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Because I’m utterly determined not to become embroiled in any conversations more involved than “Can I get you something to drink ma’am,” while I’m underway to my little vacation down south, I have invested in a wee mp3 player.
Yes, I realize that planning for the complete avoidance of all other people on an airplane is terribly rude. I also realize that I must be the last person over the age of seven to acquire an mp3 player. Shoot me.
I explained my needs to a young man in the big-box store. “Simple,” I emphasized. “I don’t need to make 10,000 playlists. I don’t need to store my entire music library on it.” I guess I wasn’t the first old-timer with such a request, because he lead me right away to a small green box.
“2 gigabytes of memory, and it’s under $50,” he announced. “This is the one for you.”
I bought it. And it has changed my life. Oh yes, yes it has.
For the rest of the night (and the next day, and the next night), I transferred my music collection to the computer and then to the device. Herein I made several momentous discoveries, to wit: I stopped buying music at the same time I started buying diapers; I own entirely too much Enya and Clannad (those weren’t ripped); Someone should have taken away my Alice in Chains when I was deeply depressed; Storing cds out of their jewel boxes and in an old WalMart bag is probably not the best idea (in this condition they arrived back from the ex).
And then I realized that my collection bore holes that ached to be filled. I stumbled upon Amazon.com’s “one-click” method of music purchase. I used it. A lot.
I found a pair of headphones that sit down so snugly into my ear canals that I cannot hear any outside noises. Not the dishwasher. Not the dryer. Nothing. Ninjas (er, uncharacteristically noisy ninjas) could be creeping up behind me even as I write this and I’d never even know because Soundgarden is shaking loose the moorings of my brain.
Which is actually rather pleasant at the moment, as I’m under the weather with a ridiculous cold. Very loud music piped directly into the ear canals not only disguises the sound of open-mouth breathing but also sonically loosens snot. Seriously, it does. This is science, folks.
I’ve discovered that I am constitutionally unable to listen to music which seems as though it originated directly in the sound center of my brain without breaking into both song and dance. I did this many times over the weekend. The cats were not enthused. I cannot imagine my fellow air passengers will be either.
Nevertheless, I am enjoying this tiny contraption far more than I ever thought I would. And I’ve still got more than half the storage space left. I’ve not yet begun to download the Metallica. Or the John Coltrane
. Or the … well, am I missing anything sing-alongable and rock-outable?
Advise in the comments.

Monet Lingerie, Sexy Lingerie and Stiletto Heels
