The white wires of freedom
or further reflections on a digital music player
Perhaps the "white wires of isolation" serve a higher purpose than I initially realized, though despite its divine form, I don't think it serves the higher purpose. In a world where we are increasingly bombarded by visual and audio messages in previously "quiet" places, the iPod and her digital sisters are the individual's latest defense. Take an airport for example. Don't take it, because they cost a lot to maintain and are even harder to store. Many airports constantly bombard waiting passengers with round-the-clock news. Only the deaf can escape the jabbering about the latest breaking story, but iPod offers some relief. A level of auditory control is restored to the individual.

When the beloved Metro adds TV screens to its cars, I suspect that a lot of eyes will wander to the images spewed on screen. I haven't heard if sound will accompany this additional noise, but I suspect there are board members who are unable to differentiate from commuters and consumers. Pupils roll back and are replaced by dollar signs. Marketers must love captive audiences. They are like prison guards that way. In steps the iPod and whisks you away from the evil onslaught. It's a prison break for the senses. Individual freedom is restored. And the orchestra music crescendos. Or the rock rocks. That's the beauty of it. The sounds of the world may have been signed over to someone with more money, but the sounds in your ears can belong to you.

I haven't even begun to address the freedom you regain from the overheard conversation. You can now rock in your own bubble to the likes of Meatloaf* rather than hearing that they guy next to you is having meatloaf for dinner. Glorious. Be careful not to miss all the conversations or you might miss a gem. I was walking through O'hare past a father and his two sons. I missed the first part of the conversation as they stared up at the dinosaur bones, but I heard the father say, "Nobody was born then." The cutest little voice asked astounded, "Not even God?" The dad replied quickly, "God was born then."


*This blogger does not actually recommend rocking to meatloaf, but will accept legitimate meatloaf-for-dinner offers.