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Sunday, September 24, 2017

The Man Hug

Pat,pat,pat.

Picture two men greeting each other with a platonic hug instead of a handshake.  You see it often between brothers, fathers and sons, good friends.  It's a natural extension of oneself, yet, I think it's less common than seeing women hug each other. Additionally, "man hugs" have an extra feature - the pat, pat, pat. 

I've noticed once men embrace they follow up with multiple pats on the back. These pats usually are offered in threes (sometimes twos.) There's a sort of symmetry to them.  Man hugs show intimacy in that they include an embrace, but the moment is quick, followed by the staccato of pats.  Women, on the other hand, are prone to hug each other sans pat.  

There's no science here, just simple observation.  And, of course, this is not a universally male trait, but I've seen it enough to wonder about it. 

It interests me because I question why the pat trio is common.  Gender wise, I think men use the handshake greeting more than women.  No harm in its use but it is definitely a rung or two down on the physical intimacy ladder.  So, when men hug each other, I believe it is a deliberate decision.  

Why the pat, pat, pat finale?  Is it a way to naturally countdown the end to the embrace so there's no awkward lingering? Is it a way of emphasizing the embrace, like what an exclamation point does for the end of a sentence?  Is it an acquired habit or, as I noted earlier, a conscious choice? Or is it something else?

We see athletes ardently bang each other on the heads, shoulders, backs and arms in glorious teammate celebration affirming "good job" in the heat of the moment.   And when I see football players grab the face guards or hit the helmets of their fellow players, I wince a little wondering if it hurts even though they are given as positive non-verbal "atta-boys."  But when men greet or part from each other, the pat, pat, pat marks the end. 

I love to see men hug one another.  When asked about their hug style, a few male friends sort of smiled and shrugged off any explanation.  Is it a thoughtless yet learned style? This seems plausible since we perform so many little acts daily on automatic pilot.  For example, one routine that gnaws at me is wondering if I remembered to close the garage door.  Every darn day I turn out of my driveway to go to work and every darn day the question pops up seconds later - did I close the garage door?  I have yet to discover that I did not, but I put the car in reverse, every darn day, to check and be sure.  I've taught myself this ridiculous ritual.  

Hugging is its own ritual. Do the multiple pats give the hug an appropriate place to land?  Do men think about just hugging other men, plain and simple?   

Once we breach the walls of personal space, some new rules or habits come into play. I wonder not only how we arrive at these criteria but if they are universal?  I imagine culture has a significant role.   For example, two men greeting in Japan will bow in respectful posture, but in Italy, they will embrace fervently.  Both display what is learned to be acceptable.  

If a friend has been struggling with something acute or feels broken by life's eroding drumbeat, or conversely is celebrating,  I find I linger with my hug and I squeeze with a little pressure around the shoulders.  It's a way to emphasize the connection; to say, without words, I am with you. I would hope men feel that freedom when hugging other men, but I don't know. The triple pat could be a way to break then repair the temporarily ruptured personal space.

Even sound comes into play when the triple pat is used.  With men,you can hear it across a room. It has resonance.  I think it is an audible gesture equal to my silent squeezing of someone's shoulders.  

But I am concerned that it is more of an exit strategy - an announcement that the hug is over.  Of course the hug must end, but do men feel comfortable letting the hug dissolve softly?  That's the bigger question for me -if intimacy implies softness, is there room for a hug to be enough if it is offered like a whisper?  The pure act of gentle touch can be enough unamplified.   

Instead of being a stop, go, red light, green light proposition, I'd like to see all of us yield to hugs so our intimate connection lingers.  Let's replace the triple pat with another threesome - a three second, uninterrupted hug.  

The following videos were made following separate but related tragic events in Stockholm, Paris and Manchester involving terrorism.  The intention is equal and beautiful.  I watched them once for the profound emotional connection and then again, to offer context to my man-hug premise.  See what you think. I send lingering hugs to you all. 


Monday, August 21, 2017

Our Star Man - Mr. Max

There is no other person I am thinking more of today than my brother, Joe - aka Mr. Max. 

He is in a state park in Glendo, Wyoming chasing his sixth total solar eclipse and to say he is energized by this event is a massive understatement.  Joe's email address begins with "Starman" and he writes a blog "Starman Astrology Update" which details astrological events and how planetary patterns influence our lives. (See his link at the end of this post.)  He offers individualized astrological consultations using birth charts. His brand new first grandchild, Logan, will refer to Joe with this moniker - Grandpop Starman. My brother's unofficial nom de plume - Mr. Max - sums up his approach to doing anything - always to the maximum degree.  He can be exhausting.  

Joe has been star struck for most of his life. At five years old he received a telescope for Christmas and his love of astronomy was lit. Astrology followed with bottomless enthusiasm for understanding the relationship that the star/planetary movements have on our lives from our birth.  I admit I understand little of when the moon is in the seventh house or the intricacies of Mercury Retrograde, but I admire the passion with which Joe follows the wider, wondrous universe in which we float along. The airless maw of space is where he gets the greatest oxygen. It's his heartbeat - his avocation.

I am the youngest of four siblings and my two brothers are closest to me in age.  I figured out early on in life to use whatever means necessary to attach myself to all of their shenanigans because that was the epicenter of fun.  They tolerated, taunted, and spoiled me equally.   They taught me how to dance, let me play with their army and Matchbox toys, took me to play nickel pinball in Atlantic City's old Funcade on the boardwalk, and introduced love for music into my life when the 1960's exploded with it.  

Whether or not it has been wholly true, I have always felt they see a large part of their sibling roles to be in service to their little sister - me. 

When Joe took off for college he was a reliable pen pal.  He understood how sad I was to see him leave home. Each letter he wrote to me included a couple of one dollar bills.   That gesture made such a deep imprint into my 12 year old brain.  Brothers were the guys who would always take care of you regardless if they lived at home or away.  

After he was married for several years, I made it clear as often as possible that I was growing impatient to become an aunt for the first time.  Ever the teaser, Joe would call me a pismire - an ant.  Of course I had to look up the word and hated its existence.  My "aunt" wish was eventually granted with the arrival of Beth and Catie, two magnificent nieces.  

Joe's well earned and somewhat predictable life as a husband, father and CPA was punctuated by his love of photography, travel, growing succulent plants, along with stargazing, chasing planetary events, meteor showers, and any other space related happenings which always seemed to take place in the godforsaken hours of the night instead of the more civilized pre-midnight hours!  He has consistently been undaunted by the energy and planning it takes to maximize seeing some celestial wonder. 

He eventually left his marriage and life as a CPA to follow his star filled heart's desire and after several years of living elsewhere in the US and in Australia he moved to Hawaii 17 years ago.  My brother Vincent was first to move to the island of Maui in 1978, so seeing Joe follow to the Big Island in 2000 confused and confounded me.  It caused a protracted riff in our relationship because I was profoundly sad for my nieces and for my family. Most of all, I felt abandoned even though I had a family of my own. Our sibling relationship seemed cheated. 

Sibling Selfie 2014 - Joe, Vincent and me
Joe reached out consistently in those years but it took me a long time to come around and accept his choices.  I am grateful we were granted the time to circle back.  Joe was here last week to meet his new grandson and his thoughtful energy delighted us. There was LOTS of eclipse talk as he recalled seeing total eclipses in Chile, Japan, Hawaii, Syracuse, New York. More importantly, we chatted about the move to his next home in South Africa this week. A new continent awaits him. In keeping with his eclipse fervor, Mr. Max does little halfway. 

We have been texting and chatting wildly as he joins the throngs within the path of totality in the western US. Early this AM he called to say he had crossed into Wyoming's path of totality with clear skies. He shared his sunrise on this moon shadow day.  The state's population size is expected to double for the 2-1/2 minute show. I truly could not be happier for him.

In a lovely twist of fate, his daughters, Beth (who is visiting from her home in Oahu), Catie and grandson, Logan are spending "partial eclipse" day with me and my daughter, Ali in the Philly suburbs.  Regardless of what the weather conditions are here, we are content knowing the star man is gazing in the path of totality.  For those few precious minutes, all is right with the sun, moon, and stars and, of course, with Mr. Max.  

Here is the link to Joe's blog: 
(Thanks to Joe for use of his blog photos -little sister privilege is alive and well!)

Monday, June 26, 2017

The Cos

I feel like someone being interviewed on the local news after a neighbor is arrested for a particularly violent crime: "I just don't get it. He was a good neighbor who made us all laugh.  I can't believe this is the same person."

Bill Cosby's work (and his local roots) made him feel known, trusted.  His alleged deviant behavior in which over 60 women - 60!! - accused him of drugging them and subsequently either assaulting, harassing, or abusing them, brings one word to mind - power.  

Power is used to get whatever results the person wielding it wants.  Cosby's power was on trial this month and it proved successful in the result of a judge declaring a mistrial after jurors could not come to a consensus about his innocence or guilt of sexually assaulting Andrea Constand in 2004.

I believe the power within his popularity and mega success kept the other 59 women silent for so long that they ran out of time to charge him with a crime. Let's face it - who the heck is going to go after Cliff Huxtable's twisted alter ego?  

Cosby's 1965 television show, "I Spy," in which he co-starred with the late Robert Culp, was my introduction to the actor/comedian.  The popular show is what spurred my folks to buy Cosby's album "I Started Out as a Child" in the mid-sixties.  I listened to it often as a pre-teen and teen.  It made me laugh even after hearing it over and over when every joke, turn of phrase, and funny voice became predictable.  One line that stuck was his description of neighborhood friend Rudy, who could run so fast in his new sneakers that he could, "stop on a dime (pause) and give you nine cents change."  It tore me up every time. 

Now I am torn up with knowing the private side of Cosby.  Understanding that he has not been proven guilty or innocent, it has been telling to read some comments offered by some of the 7 men and 5 women jurors.  Questions about Ms. Constand's "waiting so long" to take him to court rings a familiar tone in re-victimizing the accuser.  A male juror noted that Cosby's 2005 deposition in which he "openly admitted he gave the pills"  to women. The juror continued, "he was very, very honest.  He was believable.  She (Ms. Constand) was not." http://www.cbsnews.com/videos/juror-says-politics-may-have-played-role-in-bill-cosby-trial/

Cosby's ludicrous, abusive behavior was believable, yet not convictible. That's some power.

And when it came to keeping the lines blurred between his adored Dr. Huxtable character and the real Bill Cosby, Cosby plucked his youngest television daughter, Keisha Knight Pulliam, now 38 years old,  to escort him into court (as opposed to one of his real life daughters.)  That is bald faced showmanship.   

His use of another Cosby character - Fat Albert - and his signature greeting of "Hey! Hey! Hey!" as he entered the Norristown PA courtroom was as tasteless as the sweaters he wore on The Cosby Show.  Yet supporters supped it up.  It reassured something familiar instead of the real, abusive behavior on trial.  

Why do we lionize people?  No one is 100 percent good all the time - no one. Why do we allow ourselves to be bamboozled by what we want to believe instead of what we are shown to be true?  Why do we hand over our power of discernment so we can feel more comfortable with what is being served up?

If someone would have told my 1986 self about the abusive Bill Cosby, I would have fought the notion as preposterous. This protective phenomenon could be called being "Huxtabled."

Even Cosby's efforts to call out young black men to hoist up their pants in his now famous 2004 speech at an NAACP event launched a newfound podium for him to decry the black community's failure to raise its children properly.  Cosby spoke unapologetically for the next decade about black behavior. His remarks, now ironic, are painfully inauthentic. The adage "empty barrels make the most noise" comes to mind.  Or in the case of the make believe Dr. Huxtable, the proverb "physician, heal thyself" is apropos. 

In his NY Times article about the Cosby trial, author Wesley Morris concludes with sentiments that capture how I feel: "Mr. Cosby's courthouse behavior acknowledged an additional trial: the one going on in our hearts.  I don't need a jury to know that this trial has worn mine out.  For at least a half an hour, "The Cosby Show" kept at bay the tide of bad news from the outside world while never skimping on the glories and hassles of being alive.  The show became an oasis we needed.  But real trouble has intruded.  And now the oasis is condemned."  https://www.nytimes.com/2017/06/18/arts/television/how-to-think-about-bill-cosby-and-the-cosby-show.html

The only power that matters is the one that informs us to always hold two things simultaneously: being skeptical while being impressed.  

Tuesday, February 14, 2017

Love is a Verb


I work in an elementary school.  A few months ago a favorite younger student who bursts into every moment with exhausting clarity impulsively kissed his best buddy on the cheek during lunch.  The buddy wasn't sure about this and told myself and a few other adults.

We followed the predictable path of talking with each child, having them talk to each other and explain how they saw/felt about what had happened, giving consequences etc.  But the delicious part came when the kissy boy offered his reason for smooching his friend. "I love him!" 

I confirmed that loving our friends is a good thing, but we shouldn't kiss them in school (keep hands and lips to ourselves.)  He went back to his seat for ten seconds and bounced back up with a eureka moment. "I know why I love so much!" he shrieked in discovery. "It's because my birthday is Valentine's Day!" 

I defy a judge or jury to convict after that solid elementary argument.

We may not need to have February 14th as our birthday to express love.  We are free to express it anytime, anywhere.  Yet this day holds so much weight or baggage depending on where you sit with its meaning. 

My twenty something self used to wretch at the thought of people getting engaged on Valentine's Day (some even punctuating the saccharin with a heart shaped engagement ring - don't get me started.)   So when my husband popped the question on 2/14/89, what did I do?  I dove into the deep end of Valentine's Day.  Suddenly, it became a top ten best "holiday." 

It moved from the list of obligation days which includes New Year's Eve, Mothers Day AND Father's Day, to a revered moment in time.  After 27 1/2 years of marriage, it continues to thrill and vex me.  It always gives me cause for reflection.  

Writer Sarah Hepola offered a gorgeous commentary at the end of NPR's Fresh Air show yesterday with a piece about honoring love that goes past this red heart February day.
http://www.npr.org/2017/02/13/514978859/lonely-on-valentines-day-celebrate-love-that-reaches-beyond-romance

In it she notes that the lilt of new love is unsustainable especially when we are bombarded with messages of giggly, bubbly, cute love when we are younger.  It's a start for certain, but she notes, "the majority of life is not spent with weak knees or butterflies...it's only the beginning."  Enduring love is work.  It can be exhausting.  It is often confusing.  And it is often worth it.                                  

Ms. Hepola shares, "Back in ancient times people would never have married for love. They considered it too unstable.  They married for money.  They married for land."   It was a most pragmatic proposition.  My romantic self growls at the prospect but, gosh, that formula seems easier to figure out.

In her closing thoughts, Ms. Hepola celebrates the variety of love she finds herself surrounded by in connecting with friends and family in all types of circumstances - not just the champagne popping times.  She quotes writer Olivia Laing from her novel The Lonely City:  "Loneliness, longing does not mean one has failed, but simply that one is living."

Love is a verb. Living means action in all of its colors.  Bubblegum pink and cloudy gray serve our senses nobly and distinctly as we take on each day.   My wish for all this day is to acknowledge love in its active state because that is, I believe, how we experience our true lives.   

Love is a verb.  Feel it less. Live it more.  

Tuesday, December 27, 2016

Things I Learned in 2016

~ America made a colossal mistake on November 8. 

~ Even in the windy, pouring down rain, I can run the Broad Street Run ever so slowly.

~ Smartwool socks are everything. 

~  Half of the effort with running really is mental.  (My brain must remember this as I train for a 15K in April and the Broad Street in May) 

~ In my imaginary world, I can sing "I'm Here" exactly like Cynthia Erivo in The Color Purple. 

~ I like Instagram much more than Facebook.

~ Amy Shumer's The Girl With the Lower Back Tattoo is a feminist treatise in her comedic voice - brilliant! 

~ Officiating at my niece's gorgeous wedding in July shows me just how incredibly brave she and her husband are.


~ Parenting and marriage confound me most every day.  

~  Being a concert goer continues to be one of my greatest pleasures.

~  Music connects us regardless of how we are wired or how old the wiring is.

~  Hearing Chance the Rapper (and the thousands attending Made In America in Philly) sing Blessings filled me up.  "Are you ready for your blessings?"

~  I miss Bill Cunningham's well curated photos for On the Street. 

~ Crock pot liners are my best dinner clean up friends. 

~  I will become a Great Aunt in 2017. 


~ Turning 60 felt like turning 30 i.e. I hated the thought of it until I had to try it on. 

~ I can almost keep the tempo singing "Satisfied" from the Hamilton soundtrack.  Next up is the Lafayette rap in "Guns and Ships" at 6.3 words per second - yikes!  

~ Using the words "rap" and "I" in the same thought makes me chuckle.

~  I sing in my car a lot.

~ Strange and unexpected sum up my favorite book club selection and subsequent discussion this year - Drew Magary's The Hike.

Quotable from 2016

"This future you live in . . . would I like it?” “Honestly, it’s probably not that different from the world you know. Some people are happy. Some people are angry. There are wars. I don’t know if time makes much of a difference. The world changes, but people act the way people always do.”  ~ Drew Magary The Hike

"And to all of the little girls who are watching this, never doubt that you are valuable and powerful and deserving of every chance and opportunity in the world to pursue and achieve your own dreams." ~ Hillary Clinton, 11/9/16

"Got my eyes, though they don't see as far now.  They see more 'bout how things really are now." Stephen Bray, Brenda Russell, Allee Willis The Color Purple 

Thank you for reading this blog - 2016 was a sporadic year for posting, so if you are looking at this, your kind attention is even more appreciated.  Here's to what 2017 has in store. May it be gentle and satisfying. 

Saturday, August 20, 2016

Real Men Smile

The video shows a universal event in the world of parenting.

An adorable toddler who is about to be vaccinated twice is totally unaware of what is to come.  The mix of his dad's gentle voice and the toddler's sweet replies is heartwarming.  After the needles are seamlessly given the little boy slowly comes to the reality of what just happened.  There is much congratulating and requests for high fives to assuage the youngster as his happy face morphs into  sadness and tears. 

And then the words spill out: "Don't cry!....Aw, big boy!  High five, high five!  Say you're a man!"

What does "Say you're a man" mean to a toddler?  

I recall waiting with other parents for our kids to emerge from our local library's beloved story time one summer afternoon.  The session was about half over when a little boy came out holding hands with the librarian.  He was crying and wanted to go home. It was his first story time experience.   His dad crouched down and took his son's hand, quickly tried to comfort him, and the wording went like this: "Aw, little man, go back in.  It's okay.  You'll have fun.  Go ahead.  C'mon, boys don't cry.  Boys don't cry."  The little boy continued to cry.  His dad gently picked him up,  kissed him, and said once more "Boys don't cry" and left.  

Everything the dad did was loving, supportive but the words didn't match.  Why don't boys cry?  They have tear ducts and emotions just like girls.  Why "don't" they cry?

In his NYTimes article, titled "The Masculine Mystique: Teaching Students to Look Beyond Die-Hard Stereotypes," professor Andrew Reiner assists students with tracing emotional honesty in men and what the influences are that can develop or stifle it.

The vaccine video was submitted by a student in the Towson University's Honors College seminar as an example of how boys are often taught to redirect their emotions.  Instead of saying, "I know that hurts," "I see you are in pain,"  "I'm sorry that makes you sad," as a way to empathize with the child, the inference to "be a man" is often the default.  

This is not a criticism of the parent.  It is an example of what we thoughtlessly reach for when trying to help a child in distress.  It shows that our default language often is at odds with our intention.  I believe the dad wants to help his son in every way.  I also believe he is influencing the boy's emotional learning to be more about toughness than about how to handle pain.  

As noted in Reiner's article, the video ends with "the whimpering toddler screwing up his face in anger and pounding his chest.  'I'm a man!' he barks through tears and gritted teeth."  Teaching our boys how to handle emotion through anger lays the groundwork for a sad detachment that harms not only males, but the females who are part of their lives. 

If we are detached from our emotions, then we don't have to deal with them.  Regardless of gender, this is where the train of human connection gets derailed.  If our toddlers are taught to substitute bravado for feeling true feelings, how does this serve them as human beings?  Reiner notes colleges are attempting to teach men how to "think beyond their own stereotypes" as national trends show males gradually falling behind in studies as they age.

The professor cites a report based on a book titled, "The Rise of Women: The Growing Gender Gap in Education and What It Means for American Schools,"  in which sociologists Thomas A. DiPrete and Claudia Buchmann observe: "Boys' under-performance in school has more to do with society's norms about masculinity than with anatomy, hormones or brain structure."   Reiner adds his thoughts, "By the time many young men do reach college, a deep-seeded gender stereotype has taken root that feeds into the stories they have heard about themselves as learners  Better to earn your Man Card than to succeed like a girl, all in the name of having to prove an identity to your self and others." 

This trend, like all trends, is not a blanket statement but a focus on the direction of male tough guy stereotyping.  It mirrors the "princess behavior" stereotype girls are often handed.  

As the summer Olympics wind down, we have received eyefuls of powerful, intense, kind, graceful, athleticism in sports alongside thoughtless, arrogant behavior outside of the competition.  How are the seeds of these behaviors nurtured?  The physical training is paramount but what sort of emotional training, if any, is taking place and when? 

"Be a man." 

"Boys don't cry."  

Instead, let's lead with,"It's okay to be human."  

Video used by the Towson Honors College student : Go to YouTube and enter "video of little boy being vaccinated" in the search box - the first video shown is the one referenced in this post.  

Article link:  http://www.nytimes.com/2016/04/10/education/edlife/teaching-men-to-be-emotionally-honest.html?_r=0

Wednesday, August 17, 2016

Olympic Fantasy

I have this Olympic fantasy.

It's not what you may think.  I don't wonder about running the fastest race or swimming the speediest laps or diving the most perfect dive.  (Though daydreaming about standing on that podium is pretty real.)

It is a much simpler thought.  When athletes wait in their warm up gear far away from the crowds prior to competing, they are often seen with earbuds in place, listening to whatever psychs them up for their moment. Michael Phelps immediately comes to mind. And while I often ponder what they are listening to, it is secondary to a much bigger question, which is:

What device are they using?


Is it a phone? An iPod Shuffle, Nano, Classic, iTouch, or iPod 'something else?' Maybe another brand of MP3 player or perhaps some spiffier version of one that I don't know about? (A very real possibility.) 

I have been an iPod Classic girl for eight years and before that, an iPod Mini girl.  Yep, in the world of high tech options, this girl has happily stayed the outdated course.  


My beloved iPod Classic
There is so much to love about it.  The smooth click wheel advancing to many musical options, playlists of my own design, sorting music by genre, album, artist.  Being my own DJ to suit a mood, a running time, gardening time, sewing time, at work, or background music when cooking in the kitchen.  And with no interrupting ads.

So when my device stopped working, a google search for "iPod Classic Repair" reaped a result equivalent to Hamlet's lament, "To die, to sleep no more."   The Classic is no more. 

What?  

This is astonishing! Especially since it happened almost TWO YEARS ago. Pining about this to my music savvy oldest daughter, she took pity on me and emailed an article which both laments and appreciates the magical MP3 player.   In her "Ode to the iPod Classic," author Lindsay Zoladz (a millennial) captures the pure joy of the device and touches on the larger issue of choice.  

It seems the open ended choices offered by music streaming services can result in a feeling of inertia for the listener.  Sometimes too much is too much.  Zoladz offers what psychologist Barry Schwartz calls the "paradox of choice." He states that when we are presented with seemingly limitless choices, we struggle more than if the choices were limited. "Too much choice can leave us feeling paralyzed and anxiety-ridden and with so many options to choose from, people find it very difficult to choose at all." Take that Apple Music and Tidal! 


My first iPod - a mini! 
Another surprising factoid is that, unlike Apple's premeditated obsolescence with its other products, the cessation of the Classic was a matter of fewer buyers and too much engineering.  CEO Tim Cook explained in the same article, "It wasn't a matter of me swinging the ax, saying 'what can I kill today?' The engineering work was massive and the number of people who wanted it, very small." 

A quick eBay search offers a glimpse into where the Classic resale market is right now. At the high end is a "collector's set" of three 1st generation devices never opened from their factory sealed packaging for the sum of $50,000!  On the low end, once you get past the sad junkyard of Classics being sold for parts, the cost varies by generation and storage.  A used 7th generation, 120GB lists for $228.00.  

I brought my device to the nearby Apple store to confer with a "genius" (oh that hyperbolic job description.) It felt like attending the wake of a doddering old uncle. Taking pity on me, the Apple employee did his best to let me down easy.  Sensing my pain, he set me up for a phone conference with another Apple tech person who could walk through how the device responded (or not) as it was connected to iTunes. Again, no juice. 

In a most sweet gesture, my daughter who admitted she remembers a time when she thought she'd never part with her Classic, has long moved on to a music streaming service and bestowed her device to me.  A fitting safety net for my iPod grief.  

For now, victory is mine and I feel like a gold medal winner.  Classic. 

Link to Barry Schwartz's 2005 TED Talk re: choice https://www.ted.com/talks/barry_schwartz_on_the_paradox_of_choice?language=en

Link to "Ode to The iPod Classic:
https://theringer.com/an-ode-to-the-ipod-classic-629e89681c6e#.jsk8vyk06