Shuffle Shame

People have been known to laugh at the contents of my Ipod.

I have to hide the face of it, so people can't see that I'm rocking out to the Partridge Family.  Or the Jackson Five.  Or the Backstreet Boys.  Or Eminem.  Or Sabbath.  Or Placido Domingo.  Shuffle Shame- that's what my kids told me it was called. 

My Ipod is the soundtrack to my life.  It's got everything on it:  Bach, Mozart, Puccini, Brahms, Rap, Rock, Country, really bad Pop, Motown, R & B.  I keep it on shuffle so it just constantly plays whatever comes up.  I don't do any mixes, because, honestly, I don't know how to do that.   And I think it will automatically make a mix for me, if I tell it to, but I'm happy just letting it go and seeing what comes up.  My Ipod is one of my best friends.  I hike with it, listen to it in the car, at the gym, and at home.

Whenever I have a negative experience, I turn on my music.  It just makes me feel better.

My college break-up album was Linda Ronstadt's Hasten Down The Wind.  After a bad break-up, my friends would put that on the old turntable and commiserate with me, feeding my broken heart with sisterhood, nicotine and beer.  Of course, that album is in my Ipod, somewhere. 

One night I was driving home from a bad dinner date.  Seriously bad.  This was in the days before I screened with the fifteen minute coffee date.  My date was great on paper, and his e-mails were okay, so we went ahead and decided to plunge into dinner.  He was good looking, very clean-cut.  Unfortunately, in person, he seemed to misplace his personality, his sense of humor, and even the ability to speak.  I don't know if he was painfully shy or just found me so unattractive that he couldn't even make eye-contact.  He spent the better part of the date staring fixedly at his food, chewing with great precision.  The conversation went something like this:

Me:  "So, how long have you lived here?"

Him:  "Oh, for a while."

At least five minutes of silence, broken only by chewing.  Have you noticed that when it's uncomfortable, five minutes seems like five hours?

Me:  "You said you like to hike.  Where are your favorite trails?"

Him:  "Oh, you know- outside."

Me:  "Mountains?  By the ocean?  In a park?"

Him:  "Oh- yeah I guess."

About five minutes more of silence, feeling more like five years.  "I know!"  I thought, triumphantly. "Sports!  I'll talk about football.  Or- even better, baseball.  Maybe then this guy will loosen up."

Me:  "So, how about those Giants?"

Him:  "Uh- Who are they?"

Honestly.  Even my ex-husband will talk sports with me.

Finally, I just gave up.  I talked more to the waiter than to my date, because the waiter was cute, had some animation, and was willing to dissect the last ball game with me.  My date continued to chew, staring at his plate.  I never felt so desirable in my life.  At least he chewed with his mouth closed.  Maybe that was it- his mother taught him not to talk with his mouth full, so he just kept his mouth full so he didn't have to talk to me.

We shook hands good-bye, which, thankfully, signalled the end to an excruciatingly painful evening.

On the way home, "Lose Again" came on, from Hasten down the Wind.   Just made me feel better.  It was followed by the Stones, "Gimme Shelter", the Prelude from a Bach cello suite played by Yo-Yo Ma,  "Lose Yourself" by Eminem, and  Daniel Powter's "Bad Day".  And "At Last", by Etta James.

Now, with variety like that, how can you stay in a bad mood?

The moral of this sad story is:  Keep your Ipod loaded and ready.  It's the balm for everything that ails you.