Column

As I crossed the intersection of W. 99^th and West End Avenue during our first real snowfall of the winter, I tripped over the heel of a woman who was oblivious to my presence thanks to her iPod-induced tunnel vision. Sunglasses at 7 o’clock in the morning probably did not help her cause either. If not for the cab that had to swerve suddenly to avoid repaving the street with my body, our lady friend never would have noticed that I was struggling to regain my footing in the middle of a busy intersection.

After peeling a wet copy of the Daily News (Rangers got bombed…again) and someone’s leftover bagel from the Hot & Crusty off my jacket, I brushed myself off and went straight for the lady with the Paris Hilton-looking glasses to give her a piece of my mind, not to mention a different type of yeast infection.

"Excuse me, but what the hell is wrong with you?” I asked.

She turned and I quickly realized that I was about to get punched out by some NYU co-ed on the two-year program at Tiger Schulman, so I got into my defensive stance and prepared to fake a neurological injury and call my lawyer.

“What are you listening to?” She asked as she reached for the in-ear monitors residing in my ears rather than gouge out my eyeballs with her fingernails.

Slightly less prepared to call my lawyer, although my fingers remained on the speed dial just in case, I allowed a total stranger to insert my Ultimate Ears super-fi 5 Pros inside her own ears, while I nearly gagged on what students would describe as the “morning after” smell that oozed from her clothing. Over-priced Patrón, cheap Dominican cigars, and the sweat from rubbing up against some guy named “Ramon” while getting jiggy to “It’s Not Over”.

She remained silent while she listened, making only the occasional facial gesture as she recognized the occasional track. Robbie Williams was my guess. “These sound phenomenal.” She remarked.

“I only rip lossless,” I responded, unsure if she knew what “lossless” was. I ditched those crappy headphones from Apple and bought these.”

“That’s hot.”

Paris Hilton should be very proud.

“You have some cool stuff on here. Want to come by my apartment and download it to my computer?” she replied, but it was the emphasis on the word apartment that raised the hairs on the back of my neck as I envisioned the cord from my $250 headphones being pulled across my windpipe like a garrote.

Five minutes later, I sat in a coffee shop on Amsterdam reading the latest copy of Dwell when I realized just how pervasive the problem is. The iPod has changed everything. People are listening to music through headphones in rather scary numbers and taking the liberty of swapping. It is like free love all over again; minus the naked people and STDs. Ear infections are far less severe. People sitting in cafes enjoying their morning coffee are catching up on “The Office” and “Battlestar Galactica” but not bothering anyone in the process.

In some ways, is it a form of mobile cocooning. We continue with our lives, but we are really in our own private world.

I suppose walking the streets of Manhattan with our own private soundtrack is about as surreal as it gets.

As hard as humanity may try to prove me wrong on this one, there are still three universal parts of the human experience that we have yet to completely ruin: music, film and food.

Sure, humanity descends one-step closer to Hell every time Kevin Federline or Paris Hilton utters a note and Brangelina adopt another kid, but music and films are the few things confirmed to make your life better.

Music fills us with the desire to swing, sway, and gyrate in public with perfect strangers whom you otherwise might find less attractive. And that is before the alcohol.

Music calms our nerves after listening to people with half our IQ tell us how to fill out TPS reports, and sycophants brownnose the boss all day guaranteeing our seating at the next office party will be slightly closer to the bathroom than to the fondue machine.

Music is our history. Our personal history. It is part of who we are during the short number of years we occupy a measly square foot on this rock.

Headphones, regardless of the type, allow us to experience this in our own private state.

Our sorrow, our joy, our disappointments, our intense moments of emotional and physical ecstasy with another human being.

If we could, we would all be musicians, or filmmakers, or gourmet chefs selling sushi rolls for $49.95 a piece.

In my case, it would be a roving samurai with a big katana and pair of HD650s while listening to Hendrix, Dvorak, and Dr. Dre.

What are we trying to do with Onheadphones.com?

Buying a pair of headphones seems like a rather simple task. You wander into your local retailer and pick the first pair that look cool or sound decent as you listen to some mediocre source feeding fifty pairs.

How can you make a meaningful decision that way? Are they even playing music you listen to?

Whether you listen with an iPod, or have a high-end stereo with a kilobuck CD player or turntable, there is a pair of ‘phones out there with your name on it.

Let us do the listening for you. We have no lives. We sit around all day listening to music through headphones from every manufacturer that we can locate. We punish these things with some really awful music. We even buy shaving packages from Schick to try the bonus pair of in-ear headphones that they include now.

Lose yourself in a pair of ‘phones.

It is a lot more fun than a poke in the eye with a sharp stick.