Sound Off

Over time, I have discovered, one's body determines quite on its own to reject certain modern accouterments the way a body naturally will reject a new liver, or sushi. It will conspire within itself to demonstrate that, say, a 49-year-old looks silly in a Shaquille O'Neal jersey, or it will make the independent judgment that, on people of a certain age, Air Jordan sneakers will create the lasting impression of someone who ought to be jumping out of a tiny car with several other people wearing goofy shoes. Long ago, I thought, I'd made peace with this phenomenon as a kind of an immune system for personal accessories.

It turns out that I was wrong.

Recently, I took a trip to the West Coast on one of those airlines that provides personal satellite radio in place of, say, food. Now, there are those who would argue that replacing a half-nuked polystyrene burrito with the Golden Hits of the '70s is rather a push. Not me, though. I've long had a taste for both honey roasted peanuts and the Cornelius Brothers & Sister Rose. So I was a happy passenger.

Until they handed out the headphones.

They were the twin-pronged kind common to that latest techno-bauble beyond both my ken and my budget - Apple's iPod, the device that has turned every Green Line train into a rattling den of Wolfman Jacks. With more than 42 million sold, iPods have become such a ubiquitous presence that Pete Townshend, who suffers from hearing loss and tinnitus after cranking up the decibels with The Who, is now warning the public about the dangers of ear buds.

I confess to coming late to the whole iPod thing. I still don't own one. For most of my life, headphones were big, muffly things that swallowed up not only the ear but everything from the scalp line to the upper jaw. However, I am perfectly willing to accept the notion that times change, and so do the many and varied ways to listen to music - which, among other things, is why I own Music From Big Pink in three incarnations. These include a vinyl album encased in a record jacket from which occasionally escape mysterious seeds that I find hard to explain to my younger children. So, being forward thinking, and contemplating as I was the possible iPodization of my life, I thought I'd give the earphones a try.

I couldn't keep the things in my ears.

As soon as I got one of them in, the other would pop out. Then, they'd both pop out. So, I'd be sitting there, reclining in my airplane seat, grooving in my own way to Brandy, when, all at once, the bass line is in my lap. So, I'd put it back in my right ear, shift my head, and the entire final chorus is on the floor next to my carry-on bag and the foil package that once contained the honey roasted peanuts.

At some point, it seems, my body became obsolete as regards 21st century technology. I don't have the ears for the iPod, just as I don't believe I have the fingers for a laptop or the eyes to follow the Matrix trilogy. Here I sit, a man of my century, which is now the previous century, feeling very much like some subspecies that got left behind in the Olduvai Gorge because it couldn't learn to dig with a stick.

I will stipulate that one can outgrow clothes and certain youthful physical pursuits. (However, of the latter, I am willing to stipulate only on "sliding down banisters" and "riding old grocery carts down public streets." The rest of my youthful physical pursuits I intend to keep after, thank you very much.) However, I never saw this coming. I always thought technology was supposed to make life simpler, not bring on a new set of eustachian tubal gymnastics. My plans to buy an iPod are now undergoing a substantial reconsideration. And, no, we are still not going to talk about the hair issue. You can stick that discussion in your ear.

Charles P. Pierce is a staff writer for the Globe Magazine. E-mail him at cpierce@globe.com.