I Want My IPOD

Okay, now it’s on. I CAN’T TAKE MY IPOD? Give me a break. I’ve been a good camper. I put up with the invasive searches when I go to the airport. I love to fly and you will have to literally blow me out of the air to keep me off a plane.

I take off my shoes and my baseball cap when asked. I don’t really mind. I’ve been wearing sandals on planes for a while now. My baseball cap is all about attitude anyway. I wear it crunched low on my head to shield my eyes like Janet Jackson and to prevent being recognized, like I’m some kind of celebrity. But I take it off in the name of security.

I try to look and act conspicuous because I feel homeland security and the airport rent a cops are looking for those folks who are really really trying to blend in. I’m an American, I’m always conspicuous, so that’s no problem where ever I go. I just won’t go hip hop, that’s racial profiling on another level.

I’m not missing my other now absent freedoms. My library card is crumbling in my wallet because I can afford to buy my books rather than borrow them from the library. So homeland security will never know what I read unless they check my store receipts.

I’m still driving a big assed gas guzzling SUV and not complaining about bogus gas price raises every time this government decides to try to scare us into acceptance of it’s Orwellian version of this world.

And, no, I don’t travel with over priced, way too expensive cosmetics. I don’t drink gatorade or ten dollar starbuck’s lattes at the check in counter. I don’t miss that stuff. Nothing to complain about here.


I’m a writer. I’ve been typing so long, I get writer’s cramp when I write out a check. Besides, I’m of that age when arthritis has begun to set into my fingers, Curling my digits around a pencil won’t work.

My IPOD contains my music collection...ALL OF IT. I walk around with 55 years of musical memories in my pocket. I can put my baby on shuffle and up pops the first album I ever stole from my Dad’s album collection. I can sort through and find the first song I heard play on the first AM radio with a head phone that I bought myself. I can relive all over again the background music that was playing when I lost my virginity.

C’mon! No IPOD? Now I will get ugly.

Give me a gun. I’ll go to Afghanistan and find that six foot four, dialysis machine toting MF and personally blow him off the face of this earth. Him and every other wannabe terrorist who tries to keep me from my portable pacifier.

You may need your MTV.

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