pod people

Pod people
By emmet

I used to hate the pod people. Now I are one.
You know the type. They sit in coffee shops like Zoots in Camden with their laptops or iPods and show everyone that they have important messages which must be answered. I always suspected that they were conversing with other people in other coffee shops, with nothing to say on either end.
Everything has changed. Hey, the Pope sent out a tweet the other day…something about sin being bad. You must remember the old joke. Yesterday I couldn’t spell “engineer.” Now I are one. That’s me.
My favorite daughter, Aran Kate (pending birthday and Christmas presents) is hell-bent on keeping her very Old Man au courant, or up to date for you people from Swanville. First, she hooked up something called a Blu-Ray to my television which keeps me glued to my Serta Sleeper couch for 18 hours a day, watching movies and old television shows.
I am currently hooked on the series “Life” (starring Damian Lewis and the perfect Sarah Shahi) having just completed “Return to Lonesome Dove.” I watched that for so long that I got saddle sores.
When I complained to Aran Kate that my old iPod had reached its limit and could no longer accept to songs in iTunes, Aran leapt into action. While I was talking to her, she ordered a new iPod Touch on her iPod.
Whoosh.
Being a confirmed moron, I got the new device and gratefully started downloading the new Diana Krall album. The Cobb Manor motto is “ Hadda have it.”
Gradually, it appeared to me that this miracle (remember the Pope) device had limitless qualities. When I downloaded (pretty good, huh?) Google, I found out that I could find the name of that Vienna architect to complete the Saturday New York Times crossword puzzle, the weeks’ worst.
The shiny red iPod Touch (much more capacity) has become a member of the family. When we made our annual trip to the bright lights of Portland, I could not only find restaurants, but check their menus for vegetarian dishes for you-know-who. Hell, I could find a map to get where I was going.
A miracle. There appear to be limitless “apps” or applications. I am just scratching the electronic surface.
It’s like that American Express card. Don’t leave home without it. I have a car charger for the iPod, along with a home charger and a computer charger. It has got so bad that Blue Eyes complains that I am neglecting her in favor of the internet….until she wants the new location for Once a Tree.
In a marketing breakthrough, the last time I ordered still more flashlights from Amazon (The estimable Nebo Redline 220) I did it all on my trusty iPod. This could be trouble.
When I watch a movie and see a familiar face (the gorgeous Polly Walker) I look it up immediately, without leaving my seat.
I am an iPod bore.
I hesitate to confess it, but I take my iPod to bed. I fall asleep listening to my favorite sport shows, Tony Kornheiser, Dan LeBetard, Dan Patrick and a maniac from Alabama, Paul Finebaum. When I wake up, it’s Dennis and Callahan with the latest Boston sports gossip.
Somehow, I get automatic news bulletins from AP and NBC News. I am not quite sure how that happened, but as long as I have Wi-Fi service I am a happy (and well informed) citizen.
I no longer make fun of those people in Zoots. (I checked my e-mail there the other day For God’s sake, don’t tell anyone.)
Now, I are one. Me and the Pope.