February 15, 2007
I’ve been fiddling with my Ipod, again, trying to load up all the old favorite albums that I’ve forgotten. Creating playlists to suit various moods. Making soundtracks for writing, since I like to have different music for every book.
And trying to figure out how to work the remote on my cute little docking speaker, so that I can get to where I need to be in the list, without having to take the harrowing three steps across the room to do it manually.
All I have managed to do so far, is default to the beginning of the playlist.
This presents a problem.
The beginning of the playlist is currently Tupac Shakur.
Yes, I added it on purpose. It is the only Tupac song I own (I think). And it was from one of my own albums. I am anal about music. I like listening to the entire album, even if I don’t like all the songs. And I hate to shuffle.
The song title is… Well, the song title is nothing I can ever say out loud. Being a fat, middle aged, white woman from Wisconsin? I may have discovered the diametric opposite of ‘street cred.’
And as the aforementioned FMAWWFW, I also lack the equipment to be what my sons would call a wangsta (suburban white boy who thinks he’s down with all that).
And the fact that most of the time, I’m writing British historical romance, takes me that much further from the loop. I want to keep Tupac, because I like variety, and I have a sort of fortune cookie mentality about the whole music thing. If fate put Tupac at the top of my playlist, he is there for a reason.
But until I figure out what that reason is, I need to find the button I’m hitting that plays Tupac, and not hit it by accident.
Or I need to add a song that will move to the top of my playlist to take the place of “Made N*******”