And I'm sorry Mr. Jones, it's time.

In memorandum

Jameson Jones, iPod

When I got in my car after church today, I began the normal routine of attaching the car charger and iTrip to my iPod. "Bitterblue" by Cat Stevens was almost over but I wanted to enjoy the rest of it at a louder volume so I reached down to turn it up. When my thumb hit the track wheel and slid accross its surface something strange happened. Or rather, nothing happened. I was confused. I hit the menu button to backtrack to the list of songs of the album I was listening to. I tried cycling through the songs, but with the same result, or more accurately, the lack of one. It was the same when I tried going through albums and artists: nothing. The conclusion I reached: the trackwheel is broken.

I bought my iPod in Spring of 2005. Over the past three years, Jameson Jones has been a stalwart and constant companion. Whether it was a road trip or a drive across town, a long run or a short walk to class, an hour cleaning my room or a long day at work, Jameson provided the soundtrack to which each one of these activities was accomplished. The number of miles and hours Jameson has spent at my side is incalculable.

Sure, Jameson still functions, he still works; however, his functions are now limited. I love the album Teaser and the Firecat, and for that reason, I don't want to end up hating it since it's the only album Jameson is now capable of playing. I love the fact that my iPod can't play videos. I love its monochrome screen and blocky text. So, with a heavy heart I sing to you the words that you allowed Ben Folds to sing to me so many times: "I'm sorry Mr. Jones, it's time."