February 23, 2005
2 weeks later
After a long debate with a few friends, dissecting the obvious pros and cons, I caved in and booked myself an iPod Shuffle on the first shipment that would arrive at my closest Apple retailer.
So it's been two weeks I've had the Shuffle around with me, and others have been asking me how it feels. The bottom line: I'm a happy customer.
When I first asked my Dad about his opinion, he said, "It's rather big for a flash drive, isn't it?" Truth to be told, it is a lot bigger than the latest flash drives you can get out there, but now that I have it in my hand, I understand why you wouldn't want it to be any smaller — you need to be able to push the controls with your thumb. Here's one instance where smaller isn't always better.
The size — or rather, the lack of — is great. It weighs almost nothing, being just marginally heavier than my old 256 MB USB flash drive, and tucks almost invisibly into the pocket of my jeans.
From an aesthetic perspective, I have no use for the lanyard. In all honesty, a tacky white cord around my neck clashes with my wardrobe. But that's ok, I just use the plain USB cap.
There's only one real design flaw: the switch on the back of the iPod Shuffle that allows you to switch between play-in-order and shuffle modes (as well as turn the Shuffle off) is too smooth. It is difficult to switch between modes because the surface has no texture and is too slippery on which to get an easy grip. However, the Shuffle has inherited a very smart and unexpected feature that its larger 4G siblings also have — if for whatever reason you accidentally pull out your headphones, it automatically pauses the music. No kidding.
I find the Shuffle has a good sound for portable use, but this might well be a relative thing. The inability to EQ is limiting, but its sound is more than passable for small speakers and earphones. I don't use the iPod earphones that come out of the box (I find the balance on those really strange); instead, I use my faithful Sennheiser MX-400 earbuds which don't ruin my hair. I only notice the "empty" areas on my rather big Altec Lansing computer speakers, but it sounded great when my boss plugged it into his amplifier that is connected to small speakers.
Most of the problems I've encountered are actually with Finder. At first, Finder and iTunes couldn't seem to agree who was responsible for the iPod Shuffle. Occasionally, Finder wouldn't notice that the Shuffle is plugged in after I have unmounted it a first time. Both iTunes and Finder really seem to take their time to think about unmounting the Shuffle. A firmware update was available today, so let's see if things work better from now on.
What about the lack of a screen if you prefer play-in-order mode? Here, it depends somewhat on how you listen to music. If you're the kind of person who can't decide what music you'd like to hear until you've pulled the iPod out of your pocket, then the Shuffle isn't for you. I haven't had trouble with it so far because I do have a habit of listening to certain CDs continuously, and I don't mind having to update the iPod before leaving home in the morning if I feel like a change. I'm the kind of obsessive listener who remembers the number of tracks on a CD, but it would still be very nice if the iPod Shuffle has a means to navigate by album. Otherwise, the shuffle mode is always great fun.
So far so good. Actually, the only practical problem I have with it so far is that it's too small for me to wrap my earphones around when I want to put it away. :)
Posted by sniffles at 08:44 PM
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February 09, 2005
The first day
The last time I went back home — home to the town-now-city where I was born — I went to visit the primary school I went to. A rickety school building of twelve classrooms, built completely out of wood.
It wasn't that I had any sentimental attachment to the place. It wasn't that I particularly enjoyed school at the time either. Over the years, I have come to realise how much of an impact the place had on me — the students, many of whom came from poor families, the down-to-earth teachers. The shape of who I have become began here. And maybe that is why I try to come back to it every time I happen to be in town. Each time I had come by to take a glance at the school, I had nursed the continual surprise that it still stood erect, that none of the hooligans had attempted to burn it down. I have little doubt that if there was a fire, the whole building would be gone in mere minutes. Then again, it does sit behind an old Chinese temple. Perhaps there is a kind of special blessing where it nestled, between the old temple and the tumbling edge of a hill.
And each time I go back home — "home" — there is always a strange twinge of regret. Maybe it has to do with how it is no longer really my home. I miss certain things about this place, but the things I miss about it are things which no longer exist, or exist only in my memories. Such as the passing of each Chinese New Year.
First, the all-important feast on New Year's eve. In those days my aunts and uncles lived interstate, and around the New Year, they all came home and every room in my parents' house became a temporary bedroom. Family friends typically come by for dinner too; I got very skilled at eating with chopsticks in a very narrow space at the dining table.
My mother would spend the prior weeks preparing cakes, biscuits and sweets and acquiring other delicious things she didn't have time to make. My sister and I would endeavour to help, though I'm not sure how helpful we truly were. By the time New Year's eve came around there would be jars and jars of goodies taking up the counter space and filling the cupboards in the kitchen, all waiting to be consumed. Some time in the evening, I would help my mother put some amount of these goodies in her Tupperware trays, ready for the first guests on New Year's day. Then I would check that enough of a variety of sweet fizzy beverage had gone into the fridge too.
The firecrackers at the stroke of midnight. Though no one had an atomic clock then, so it was more like firecrackers at the approximate stroke of midnight. A house at one end of the street might light theirs first, then soon, another house somewhere else would follow suit, and within the next few minutes, strings and strings of firecrackers would be lit everywhere around the Chinese populated part of city, until it became impossible to hear anything else. My father typically bought a variety of fireworks for the occasion, and my uncles would light them on the lawn and we would watch colours go sky high, clasping our hands over our ears under the din. We had half a dozen tall pencil pines in the garden just behind our fence, and each year I worried that they would catch fire. One of the other musically-inclined girls and I would play a duet of a marathon medley of Chinese New Year songs on the piano until we tire.
New pyjamas to sleep in for the New Year. New clothes to wear when morning comes around. New shoes, new blisters.
We always visited our granduncle first, who isn't actually related to us by blood. But he was my grandfather's best friend and was every bit family. On the first morning, we usually visited people and friends dearest to us. Then over the course of the next few days we would go visit my father's boss, some of his colleagues, and other friends. Some time during the week, a batch or two of my mother's students would drop by our house and take up all the couches in the living room. Variously, friends and colleagues of my parents and grandparents would come by. As children of the house, we were responsible for serving food and drinks to our guests — and helping to clean up afterwards. I passed a good deal of time washing up glasses after visitors left. The great part about being a kid is that you get "ang pows" — red packets of money — from just about all the adult visitors. Children make a fortune, but my parents were wise about monetary matters and invested mine. I suspect all those red packets of my childhood went towards my education.
One of my earliest Chinese New Year memories was when my grandfather took me down to a house at the end of the street, whose owner had hired some lion dancers on the morning of the first day. I was probably three years old or so, I remembered being scared to the point of tears by the people and the noise and had to be carried home to be soothed.
In later years, the first day of the Lunar New Year passed in that place in a kind of restful silence, as if people have grown tired of the effort of celebrating year after year. In my early teens, my parents caught on to the idea of going away for a holiday on the first day to avoid the already-dying New Year bustle — after we visit my granduncle, that is. The long school break between the Chinese New Year and the Malay New Year provided a good excuse for time off, and suddenly there was an exodus to holiday resorts.
Then in the years since, as I began working full-time, it became more difficult to make it home given that I now lived quite a distance away and work commitments rarely allow the luxury. I did manage to make the New Year feast a few years ago. The New Year itself was, as I expected, pretty quiet compared to the kind of festivity I remembered as a child. Less cars on the roads, less people about town. Less visitors, and we visited others less too.
I find myself questioning if I remembered things wrong, and whether the impressions I had as a child were simply larger than life. Perhaps they were, but then I have no other explanation for the vividity of the colours and festivity still echoing in the depths of my memories.
Somehow, the winds have brought me very far away from home this new year. Accommodating for the time difference, I woke up early yesterday morning to talk to relatives and to the gathering of family friends at my parents' house. None of my aunts nor uncles made it back for the New Year's eve dinner this year, though one of my cousins who happened to be travelling in Asia stopped by on the way back to Australia.
My father gave me a commentary of foods being consumed, who was there, who was doing what, and everyone took turns to yell hello in the background. Doesn't quite make up for not being there, but I'm grateful to the Technology God who allowed us to connect from one side of the world to the other.
Instead, I celebrated this New Year of the Rooster with The Boy's family. Rather different from the days I remember, different rituals, different customs, and none of that unforgiving tropical heat, but -5°C isn't so bad for this time of year in this city. Above all, it was a special priviledge to take part in another family's New Year festivities.
Here's to a wonderful and prosperous New Year of much fortune, joy and good health, my friends.
Posted by sniffles at 12:24 PM
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