Eulogy for my deceased iPod Mini

Dearly beloved,

We are gathered here on this blog to mourn the demise of a loyal and trusted 4 gigabyte, original spec iPod Mini who had kept the tunes jammin' for over three years.

When this Mini came into the world it was the pinnacle of sleek innovation and miniaturization. He was the first of many iPods to use flash-based memory, which is now the new standard.

It was the first iPod to use an aircraft-grade aluminum casing, which for a time, Apple foolishly dismissed for an acrylic that was a public relations nightmare when they scratched badly. Now almost all iPods sport the Mini's trusty aluminum. I dropped this Mini so many times and its tough shell kept the music playing.

This mini was a 2nd anniversary present from my amazing wife Sharon who loving inscribed the back with the words, "Two years and two million more to go."

Mini, when I left you in a Hotel in Cumberland, Maryland, the staffer who mailed you back to me was awed by your elegant beauty and told me over the phone, "This is cool. I need to get one of these."

In the time that I've owned you, Apple revamped your line with 6 gigger, then replaced it with the Nano and then completely revamped the Nano three separate times. Everyone asked me if I would upgrade, but I responded, "No. I have the original iPod Mini and its an American classic. It’s the Mustang of iPods. Cool and cheap in its heyday. Today, almost cool if you don’t mind a maintenance nightmare."

Mini, not only did you play the music of my youth, but you introduced me to the joy of indie rock where the mp3s are always free.

You brought podcasts into my world like Ronald D. Moore's Battlestar Galactica directors commentary. I didn't need to wait for the DVD to come out when I had you to bring those commentaries to me. Good times, Mini. Good times.



You made audio books soar through the cosmos. You brought me the Lord of the Rings, the Hobbit and you made the Silmarillion almost palatable and interesting. The list could go on and on: the Dune series, presidential history, Tom Clancy, and mediocre-at-best Star Wars and Star Trek novels galore.

You helped me spiritually...you brought me LDS General Conference, the Book of Mormon, the New Testament, and the Doctrine and Covenants. One time in sacrament meeting I got big laugh out the congregation by telling them I was "holding on to the Iron-Pod." (Mormon joke) You depleted your nickel-cadmium battery to recharge my spiritual batteries. Can anyone put a price on that?

I've taken you on every mode of motorized transportation except a snow mobile. You helped me avoid listening to the blather of strangers on public transit. You helped me pretend I was asleep and could not hear them when they wanted to talk to specifically to me. Your are the greatest excuse for anti-social behavior ever devised by man.

When Sharon and I performed a risky battery replacement surgery on you a year ago, I thought you were a goner then. I thought swapping a battery would be easy. It was the hardest thing ever. It was like trying stuff a cat into . . . well . . . another cat! My nerves can't take another surgery. I’d rather put you out to pasture than to put myself through that kind of stress again.


Even though I'm replacing you with an 80 gig iPod Classic, you will continue to serve my family for years to come. Your afterlife will consist of being permanently docked into a pair of Altec Lansing iPod speakers which retailed for $130 but I bought for $39.99 when they discontinued your line. You will go on to play children's music for my daughter until she attempts to see if you are waterproof.

Sadly, you will never be mobile again. Like a toaster plugged into the wall, you might as well be dead. Goodby old friend.