Music on iPod OK, but I miss the hisses and pops

Thu, Jul 2, 2009    to del.icio.us

I have a deep-rooted aversion to technology. I can drive a car, but I can't figure out how to set the digital clock. Therefore, the time in my Pontiac is an hour behind for six months out of the year because of daylight-savings time.

I still can't figure out how to use the remote control for the TV. Since we have a cable converter box and a DVD player, I can't even remember if I'm supposed to use the white, gray or black remote, so I just get up from the couch and change channels manually.

I can somewhat navigate a computer. I can find eBay, my fantasy football team and the Detroit Lions Web site. But if the printer stops working, or an ad for Viagra pops up and won't go away, I call an expert — my wife Amy. Normally, in less than a minute, she'll have everything working again.

The computer is the first household appliance I've ever owned that I can't shut off. I can hit a light switch and the lights go out. I can hit knobs, buttons and dials and the TV, radio, stove, toaster, vacuum cleaner and garbage disposal shut off. But when I hit the button on the computer, it comes back on — all by itself. It's sort of freaky. I can even kill the power supply and it will surge back to life in a few moments. The only way I can really shut it down, is to pull the plug, and everyone tells me that's not good for it. It scares me sometimes. It's almost as if the computer controls when it wants to be on or off and it wants me to buy Viagra whether I need it or not.

Since I am so technologically illiterate, I was surprised by what my wife and two young daughters got me for Father's Day. Amy was giddy when she handed me the small package. After tearing the wrapping off and peeking inside, I said, "Oh, it's a cell phone."

"No," Amy quickly pointed out, "It's an iPod."

I was glad to hear that because Amy knows I hate cell phones. I can't tell you how many times I've been talking with someone and music starts playing in their pants and they quickly reach into their pocket abruptly ending our conversation.I've heard cell phones go off at movies, plays, and even church. Telephones should be at home.

I still miss the clunky, black old rotary dial phone my parents had hanging on the wall when I was a kid. To dial a number, you stuck your finger in a hole and spun the dial till it stopped. Then you stuck your finger in another hole and repeated until all the numbers of the party you wanted to reach were dialed. The only hazard was sometimes your finger would slip and you'd have to hang up and start all over.

The best thing about that old rotary phone was I always knew where it was. Now, with cordless phones, I often have to search for it when it rings. Normally when I find it tucked between the couch cushions, the person on the other end has hung up. Or worse yet, the answering machine will pick up the call.

I dislike answering machines, too. If I don't hear the message clearly, I can never figure out how to repeat the message, and even if I did, I wouldn't be able to find the phone to call them back.

So now I am the proud owner of an iPod. Me, the guy who still buys 45 RPM and LP records on eBay and still listens to cassette tapes in my car. When I was a kid, I'd sit for hours and listen to my entire record collection on my parents HiFi. My collection consisted of two Elvis, one Johnny Cash and a Roger Miller album. I loved those records in spite of the hiss and crackle when the needle first hit the vinyl. I didn't even mind the hisses, pops, and occasional skip.

My brother-in-law, Josh, stopped over a few nights ago to show me how to use my new iPod and how to download songs off the Internet. He took my little iPod and hooked it up to the computer with a small cord. "This is the future of music," he said.

Josh clicked onto the iTunes Web site. I said, "Will I be able to get any Bing Crosby, Dean Martin or Frank Sinatra songs?"

"You can get anything," He said confidently.

He clicked on this, double clicked that, and basically said, "Bla bla. Bla bla. Bla bla bla," for about twenty minutes. Then he downloaded two songs onto my iPod and said, "Got it?"

"I think so."

"Great," he said, and took off.

After he'd gone, I searched around iTunes for a while but couldn't find any Crosby, Dean or Sinatra. All I could find were some tunes by Brittany Spears and Jessica Simpson that you could buy for 50 Cent if you were in Akron, Ohio, or Kayne West, Fla., and eating Pink Eminems. I wanted to call Josh and ask for help, but I couldn't find the phone.

That's when I went down into my basement and lifted the lid on my old turntable. I pulled out one of my oldest and fondest Jerry Reed LP. The dog-eared cover smelled musty as I pulled the black record from its slipcase. I fit the flat round sphere's hole into place over the shaft in the turntable, flipped the knob and watched it spin while the arm swung slowly and then dropped and set the needle into the grooves.

I'm sure that in time I will grow to love my iPod and wonder how I ever got along without it. But if iPods are truly the future of music, they need to find a way to add that hiss and crackle when a song first starts, and add a few hisses, pops and an occasional skip.