"I'm not a music person."

...uttered one of my students today after I low-downed them on an in-class writing exercise. I hope I didn't stare too hard and dumb at my poor, A-student. The exercise involved listening to Curtis Mayfield's Superfly The Beastie Boys' Eggman--which samples the bassline from Superfly--and lastly, the Frankenstein of poppy-crap, the remix/reconstruction of Green Day's Boulevard of Broken Dreams into Oasis' Wonderwall.

After writing about the experience of listening to the three songs, I asked them to come up with their own fantasy reconstruction of two of their favorite songs. What lyrics from one song would they lay over the music from another song? Why? And all that. I was stoked and it seemed as though most my students were into it up to that point. Of course, they voiced that they didn't "get" Curtis Mayfield; only a couple knew The Beatsie Beatsie Boys well enough to know Paul's Boutique; and half of them had heard Boulevard Wonderwall before and almost all of them thought it was cool and interesting and pretty sweet, I guess.

Upon hearing their next instructions, to play Dr. Frankenmusic, most of the students went right to work, searching the lyrics websites I supplied and Google to find lyrics to their favorite songs. But my poor, music-less A-student kinda just sat there, not even swiveling the tiniest bit. I asked what was wrong and she hit me with the most depressing confession I've heard in a long time:

"I'm not a music person."

In her defense and as a testament to how good of a student she is, she wasn't just trying to get out of the assignment. She was genuinely concerned with how the hell she was supposed to do the assignment.

"You don't have two favorite songs?"

"I don't have one."

I visibly shuddered, called her a liar, and accused her of busting my ballz--perhaps unwise, sure, but I couldn't help it. She caught me off guard. There are people like this? That aren't... I can't even say it.

I went without a luxurious 'Pod for 25 years. Eight months later, now 26, I can't imagine life without it. In the movies, characters are unaware of the soundtrack. As the audience, though, we understand that characters feel or have some sense of the music swelling behind them. My life's soundtrack is an assorted, rotating selection of 700-ish .mp3s out of 16,000. An iPod Mini offers roughly 4 gigs of space. Filling that space isn't easy since I have 70 equally-loved gigs of .mp3s.

Imagine:
Imagine a 101 Dalmatians scenario. Only, instead of 101 spotted Pongos and Perditas, you have 70 cute, widdo kitties. And instead of being able to keep them all, and enjoying the hilarity and high adventure that ensues, you can keep only four kitties. The remaining 64 kitties, you must toss into a black, Glad Garbage bag and an old TV box--for good measure. From the bed of a truck named iTunes, you must kick the mewing box to the shoulder of Hwy 169, within sight of Happy Chef.

That's what having only 4 gigs feels like. I want to be buried in kitty. But four will have to do until I can afford the next generation of .mp3 player--ever notice how the next generation always comes out a month after you finally get with the times?

Tangents aside, as I walk around campus with my four kitties, I forget I'm listening to a device through tiny "buds" hooking into my ears. It's become that natural to hear music at all times. Sometimes, when I'm listening and walking up the hill to campus--they call me Sisyphus of Gage hill--I'll think "It'd be nice to hear some Phantom Planet right now. I wish I had my 'Pod on me." Maybe it's nature; maybe I should sleep more.

After I busted my girl's A-student-ballz, another A-student girl said I only give them stuff to write about that I'm interested in. To borrow one of their phrases: Well, duh. But if even one intelligent A-student can't think of two songs she could easily--however unfairly, in my book--call her favorites... As my father, The Hawk, says: I fear for our species.