Skip to main content

23 September 2007 - The One Where Max Becomes a Corporate Whore

Enough was enough.
For the past two and a half months, I haven't been able to download music or movies off the interweb. I've been stuck with the same playlists for the past two months. Even on shuffle, you get tired of the same songs over and over again.
I had previously taken pride in being off the grid and staying away from the system. But those days are over. I have become another cog in that amoral, soul sucking machine that feeds off the lifeforce of a hairless Keanu Reeves. I'm speaking of course, about Apple.
Yes, I finally signed up for the iTunes Music Store. So all of you with your Che Guevarra t-shirts, you can stop reading right now.

At the Railway Campus, we're not allowed to use any file sharing programs such as LimeWire or Bittorrent. When I heard about this, the first thought that ran through my head was "Is this a Communist country? I'm sorry, I thought this was America!" Then upon realizing that my passport had just been stamped and I was not, in fact, in America, I shut up. Down here I can't hide behind the first ammendment like I was Cindy Sheehan.

But finally, I had had enough of the monotony. I heard the Gipsy King's version of "Hotel California" at the end of Entourage, and I needed to have it.
Then I heard Gus Black's cover of Ozzy's "Paranoid" during the opening credits of "Californication." And I needed it like Cuba Gooding Jr. needed a bigger part in "Pearl Harbor."
And a dollar is such a small price to pay for quality music and your support of recording artists. And plus, now that I have a debit card linked to my checking account, it's not even like real money!
(Sidebar: Before shipping off to NZ, I opened up a checking account. This gave me the freedom of my first debit card. One more step closer to financial emancipation...except that my folks regularly make deposits in my account.)

I have had one prior run-in with iTunes. For the life of me, I couldn't find the elusive Radio-only mix of Whitesnake's "Here I Go Again" on Limewire. After over a month of hunting for my hair band Holy Grail, I gave one, Jack Evert, a dollar and asked him to download it for me off his own account.
(Sidebar II: You might be asking yourself "How different can two versions of 'Here I Go Again' be? What is "a world of difference," Alex? It's like the Apocalypse Now: Redux of the musical world. Want proof? Go buy the song for yourself. It's only 99 cents, and if you mention that I sent you, I get five free hours on AOL).

But now I'm a part of the Apple system. And I'm having the time of my life! (Hey, T-Bone!) It's so easy to download the top songs of today and yesterday. I'm currently subscribed to about 10 podcasts (favorites are A Prairie Home Companion, This American Life and Gordon Ramsay's 'Fast Food.') and I'm digging the celebrity playlists.
I'm out there and I'm loving every minute of it! There's only a thin layer of gaberdine between me and full-fledged corporate whoredom. Yep. I love big business. I hate the first amendment. And I'm probably voting for a Mormon in '08. God Bless America!

-MGD

Vernon Davis Fun Fact of the Day:
Vernon isn't an alcoholic. The beer is addicted to him.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

It was labor day weekend, I was 17. I bought a coke and some gasoline.

It's currently day three of my blogging adventure, and David Delgado has still not accepted my challenge to get off of his lazy ass and start writing. This is why a hunger strike may be necessary. If Mr. Delgado does not cave in and post a new entry by the end of this week, then on November 14th, I, Max Davison, will officially pull a Ghandi and abstain from eating for as long as it takes. Homer Simpson also utilized this tactic when the Springfield Isotopes were planning on moving to Albuquerque. It worked then, and it will work now if necessary. Onto the blogging... I had a rather pleasant dinner at the Ath tonight. It was a class dinner for Prof. Busch's GOVT20 class. The highlights included conversations about the Ivory Coast, strange roommates, and (most importantly) they had some great cheesecake. So great, in fact, that we raided the empty tables to ensure ourselves some extra slices. Cheesecake. I love it. Occasionally, I'm not sure if I want cake or a dairy

25 October 2007 - I'm not sure what his appeal is, but he deserves better

Superman has kryptonite. Mike Tyson has Buster Douglas. Vince Young has grammar. We all have our weaknesses. But mine is a little bit more embarassing than any of the aforementioned (apart from VY's hatred of the present tense): dumb romantic comedies. Yes, it's not something that I like to admit and it's a vice probably better suited for the Probie or Sean Garrity , but I just like to sit down for an hour and a half, turn my brain off and watch two people fall in love. And apart from the Hanks/Ryan classics (which were ruined for me after Meg ditched Dennis Quaid for Cinderella Man ), there is one thread that links all of my favorites: Hugh Grant. I mean, just look at the guy. When he's not getting arrested for picking up hookers on Sunset (here's a better shot of the man), he's the epitome of the 90 minute romance. He's got "endearingly befuddled" down to an art form, he's also got perfect comedic timing and if you've ever seen hi

24 September 2007 - The One Where Max Curses the Ayatollah

I've been reading up on the Middle east recently. It all started when I watched "Syriana" and was thoroughly confused. Although, watching George Clooney get tortured gave me the same sort of orgasmic bliss that I get from watching Kirk Gibson hobble around second base. Before I started studying, Ayatollah Khomeini was just that guy on the t-shirt that Homer refused to sell at his yard sale. So I have resolved to take as many Gov't classes when I get back to CMC. I'm prepared to ditch my ignorance about that giant bed of sand that happens to be floating on a sea of oil. But in my honest opinion, the greatest victim in the ongoing war between Islam and freedom has to be Yusef Islam, the artist formerly known to the world as Cat Stevens. In 1978, Cat Stevens converted to Islam and left the pop scene to focus on education and philthropy. In 1989, he called for Salman Rushdie's head on a platter, insisting He must be killed. The Koran makes it clear - if som