Just got this from my iPod in response to the letter I wrote it. Sigh.
What did you think would happen? I mean, you go from playing me very rarely to nearly 32 hours non-stop on your trip to Iowa and playing jazz in the subway in New York to nothing again to now back on the jogging trail. What is your deal?
Suddenly, after this up and down interest and outright neglect, I’m supposed to just show up and be everything you want, perform for you when you ask? I’m not programmed that way, Jeff.
Plus, YOU are the one that fills me up with 70’s light rock. I was made like 2 years ago. You think my generation gives a crap about fucking Pablo Cruise and the goddamn Little River Band? I keep spinning up Tom Petty and Carol King hoping you’ll get some taste and stop wasting my time with this bullshit.
I’m sorry, but you don’t keep me clean – I’ve got nasty sweaty fingerprints all over me from your “running” – you have ratty ass earbuds that sound like shit and you click through songs like a kid with ADD who just ate a bunch of pixie sticks. I’m more mature than you are and you’ve got 37 years on me!
I should mention you don’t charge me enough and you bounce me around like I’m some dog’s chew toy. You simply don’t treat me well, so you shouldn’t be surprised when I don’t work right in the dock of your stereo or freeze up when you try to connect me to a strange computer. I’m not a machine, Jeff. Ok, I am, but you know what I mean, damnit.
As for music, I’m the one who pulls up Arcade Fire and Led Zeppelin and the other moderate amount of cool stuff you put on me. I’m not the one who decided to put Britney Spears on me. BRITNEY FUCKING SPEARS, Jeff! And don’t give me some horse shit about someone else adding that. You know I’ve only been with you. What’s next, Jeff? Kelly Clarkson? Jessica Simpson? Taylor fucking Swift???
And don’t think for a second about leaving me for that iPod touch whore. Oh, sure, she’s all new and bigger than me and comes with updated software. But, that bitch will never love you like I have. You think she’s going to know when you need a dose of reality or a gentle reminder of who you are? You think she’ll play “Boxing” by Ben Folds when you are feeling bittersweet or dig up the Foo Fighters “Walking After You” when you are in love? Of course she won’t, but you know why? Because she doesn’t know you.
Oh, and don’t be surprised when she leaves you for the first cool kid who decides to put Iron and Wine or the mother fucking Animal Collective on her circuit boards. Yeah, she likes the indie. I bet you didn’t know that.
Besides, if she comes near you, I’m cracking that bitch’s “silky touch screen” with my metal chassis and then I’m cramming an earbud down your throat. You just watch yourself, Balke. Nobody runs out on nano. NOBODY!
P.S. Thanks for updating my software the other day. You’re a peach sometimes…and a bastard the rest of the time.
Um, ok. Wow.
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