iMemoriam

Last week, I lost a good friend of mine: Veatrix, my iPod. She presented Wednesday morning with a sad iPod face and never woke up.

Veatrix was a first generation 20 GB color iPod that I adopted from my dad, who won her in some promotional event at work and doesn't have my emotional musical needs. I was a freshman in college then and only used an iPod to amuse me during the 20 minute walk to and from my dorm. I filled her with the entire Beatles catalog and a few Rolling Stones songs. At first I scoffed at the students who were attached to their portable music player as if it was a pacifier, but I soon accepted the easy, codependent lifestyle Veatrix offered me.

While I dragged myself around campus, depressed and cold and considering transferring to another school, Veatrix soothed my weathered nerves and warmed me inside while my ears blackened with frostbite. Veatrix outsang the my peers' obnoxious pseudointellectual debates while I studied in campus coffee shops, and she and I developed a clever eavesdropping scheme to catch up on the most interesting gossip. By the end of college, I relied heavily on Veatrix to completely drown out reality.

Veatrix was my best friend. She chattered to me during long car rides and nerve-wracking graduate school interview trips. She was a salve to the irritation I developed on my bus commutes to and from the UNC campus. When I put her on shuffle, she always played the songs I wanted to hear, even defying randomness to inject extra Wilco into the mix when I needed it most. Veatrix knew me better than Pandora ever could. In the spirit of hyperbole, I'll admit to you that the man who invented iPods is the only man I'll ever love. (That might not be true, but hell, this is a eulogy, not the encyclopedia!)

This past week without Veatrix has been one of the most boring and irritating weeks of my life. For each shoe-squeak step that I take to the bus stop, I miss the upbeat melodies Veatrix might have played me. For every paper I pull off PubMed, it hurts to wonder what musical accompaniment Veatrix might choose. Each un-soundtracked workout brings a stinging tear to my eye. Each obnoxious bus conversation I overhear makes me miss her, miss her.

Oh Veatrix. I'll never replace you in my heart, but of course you must understand that I immediately replaced you in my life. Mama's gotta keep her sanity, baby. I got my new iPod nano, jet black, today... and it is obscenely cool. I named it Veatriix. See how the "i" doubles as a roman numeral? Can you even stand how clever I am? I know, sometimes it's just unbelievable.

I miss you Veatrix, but now that your music lives in on a newer model, I guess my heart will go on.