The mysteries of life

So, I decided to get off my duff and take my iPod out to be fixed. Well, it’s not broken per se, but the battery pretty much conked out on me. It works in the car, works when hooked up to the computer — as long as there is an external power source, it’s fine. But take it into the gym, click it to where you want it, and suddenly it starts belching “Kill all humans!” and asks you to recharge the battery, even though the battery is full.

Now, this wonky situation has totally irritated me. I’m not a huge music freak or anything, BUT when I go into the gym to work out, I NEEDS me my tunes. See, my mind likes to drift when I lift — and unless I have the music to drown out distractions, I focus on complete nonsense and do completely half-assed workouts. And gyms always play the worst selection of music imaginable — the last time I was there, I swear it went from hip hop to Gin Blossoms to Ozzy and back to hip hop again. I can’t concentrate on my lifts because I focus entirely too much on the music, thinking “Who the hell programs this shit?” It’s that maddening.

So, I decide to roll out to the Apple Store. I’ve been dreading going out there, because I kind of loathe Shadyside. Loathe isn’t the appropriate word — but Shadyside is just one of the few places in Pittsburgh where I don’t belong. I stick out there like a Mr. Peanut figurine among replica faberge eggs. It’s all fancy coffee, materialistic earth huggery, and fabulousity oriented. I’m more dive bar, down and dirty, and blue-collar in my mentality. No trust funds backin’ my ass up … everything I’ve got, I’ve earned.

But, with an ever expanding gut and a desire to regain some lost physical strength, I opted to bite the bullet and go. That iPod means I work when I’m in the gym, so I need it. And I was braced for the worst, in which some douchebag chipper Apple salesguy with product in his hair was gonna try and sell me a new iPod. I know I would instantly fall into Florida mode, which would mean my face would become expressionless, and I’d stare at him and say, “Dude, stop the pitch and just fucking fix it.”

So, I get to Shadyside, find a spot, park and start walking to the store. And for a lark, I decide to try the iPod again, just to make sure it’s giving me the same error it has given me the past 100 times I’ve tried it.

And it doesn’t.

It’s working just fine. (Hell, I’m playing it now, and it’s running like a champ).

Walk back to the car. And on the way home, I realize my ankle isn’t hurting nearly as bad as it has for the past year. Usually it hurts bad enough that I figure surgery is inevitable (basically, I’m saving up the $1,500 deductible before I even step in the door to see a doc).  But today, as cold and rainy as it is, it should be sqwuaking at me like a mofo. It’s not. I doubt I could run on it, but it’s nice to be able to walk without pain again.

You know what? Screw it. I’m not going to try and figure it out. I’m just gonna take my good fortune and run.

And God, fate, coincidence or whatever force of nature is behind these sudden improvements, I got one word for you — thanks!

1 Response to “The mysteries of life”

  1. December 16, 2008 at 5:16 pm

    Karma works more like a teeter-totter. Next time you need an erection, that’s not going to work.

    Enjoy your mp3s!!

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