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Boxing Day Special: All Women’s Clothing Half Off

December 26, 2009

I found out a couple days ago that I’d be getting a new iPod for Christmas, and I swear to god my current, ill-behaved iPod must have overheard me mentioning to someone that I was going to replace it soon, because it’s been amazingly functional for the past 48 hours. The only logical explanation is that it’s trying to convince me not to break up with it. It’s like, “Remember when you discovered Jay-Z and I played ‘Brooklyn’s Finest’ for you about 900 times in a row without complaining? That was a good day, right? And remember that time when it was the morning rush hour and you forgot to turn me down before you got onto the train and you couldn’t do it once you got on because the car was a sardine can and I was givin’ ‘er at full blast and Electric Six’s ‘Gay Bar’ came on and the lead vocals person was like, ‘YOU!! I WANNA TAKE YOU TO A GAY BAR!! GAY BAR, GAY BAR, GAY BAR!!!!’ for about five minutes straight no pun intended as the train chugged along Seventh Ave? Remember? And you were feeling totally self-conscious but at the same time part of you was like, Fuck it, it’s a great song, everyone in the train should be listening to this band anyway because they rock so fucking hard? Didn’t that day mean anything to you?” etc.

So now after seven months of malfeasance it’s trying to convince me that we can work things out. I’m skeptical. And I think that maybe in my heart I’ve already moved on. The new iPods come with the internet built right in. Invention is the mother of necessity. Commitment is so 1990.

But I do appreciate my current iPod’s recent decent performance because it’s allowing me to put off a Boxing week (“Boxing week”? Since when is that even a thing?) trip to an electronics superstore.  On the news today there was all the usual depressing footage of people rampaging through malls, and I was pretty stoked that all I had to do was go visit Seneca and come home and wrap some gifts and drink liberally milked double-spice chai tea and write a blog post and hang out with Sappho, who’s happily passed out on her side of the couch that she’s never going to see again after January 7 at 3:00 p.m. I’m not even that old, but I definitely remember the days when most stores were closed on Boxing Day. At the risk of sounding like a crotchety old woman, what the fuck is happening to society? It’s become this horrifying wackjob annual tradition to load the family into the sport ute and spend December 26 at a crowded mall buying even more things. People who have received money for Christmas don’t seem to want to understand that however much money they’ve received, they’ve probably spent at least that amount and likely way more on gifts and food and decorations and postage in the past month. Fourteen hours after the Christmas turkey’s been served, they’re already shopping again. It makes sense that the 15-year-olds with numerous gift cards in their pockets want to get out there and use them, that’s fair enough, but most of the people pushing each other down to get to the plasma screen TV or cheap pair of jeans at the mall today are adults.

And if it wasn’t for the impeccable – well, only mildly peccable – comportment of my iPod I’d have felt compelled to go to the Apple store sometime this weekend. I love my Mac laptop, and I loved my iPod once, and I love getting whole albums for $8 on iTunes, but in every conceivable way, I detest Apple stores, and the one here in C-Town is a particularly insidious specimen. It’s like Steve Jobs himself somehow pried into my mind and extracted my personal concept of hell, then turned it into a real place. The Autism Society of Canada should be lobbying to have every last Apple store shut down. Or at least calmed down. Turned and toned down. If the iPods for Autistics Charity Event that I thought of earlier this year ever goes down, it cannot go down at an Apple store. Last time I was in one I spent the longest time increasingly agitatedly looking for a till to make my purchase. I assumed the 30 computers blaring and blasting in 30 different ways were disorienting the hell out of me to a point where I had become unable to find something large and obvious in a relatively small room. I felt like an Alzheimered 70-year-old. Then, finally, I realized there was no till.

Cash registers are so 1990.

My relationship with culture and technology is bittersweet. (Sappho – the other one – invented that word, by the way. About 2700 years ago. And it still works just fine. But the iPod I bought in ’06 doesn’t…)

Maybe I’ll order the new iPod on the interweb from the comfort of what for twelve more days is still my own home. When you order one online you can have it engraved for free, and I could get something like I ordered this iPod online solely in order to avoid a trip to the Apple store.

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