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The Citizen, 2009-03-19, Page 5THE CITIZEN, THURSDAY, MARCH 19, 2009. PAGE 5. Bonnie Gropp TThhee sshhoorrtt ooff iitt Where does the time go? I love the iPod. That’s a declaration that will stun – perhaps even alarm – those who know me. They would tell you that I am not an embracer of things technological. I use my computer reluctantly, ignore the bleats of my cell phone constantly and regard my indecipherable, crazy-making 58-button television remote browser with a glare of undisguised hatred. But all that changes when I behold the iPod, that wondrous, little bone-white lozenge that Apple wizard Steve Jobs has put in the hip- holsters, and soft-wired to the ear canals, of millions and millions of customers around the world. The commercial success has been mind- blowing. As of last fall more than 178 million iPods had been sold globally. The device is not even a decade old and it’s already the runaway best-selling digital audio player in history. Everyone, it seems, from acquisitive grade- schooler to acnoid teen to arthritic geezer, either owns an iPod or is stingily hoarding shekels (last time I noticed, a 32 GB iPod Touch was going for about $450) in order to do so soon. The iPod is so desirable it has spawned an entire crime genre – the iCrime. That’s where street thugs mug – and occasionally kill – bud- wearing strangers on the street so that they can steal their iPods. Last December, four Torontonians, newly divested of their iPods, wound up in hospital after being swarmed by a gang of nine youths, one of them wielding a steel meat-tenderizing mallet. Last September, a 22-year-old kid was knifed to death on an Ottawa city bus for refusing to surrender his iPod. Police advice on how to handle somebody who gets in your face and demands your iPod? Give it up. iPods are cool, but they’re not worth a trip to the morgue. Still, some iPodders struggle desperately with thieves to hold on to their machines – far harder than they would to protect their wallet or bicycle or wristwatch. That’s because, the experts opine, the thieves are not just stealing their music player. They’re stealing their music. “Their music reflects their mood, their attitudes, their values and even their relationships,” says Gary Direnfeld, an Ontario social worker. “It’s like stealing a part of them. They are exposed. It causes them to feel raped and vulnerable.” So how can I, a confessed Luddite, card- carrying Chickenbleep and certified poor guy, jump on the bandwagon for a hunk of hardware that is confusing, constraining, expensive and could get me killed? How can I possibly say I love iPods? That’s easy. When I said I love iPods, I meant I love YOUR iPod. I don’t own one and have no plans to do so. Even if I could afford an iPod, I wouldn’t want it. “But you can carry around your favourite 2,000 tunes,” my son exclaims. Two thousand tunes? Listen. There are, tops, two dozen tunes that I would care to hear more than once every few weeks. When I feel like listening to music I have a simpler solution. I turn on my $39.95 Sony bathroom radio to an FM classical station and murmur “Surprise me”. I don’t need a pre-programmed soundtrack in my life. It already comes with a whole cacophonous clamour of sound which I never ordered – car horns, airplanes, vacuum cleaners, jackhammers, chain saws, Cuisinearts… That meathead at the corner table in the restaurant jabbering mindlessly into his Blackberry… That’s why I love other peoples’ iPods. Because thanks to those teensy-weensy ear buds iPod listeners jam in their skulls, I don’t have to listen to their top 2,000 songs. That’s a big improvement over Ghetto Blasters. Remember them? Suitcase-sized so-called ‘portable’radios that louts used to bring to the beach, hoist up on a park bench or just carry around on their shoulders shredding the eardrums of everybody within earshot – and I mean earshot. You don’t see nearly as many Ghetto Blasters around anymore. I attribute that to iPods – and perhaps the odd hernia. Whatever the cause, I commend it. A small portion of my daily soundscape has been reclaimed and I am thankful. And I am reminded of my good fortune every time I pass a blank-eyed iPodder, zombie-plodding down the street, tuned in and zoned out. He’s hearing his 2,000 favourite tunes and lovin’ it.. I’m not – and I’m lovin’ it too. Arthur Black Other Views I love iPods – yours, I mean Aparty that used to complain its leader would need to walk through this city naked to attract attention from its news media seems to have found a less embarrassing solution and that is choosing a woman leader. The concern was expressed by New Democrats about Howard Hampton and was thoroughly borne out in the eight months’race to succeed him until they chose Andrea Horwath, who now has media lining up to interview her. The NDP organized 44 meetings across the province at which four competent MPP- candidates spelled out their ideas for winning an election and improving government and tested each other on the same platform. The Toronto daily newspapers, which claim to inform residents across the province, attended no more than three or four of these meetings among them, the skimpiest coverage of an Ontario leadership campaign this reporter can recall in more than four decades of covering such events. Papers where the meetings were held reported them, which was fortunate for their readers, because voters should know what a party that was in government only 14 years ago, and hopes to be again, would do if it gets back. The Toronto papers could argue the NDP, with only 10 of 107 seats in the legislature, is a long shot to return to government soon and they had to cover competing political events. These included the possible defeat of a federal Conservative government and former Ontario Progressive Conservative leader John Tory’s failed attempt to obtain a seat in the legislature, but no-one today would dispute they reported more twists and turns of these than they were worth. Some Toronto papers reported candidates announcing they were running, but usually little about who they were and what they thought. One paper interviewed candidates and reported briefly on them and others ran assessments of who would win, but with negligible information on their policies and almost invariably dominated by the theme the NDP will not matter for the foreseeable future. One Toronto paper ran an editorial suggesting the best choice would be Horwath, but spelled her name wrong each time it mentioned her, which does not inspire confidence it knew much about her. Another assessed the candidates and their policies, but left out Gilles Bisson, saying he had not replied to its request for information. Bisson advocated fundamental changes in the party and anyone could have known these by scanning papers outside Toronto, as this writer did with no apologies. Two Toronto papers tried to justify their lack of interest by claiming the NDP race was boring and lackluster, but it produced more interesting issues than events in the legislature. These included Michael Prue’s suggestion his party look generally at the issue of funding faith-based schools and not merely the Conservatives’ proposal to expand fund- ing to others as well as Roman Catholic schools that cost them the 2007 election, which most politicians now are too frightened to contemplate. There also were Prue’s proposal the NDP abolish the developer-friendly Ontario Municipal Board and Bisson’s it should prove it can provide money for expanded social programs before it advocates them. New Democrats are appalled, not so privately, by the Toronto media’s scanty coverage of a campaign they had counted on to boost their party with the public, as leadership campaigns often do, and have a right to be, when candidates in a recent Conservative leadership race had only to call rivals pale pink imitation of Liberals to win headlines. The Toronto media atoned slightly around the convention by getting excited particularly at the prospect a party could have that rarity, a woman leader, and Horwath has refused to criticize media now. This shows political smarts, because politicians rarely win by complaining about media and she will have to deal with them every day. But she should not feel secure in this relationship, because there is a lot of history that shows media’s infatuation with a woman leader can be no more than a passing fancy. Eric Dowd FFrroomm QQuueeeenn’’ss PPaarrkk Across the evening sky, all the birds are leaving, But how can they know it’s time for them to go? Before the winter fire, I will still be dreaming I have no thought of time For who knows where the time goes? Who knows where the time goes? T he late English folksinger Sandy Denny wrote this song in 1967. Judy Collins, one of many to sing it did so in 1968. And when I listen to it, it’s the 60s again with me right back there in them. My guy and I aren’t often on the same page at the same time when it comes to music choices. He’s fond of working-class and southern rock, guitar wizardry in any genre and the blues in every colour. Any of these, any time of day, can be pulsing, crashing, banging out of the speakers at time warp speed and ear- splitting volumes. With a few Type A traits to my personality, I on the other hand, look for order and sense in my music choices. Bob Seger in my view is best not served up before breakfast. Nor, is Lynyrd Skynyrd invited to a romantic dinner if I have anything to say about it. While this has obviously resulted in some head butting, there are fortunately many times when our musical moods match. Such was the case the other evening when an opportunity for some down time prompted the notion that it might be just the right moment for Judy Collins. Wise decision. The world stopped while we listened to her ethereal soprano delivering this lyrical ode on aging. Our hearts and minds rested. All thoughts of today and tomorrow, all worries, all energies dissipated as the beautifully haunting ballad drifted around us. The thoughts that did dominate were of the music, of words, their meaning, and the time and place that existed when they were written. So strong was the transition to another era I could almost smell the patchouli. I snickered when the thought struck that if I’d looked into a mirror I’d probably have been surprised not to see a tie-dyed, bell-bottomed, younger version of me. Being that teenager again, however briefly, had an invigorating effect. It was like all of the good that was me then had been added to the good that was me now. There was a feeling of energy, grounded by maturity. There was hopeful idealism, balancing sagacious realism. The body that knew the joys of childbirth, that had the capability to work and play and was weary because of it, felt refreshed, yet inexperienced. Thinking of the effect the music was having on me, I looked at my husband to tell him and realized the one thing about the 60s I wouldn’t want to relive. He and I had not known each other for more than a minute in a school hall those years ago. And I am not alone while my love is near me I know it will be so until it’s time to go So come the storms of winter and then the birds in spring again I have no fear of time For who knows how my love grows? And who knows where the time goes. And it was the 21st century again, with me, right here in it. The trip to the 60s was fun, but let’s face it, now is where it’s really at. Media misses campaign stories Letters Policy The Citizen welcomes letters to the editor. Letters must be signed and should include a daytime telephone number for the purpose of verification only. Letters that are not signed will not be printed. Submissions may be edited for length, clarity and content, using fair comment as our guideline. The Citizen reserves the right to refuse any letter on the basis of unfair bias, prejudice or inaccurate information. As well, letters can only be printed as space allows. Please keep your letters brief and concise.