Since the dawn of the IPod, a new breed of crazies has been born, crazies who walk the streets not just of Vancouver's downtown eastside, but the globe. They are...the ISinger. You know. That person who sings aloud at the top of their lungs to their IPod as they're walking down the sidewalk, oblivious to all around them. Sure, people sang along with dino-predecessors to the IPod, but not with the same careless abandon as those people I see every morning now, the only thing distinguishing them from crazy Larry who sleeps on the dumpster in the alley behind my place being those tell-tale white earbuds, or a small length of white cable peeking out from under an overcoat.
Was it the IPod commercials with sexy good looking people dancing and flipping their pefectly mussed hair around that has led to this lack of inhibition? I don't know. There just seem to be alot more people who could care less that perfect strangers can now hear what they would sound like singing in the shower in the morning.
Now, people who know me would probably take me for an unabashed ISinger. Not sooooo, my friend, not so. An IHummer, yes. An IUnder-my-breath-at-the-good-part, yes. Even at times, a IWhistler. Until today, I haven't been able to push past that little bit of reserve I have left and sing along freely on my morning commute...although the numbers of otherwise normal-looking people with briefcases who are singing along have been wearing me down. And this morning, I became a full-on ISinger. At the corner of Nelson and Bute, I became an ISinger. So loud an ISinger, in fact, that several umbrellas swivelled around to find out where the noise was coming from.
I was instantly mortified and quickly switched to IHumming, acting oblivious to those staring at me, like it was the most natural thing in the world for me to shout out the chorus to a Killers song and then casually resume humming.
So what's wrong with me? What IGene is missing that I can't ISing with the best of them? I'm thoroughly disappointed in myself, strangely proud of those giving way to their inner geek, dropping pretenses and rockin' out, no matter where they are, and also, a little bemused: how did we get to this point? How has a little piece of plastic, some white earphones, and 4-60 GB (you pick) changed what's appropriate street behavior and what's NOT, so much?
So a week ago I get an email from my friend that he's bought a bunny for some unconditional love. Next thing I know, the bunny's called BRUNCH. Pretty quick, he's posting photos of Brunch "with a little mint behind the ears..." You know, I fear for this bunny...
