I am inspired and alone with a piano and a microphone. The combination is rare; five times in two years. The syncopated, meandering passages emerge without preconception or conscious intent.
The act is pure catharsis, expression, emotion, extraction. The result is alive: breathing, blinking, burning with energy. In as many moments, it's over. Gone. And I don't know where it came from.
It is the closest thing I've known to meditation; mindlessness; Zen.
I've had a long, long relationship with Cupertino's iPod family. I've owned probably six or seven iPods over the last six years and used them daily. And in all that time, I've never managed to lose, break, or otherwise damage a single one of those glorious little bricks of digital joy. Until now.
On Thursday night I walked with flinching delicacy toward the garage to confirm the fate of my beloved 3rd generation iPod touch. The iPodslaughter was carried out with horrifying efficiency by the washing machine while the poor, helpless Jobsian was trapped in my pants pocket, leaking micro-volts into the surrounding water and slowly winking out of electronic existence.
So. I'm experiencing what Merlin Mann would call a true first world problem. Now that the iPhone 4 has been released, I know what the next generation of the iPod will look like, with several non-trivial upgrades (mainly to the resolution of the display). Now, of course, I don't want to buy a replacement iPod touch while I know what the next generation will look like. The next generation iPod is usually released around the September/October timeframe. At the same time, I'm used to having my entire music library with me at all times, and regularly use it.
I could:
As I said, a true first-world problem. What would you do?