Good news and bad news today for the BASG. While it looks like my bike should be OK despite the mini puncture wound it suffered yesterday evening on the way from work to BART, on last night’s BART ride I accidentally left behind something cheap, yet valuable at the same time: my AM/FM walkman.
Yeah, laugh if you want, but I’ve gotten more bang for my buck with that thing than any piece of technology I’ve ever owned (keep in mind that I don’t own the computer I write on, SGL does). For less than $30, I had a Triple-A battery-powered Sony that kept me up to date on the latest news, sports, and crappy new rock and R&B (i.e. KNBR all the time).
Now I’ve got to get a new one. With gas, bridge tolls and the overall stress of the Caldecott Tunnel and Bay Bridge have led me to take BART as often as humanly possible, I need a walkman to take the place of my car radio.
Plus, what am I going to run with? True runners, like some of the insane people I work with who run ultra-marathons and do Ironmans, feel like listening to headphones on a run isn’t pure running. Call me a jogger instead of a runner if you must, but I get tired of my own thoughts after a while. Since my video iPod is roughly four pounds, my link to Gary Radnich, Damon Bruce and Giants games is a necessity.
And just this very minute I got another reason to buy replacement headphones for my iPod at the very least. Don’t you love the kids on BART who play music at a high volume with their headphones off so everyone in the train can hear it? Well, I’m enjoying that very luxury, with a new song every ten seconds. Apparently this chick loves Chris Brown and other horrendous Hip-Hop and R&B pseudo-artists. I’m as big a rap fan as they come, but there’s no Hieroglyphics, Clipse or even Pharrell going on here. It’s almost like she’s trying to give us a sampler of a new album that should be called “Now That’s What I Call 106.1 KMEL.”
It’s a sign of getting old, I guess, when new music ceases having any use in one’s life — all the mainstream new music, anyway. All new rock sounds like emo drivel to my ears, to the point where I cannot for the life of me tell the difference between My Chemical Romance, Fall Out Boy or Panic At The Disco, (nor do I really want that ability). Most new rap is pure minstrel, with the only differentiation between songs being the way the word “shorty” is pronounced, and who’s doing the high-profile R&B cameo.
Maybe if I was younger, I’d enjoy today’s FM radio here in the Bay, as well as American Idol and the word “shorty” (or is it “shawty?”). I would like to hope not, but that’s a part of being young, liking things that make “grownups” cringe. Many R&B songs brag about getting their “grown man on.” I guess for me that means getting to Target tomorrow and getting myself another walkman. I wonder what the score of the Giants game is right now.
(Note: The Giants apparently lost in extra innings while I was riding home, getting a homer from Aaron Rowand in the top of the tenth inning before Pat Burrell won the game for the Phillies with a two-run homer in the bottom of the inning off Brian Wilson. Maybe losing my Sony was a blessing in disguise, after all!