The Day The Music Died

I lost my iPod. My life will never be the same again.

It was the dumbest of things to happen. People who know me would attest to how anal I am, almost obsessive-compulsive when it comes to certain things. For example, I must always have three things physically clung to my body: my car keys, my wallet, my handphone. My car keys go into my right pocket, while my handphone my left. Wallet back. Periodically, I will always feel my pockets to make sure these three items are still there. If you ever spot any tub of lard walking with hand gestures that seem macarena-inspired, or if it portrays a yucky image of a hippo pleasuring himself in public... fret not - it's probably me, checking on my indispensable things.

This paranoia extends to my iPod, simply because it revolutionized my take on life (of course, the fact that it costs a bomb contribute somewhat). Stuck in Sprint? I'll let Tevye and his antics entertain me in The Fiddler on the Roof. Rainy gloomy mornings? Jo March will perk things up in Little Women. Long lonely trips? I'll allow the rich romantic music of Frank Wildhorn (The Civil War, Jekyll & Hyde and The Scarlet Pimpernel) to engulf me. I can even watch the technical run of Tunku, and have a slideshow of Boone.

Alas... my iPod is no more. I made doubly sure that it was where it was, my bag's front pocket - and I only realized at night that it was missing.

Well, whoever stole my iPod from my bag: may your ears disintegrate slowly and painfully leaving you scarred for life - you iPod kidnapper you! Of course I'd wish worse things on you, but they are not fit for public eyes. Be afraid... be very afraid.

Life has grown duller somewhat. Now that everything has lost its MTV luster, it ain't so fun anymore. Oh iPod, iPod, wherefore art thou?