cowperthwait | lies, evasion, spin, circumspection and cleverly veiled hype

When I learned that Apple was going to fill my order with a 2002-model 10GB iPod, instead, and raise the price (!), I canceled the order and got a full refund. I feel lame, and about $130 richer. Whew!

gulp

This morning, we learn that Apple's still selling first-generation iPods.

Everybody remembers these. They were great. I somehow ended up with two of them back in the day; the first one crapped out when the mechanical wheel got clogged with pocket lint, but the second outlived its three successors and led a happy retirement as the shower stereo at the 5237.

I still regret losing it in the move, not to mention having discarded the packaging: a box the size of a soccer ball bearing a glossy photo of Jimi Hendrix, 1-lb. wallwart charger, and gratis 6-foot FireWire cable.

So, don't I want a new one? That's some vaguely historic stuff there. Won't I want to … just sort of stare at it, unwilling to open the packaging, until I bequeath it on my bewildered grandchildren?


I mean, no. But, also, yes. Well, we'll see. Goaded on by the editors at TUAW, I took the plunge.

Part of me hopes that Apple will cancel the order. That's the part of me who is anxious about not contributing enough to my IRA and never being able to afford a house.

Of course, the other part is pretty frickin' stoked to have a new … old … toy. Pretty frickin' stoked.

Welcome comic relief in an otherwise utterly depressing article:

One of the rock operas, which young Russian-speaking anti-gay activists promote on video-sharing web sites, features a hero character wearing a tuxedo battling men in black tights armed with tiki torches. Over heavy-metal guitar riffs, a military-like chorus sings of "victory over the gays."

—The Southern Poverty Law Center's profile of a Latvian megachurch, in Is Homophobia the New Anti-Semitism?, The American Prospect

P1xel and the Chronic Network were an effing awesome band.

This week, the sun has begun setting directly into my stairwell at precisely the time I arrive home from work and attempt to walk up the stairs.

With some quick NatSci 18200 calculations I probably could figure out how many more days this phenomenon will persist; with a pair of sunglasses I meanwhile could prevent retinal damage.

Every night, though, it just reminds me of the walk-into-the-light sequence from Poltergeist, and a spooky John Williams score ends up earworming me through dinnertime.

Is this what it will feel like when I die? Will I have to carry my laptop bag into heaven, too?

duhn-duhn ... duhn-duhn ...	duhn-duhn-duhn-duhn ... duhn-duhn...
duhn-duhn-DUHNNNNNNN!

+

=

sorry

(02-16) 13:03 PST SAN JOSE -- The pilot of a United Airlines jetliner preparing for take-off this morning out of Mineta San Jose International Airport stopped the plane and shut off one of its engines after striking a flock of seagulls.

—SF Chronicle


It's Magic that they didn't take off -- they'd be Burnin' Up! Even in today's Rainfall, that would've been The End! I had a Heartbeat Like A Drum just thinking about it. I'm sure it caused Nightmares for The Traveller. Never Again!

HAL doesn't need to ask your name to figure out how cool you are


Gentrification Station occupies the top floors of a building that also includes other residential units, and, below these, some offices.

An intercom panel controls access to the lobby stairs and elevator: visitors select a name from a directory, the system rings the appropriate phone number, and we dial a code that unlocks the door.

Salient to my story, the system also allows entering an access PIN right on its keypad. When one does this, the system boop-boop-boops loudly. Boop boop boop.


This doesn't sound particularly high-tech — because it isn't — but don't underestimate the power of technology to confound. The system hasn't worked properly since the building was constructed. It doesn't always call the proper unit, or call anyone at all. Everyone got in the habit of giving guests the boop-boop-boop PIN to let themselves in. Boop boop boop.

(A regrettably common feature of Gentrification Station parties of yore involved yelling the boop-boop-boop PIN over the balcony to the sidewalk six stories below, for the benefit of incoming guests and any fortunate would-be burglars within a two-block radius. When I'm late for work and can't find my belt or my keys, I blame burglars for booping themselves in and swiping these.)


Management is finally fixing things this week. That's minorly inconvenient — they've reset the PINs, and while they iron out the kinks we have to use metal keys (remember these?) — but it's obviously good news.

Today, though, when a would-be guest enters the old PIN, the panel boop-boop-boops without unlocking anything. Boop boop boop.

When most people encounter this failure, they logically try entering the code again. Boop boop boop; still no dice.

A small but nonzero number of people seem willing to repeat the process yet again, just in case. Boop boop boop. And again. Boop boop boop. Funny; it's still not working. Boop boop boop.


I am working from home today with the windows open. Earlier in the morning, one booper — a man in a suit, presumably visiting one of the offices — persisted with such regularity that he could've been recording a Justice album. Boop boop boop. Boop boop boop. Boop boop boop. Boop boop boop. Boop boop boop. Boop boop boop. Boop boop boop.

I wanted to yell at him, or throw hot oil over the rail. I refrained, though. He was wearing a suit, so, presumably, he was more important than pyjama'd little old me. Also, oil is expensive. Having locked in my hot-oil hedge before the market crash, my supply has to last me a very long time indeed; I'm hoarding it for actual Visigoths, not French gothy electronica artists. There is a difference.

This could well be the plot of the next great one zany night screenplay. Girl goes out to find a refrigerator in Mexico City; hijinks ensue; she ends up at the disco...

That is both because and why I have blue headphones and you do not.


no static at all

I wouldn't know, but this can't be far off:



"The Youth", MGMT [YouTube]

No explanation available, or needed.

HEAR YE, HEAR YE:

WHEREAS Komar & Melamid and David Soldier's The Most Unwanted Music is indescribably awesome, and

WHEREAS it should be imposed upon shared with the whole world, and

WHEREAS today is Labor Day,

THEREFORE you should set The Most Unwanted Music, The Ringtone, Labor Day Edition to trumpet across the land, or at least across your apartment / office / MUNI Metro car, each time you receive a telephone call today, until your roommates / colleagues / fellow passengers stab you to death with shivs made from belt buckles, because they are that jealous of you for having the very coolest ringtone ever. Yes, this is how it works.

		hey-everybody-its-labor-day.m4a AAC
		Labor-Day.m4r iPhone ringtone