t be able to destroy. I would prove him wrong…but for the moment, I must confess I was convinced that this would indeed my last. It was gorgeous, encased in reinforced steel, and after having accidentally hurling it against the wall during an impromptu sock-hunt (don’t ask)…I declared it indestructible. LIES!
Armed with this technological wonder, I did marathon study-sessions, robotically took notes for hours without breaking a sweat, and blocked out hours and hours of Godfrey and Sherwin’s soul-sucking lectures. I became such a music addict that I had tunes for everything… there was the life-affirming “Believe” and "Te Vi" for those mornings when I didn’t want to go to Genetics (…okay, so every Tuesday and Thursday at 9 am), “Gasolina” (on repeat) DURING Genetics where I would simultaneously amuse and horrify myself by imagining Dr. Sherwin as Daddy Yankee. My gym mix would showcase the cheesy 90’s dance hits by La Bouche, and the walk between classes would be Tina Turner with the latin pop hit of the week thrown in for good measure. Damn it,I had a system. I had a routine. And it all came to grinding halt on Monday.
My mini-disc player, inexplicably, became corrupted, replacing its excellent sound quality with a cacophonous roaring that, I swear to god, sounded like something out of the Exorcist. I know, I know…you’re all waiting for the point where I blame Pittsburgh for this tragedy. …Yes, well the wait is over…Pittsburgh did it! Its nasty rain somehow eroded the sacred core of my beloved and ruined it forever. It was clearly a personal attack; a pre-meditated icy act of vengeance that I assure you will not go unchallenged.
Imagine if you will my confusion and outrage as this electronic marvel, which had withstood me dropping it on every known surface (including a sink full of water), backpack crushing, and near-constant usage…. being brought to a slow, torturous, hacking death by a little rain. Unreal.
The walk home was surreal, as I dashed into my apt., sidelining temporarily my study schedule for the three midterms I had the next day, realizing the fragility of life and the importance of sharing it with the ones you love. “I’m here, baby,” I cooed as I plugged it into the well-used charger, and desperately waited for signs of life. Nothing. I flicked the on/off switch gently… and cringed as the same grotesque renditions of my favorite tunes came blasting out. I stared at it, with the growing horror that this was no longer the Sony I knew and loved…it was a monster. Unable to bear it any longer, I fled the room and out into the unforgiving Pittsburgh weather that had been responsible for its untimely death.
I wandered, lost…bewildered, unable to study in my usual locations… where the memories were still so strong. I didn’t want to live in a world where I was forced to hear the insipid side conversations about who got less sleep in Biochem, or endure a cold walk back to my busted apartment without Alejandro Sanz to raspily inform me that he understood my pain.
The only thing that has been powerful enough to stave off dementia during these four years....was that I had a goddamn soundtrack to help me put into perspective all the good, the bad, and the absurd events of my life. And now what…SILENCE. I’ll leave you all with that.
Celebrate the short but glorious run of Sony. He will be missed. R.I.P.
2 Comments:
At 4:50 PM,
Mike said…
Jesus
At 4:30 AM,
Anonymous said…
my sony walkman that had served me well since 7th grade was stolen from me this past november...:P someone broke into my friend's car and popped open the trunk and managed to steal the bag that only had shit that was sentimental to only me...and it sucked. so there there, trophy wife. i know how you feel...
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