iTunes...

...is for chumps.

Seriously, it is. There are things called blogs (yeah, you may have heard of them) that allow people to post their music libraries for others to download for free. It's the balls.Of course, you need to write down a little blurb about how "all files are meant for listening purposes only - please delete them and buy the album once you've made up your mind" or something like that, and sure, I agree with that. Why? Because I'm not wasting my money on an album that has two good songs.

Sure, iTunes allows you to download individual songs, but there's that little asterisk...you know, the one with the dollar sign? Yeah, it costs money. No thank you.


Free downloading is the wave of modern music. Listen then buy. Not the other way around.

Chris Paul, huh?

Oh, man. My profound addiction to the Internet has grown exponentially within the past few weeks...right around the time the NBA lockout decided to end.


The news that has had me scrambling back-and-forth from Facebook feeds to Yahoo! Sports is the recent trade rumors that are floating around about my favorite player, Boston Celtics point guard Rajon Rondo being traded for New Orleans Hornets point guard Chris Paul.

On paper, this looks like a good deal. Paul is a 4X All-Star and is a great offensive weapon due to his above-average shooting and sturdy assists numbers. Rondo, I believe, has greater intangibles on the basketball court, and is a much better defensive player. He also doesn't have two shoddy knees and he's yet to hit his prime.

Why don't I want CP3 on the Celtics? It's pretty simple: he's one of them.


Let's keep Rajon.

Secret Santa?

Ugh. What a pain in my assets.

So here I am, a lowly grad student-intern, agreeing to a corporate event with full-time NPR website developers who make 10x the amount I do. What the hell was I thinking.


Now where does the Internet come into play? Well, as the Secret Santa game goes, you know who you're buying a gift for, but you're unawares as to who's getting you a present. The price apex was $25 - I'm sure they lowered it from $300 because of me...yeah, they're nice.

I pick a random name from a hat - well, not a hat, more like a Halloween container - and the dude I pick, we're not exactly close. Not enemies mind you; just not chums. I have no idea who he is or what he likes......until, I started stalking him on the Internet!


Amazingly, though, the guy's Facebook profile is barren; his LinkedIn profile is vacant; his blog is no help; his Twitter account is dry as a bone, and...you get the point. So even though this guys is plugged and dialed into social networking...he doesn't exactly spread his wings like yours truly. One look at my Facebook page and you know my likes, dislikes, and turn-ons.

So, you're wondering...what did the E-man get his Secret...guy...?

Boom!

Shopping with Craig

So I'm looking to get going on the ole Xmas list and seeing as how I'm a broke joke with extremely limited funds, I'm looking to save as much money as possible this Xmas. Hell, I still have two grad classes to sign up for and you know those are gonna kick me in the ass. Add on that I just threw down $1,300 at Pepboys for a new driver's side wheel bearing, four new all-season tires, an alignment, and a host of other things, and well, this Christmas is going to suck royally for those dearest to me. Sorry, guys.


Anyhow, I figured I'd scan Ebay and Amazon and all types of deal-a-second outlets like Steep and Cheap and Clean Snipe to see if I can scrounge up some cool swag at low, immensely affordable prices. Hmmm...maybe I'll try Craig.

I have a friend who loves music - yeah, you have one too I wager - and even though she owns like 10 LPs, I don't think she has a record player/turntable. So, for those unknown to the way of Craig, all you do is go to the site, scan down to FOR SALE (click), choose how far you wanna travel to pick up the item with the location bar on the top (click North Shore), go to SEARCH FOR and type in "turntable" and "record player" (click), and see how much people are charging. Pretty simple.

Cyber Monday?

Oh yeah...the pudgy sloppy seconds to Black Friday.

Black Friday is this really cool yet sleazy dude dressed in onyx who makes hot young moms wake up at the crack of dawn to save four bucks on a 40-inch Samsung plasma flatscreen.
Cyber Monday is this short, balding and accident-prone schlub who is content with plopping his bum in a faded leather office chair for hours, twiddling away at website bargains, clicking with maddening resolve, until he finally comes across the best deal for an economy size pack of keyboard dusters.
And to think: Cyber Monday actually lasts all week. Whoa.

The Lair of the Google

Larger and more ferocious than any of its kind, the Google huddled upon mammoth haunches, its feet the size of wagons, its genitals engorged and bulbous. It had feasted just hours before, but again, hunger pangs in its distended and vacuous belly began to broil. It arose with spindly arms, coarse black hair jutting off like pubic, veins darting like rivers and underwater streams, it arched itself into a great yawn and defecated enormous and rank a steaming pile of lime sludge and writhing parasite. The Google knew no such thing as worry, the weight of trouble or harm having no imprint on its hour-by-hour carnal delights. It's aim was to fornicate and feed, and so it did, on the wary and the mighty and on whomever stumbled across its tepid onyx cave.

On its way out and into the blaring light of early morning, the Google passed the chattering Facebook, the vainglorious YouTube, and the immensely fat Wikipedia, a loathsome trio of fellow inhabitants that shared the cavernous confines of the Google den. Scrambling from view and into the deep edges of the ashen tunnel the threesome hid, dripping urine and frantic saliva in fleeting strands and grimy puddles. The Google guffawed as it trudged its way by, tossing great blasts of flatulence in their direction, snickering and mocking at their moderate-sized breasts and testicles. It was King of all domains. Its gross dominance, its simplistically inexorable power, it proved too sturdy, too perfect for any to challenge. And so it reigned. Lumping its way across the fields of wheat, through splotchy fens of mud and weed, over granite face and by the sweeping expanse of ancient forest and rolling hillock.

It would find a virgin user, and it would waste little time. Ravaging, and then, with swift talons and slate-lined fangs, devouring and leaving no trace or hint of victim. Just a thick trail of spoor and malignant semen that will wind itself through valley and rock and back again into a secret rank pit where three jealous neighbors will idly watch with wide eyes and erect members the return of their inimitable master.

When the Internet Kicks Ass

When it's time do get shit done, surf's up, dude.

So far, today, I've done the following amazing shit thanks to the Internet, my best friend:

• Posted the latest "In Focus Today" article for NPR

• Wrote a thank you letter to a friend

• Researched the Penn State fiasco for a Podcast

• Bought tickets for Mastodon at the House of Blues

• A whole lot of browsing....

Pretty cool, right?

Whatever.

My phone is dumb.

Maybe one day, when I can afford to purchase a smartphone and the ensuing monthly bills and apps, people will look at me with admiration in their eyes...or at least a sense of acceptance.

Until then, I shall remain an outcast. A lowly, wretched example of society's not-with-it.

A freak.

Expresso?

No, not the beverage. Besides that's 'espresso.'

I'm talking about the "interactive cardio system." Yeah. Sounds kinda cool, right?

Well, it is. It's basically like any standard bike you would find at the gym, but some GENIUS decided to go, "Hey, why not turn this into a video game and allow people to race against each other's times?"

Durrrrrr!!!!!!!! What a fucking great idea!

In any case, my YMCA has four of them and me and my brother are hooked. Seriously, you can't beat me. He can't, so that means you can't.

One of the best things about it - besides getting in shape and making those legs work into overdrive, and the video game part - is the fact that you can check your times, rank, and all types of statistics on their website. Yeah, awesome.

It's simple, too. You get on the bike, sign in, peddle away, and then check to see how you're doing when you're home on your computer.

I love the internet. Anyhow, check out the website for yourself!

"Facebook? No, thanks."

How many people do you know that aren't on Facebook? Or rather, how many people do you not know that are on Facebook?

Wait. No, go with the first one.

Not many I'd wager. I've got a few friends who are simply opposed to the idea of belonging to the Facebook community, and for all it's worth, their reasoning for not joining is as secretive as it is sucky, and well, non-existent.

Our conversations tend to go something like this:

Me: "So, you gonna join Facebook anytime soon?

Them: (snicker) "Uh, no."

"Why not?"

"Cause Facebook is lame."

"How is Facebook lame? You've never tried it. Come on, you signed up for MySpace..."

"Yeah, and how often do I check that?"

"They're completely different."

"I don't know. I mean, why would I want to join in the first place? To pretend I'm friends with people I've talked to once or not at all?"

"You don't HAVE to be friends with anyone. Just reject their freind request."

"Yeah, and then I'd feel bad."

"So, accept their friend request and then put them on hide. That's what I do. It works like a charm. No harm, no foul."

"Fuck that. Too much of a hassle."

"Whatever."

Pop-up Ads Galore

When did these things become so popular to throw on your website?

I go to IMDB and all of a sudden a gigantic stretch-down ad for Jurassic Park on blu-ray takes over my whole screen! I already own it on DVD, goddamnit!






















Wait a second, and then I go to ESPN and some video game trailer explodes into my face and nearly scares me enough to knock this over-priced "all natural" energy drink off my desk and onto these corduroy pants that I clearly need to wash. Yeesh.



























What's going on here? Do websites really need to shove this shit down our throats?

Isn't that what television is for?

No More Toying Around

It could only last for so long. My sanity, that is.

After months of putting up with post after unbearable post of the most deliriously moronic and delusional rants, I've finally decided to 'hide' a Facebook 'friend' that I kept around for the sheer pleasure of gradually making myself go insane.

This anonymous person that I will refer to as Z, is one of the rarities. After initially deleting him during my first few months on Facebook - in large part due to his absurd posts that I soon fell head over heels in love with - more than a year later, another request to be Facebook 'friends' popped into my inbox. For the sake of second chances, and considering how he is an absolutely harmless individual, I gave in - this is when the madness began.

Post after post after picture after music video of things and people that I found absolutely wretched and/or ridiculous soon began to pop up with more and more frequency. At first, I simply shook my head.

How ridiculous, I thought.

But then, over time, my soft pity melded into a white anger, and finally, eventually, into a state of acceptance and acute delirium where my confusion masked my hatred, soon allowing me to read and view these posts as something so bland, and so unremarkable, that they took on a life all their own.

Through the form of Facebook posts, Z's insipid taste and clueless and entirely deluded mind soon effected my own in a way I've yet to encounter. His posts were so stupid, so amazingly trite and beyond anything so standard as face value, that I was dumbstruck, awed by a brain so feeble and yet so confident, that not only did I second-guess my own mental stability, it wasn't long before I viewed Z as something superior to myself: a being so content in exactly what he is, so sure of himself and his posts, that I suddenly found myself seeking out and craving Z's next move.

Well, low and behold, after several months, maybe more, the curse, this mirage has finally come to a close. Why now after so many days? Why Z when I've hid so many more (112 of 313 for a 35.78 hide average) for so little?

You know, I don't have the answer. His posts were just so bafflingly good, so mind-numbingly...mind-numbing, that like any good drug, it just took me a while to kick it, and when I did, it was cold turkey all the way.

For your curiosity, here are a few of his posts, some recent, some classic:

"I enjoy walking in the rain I really do"

"Paranormal activity looks better everytime they come out with a new one"

"Going to cash my check"

"Going with my sis and bro inlaw to get the new transformers on bluray and have a nice movie night"

"Just punched out of work now home for food and sleep"

"my gift of self is raped my privacy is raped"

"cashing my check then buying my cell i wont feel naked no more!!!1"

"Playing my acoustic by the fire all night"

"It kills me to watch this fade and I realize its all shurade"

"enjoying 1 of the last summer nights alone"

"Wants to go cash my check but I'm not walkin"

"Aint nobody gets between me and my girl and i mean nobody"


Sure, this may not seem bad, but when you're bombarded with crap like this every hour, it all begins to blur.

I'll miss you, Z.

Turning Crap into Gold

I'm feeling a bit less cynical than I usually am today, so instead of berating fellow twenty-somethings for their inane Facebook posts or their pop culture interests, I figured I'd talk about a website that has helped me out in the past two days.



Sure, we all sell our shit, and about a year ago I can confess to having an odd fixation with selling said crap on Ebay - mostly old band shirts, DVDs, and unused Christmas presents. Of course, when I first started I got burned something bad when tabulating/estimating the cost of shipping, a couple times actually losing out on money (go ahead, laugh), but I've since comprehended the sinister ways of this auction giant, and now, well, even though I'm no longer selling with as much frequency/addiction, I still use its endless pages as a source of pricing information.

Two items in particular:

My 29th birthday just came and went, and I literally asked for one thing: an insanely bad-ass bronze Indian bust I came across at Todd's Farm in Ipswich/Rowley. The man who was selling it was asking for a little over $200, but I knew it had to be much more.

Low and behold, my folks handed it to me on my b-day, and upon doing a little research, I found it being sold online...on Ebay.

The second item was researched for my dad who had a vintage guitar of his cleaned and tuned up at Daddy's Junky Music a few weeks back. Although he remembers the original purchase price, he had no idea how much it costs in 2011, and although I had a guess, all we needed to do was check out...yes, Ebay.




















Ebay, another preposterously helpful Internet tool.

The Wi-Fi Look-at-Me's

Oh, you know who I'm talking about. Hell, you may be one of 'em.

They're the folks who bring their laptop wherever they go. On the train. On the plane. To class, to lunch and brunch and the park and the beach, anywhere within the Wi-Fi reach.


And why? To take notes? To look up stats? Maybe the girl at Starbucks with the summertime scarf is seeking to prevent the inevitable crash? Parting with such hardware, no, please, don't dare ask. I cannot, I will not, complete such an unthinkable task.

When, oh when, did lugging around your Mac become so awesomely cool? How much work can get done on a bumpy train next to an old sleepy fool? And the guy at the coffeehouse, yeah, he's staring you down, mentally undressing and impressing, while you, so clueless, so jaded, get your dainty kicks Facebook fucking around.


That's because you're a Wi-Fi look-at-me, a product of a vain generation. Where your thoughts, no matter how dull, your dreams, so lame, so null, and your evening and weekend plans, so important and oh-so great, take precedence over the concepts of dignity, subtlety, and easy-peasy social cues, concepts generally innate.


So, next time you head out, think twice, then think again, about this metal package held within. It's true, you're no better with or without, and by Lucifer's beard, it'll certainly won't raise your clout, because this thing, this sin, that you unfold and display, why, it's a Wi-Fi smug bomb, so for your own sake, and for the sake of your soul, forget it, reject it, please, just keep it away.

Online Dating: Desperate or Downright Awesome?

So there's this Match.com commercial swirling about stating that 1 outta 5 relationships (or marriages...I dunno) are the result of internet dating.
So what is internet dating? Well, it's pretty straight-forward: it's an online outlet for people too busy, timid, socially awkward, etc. to find a significant other in the real world. People sign up, fill out sheet after sheet of personality so-and-so's and compatibility what's-it-called's and voila, you are suddenly one step closer to getting laid.

Hell, I can't knock it. I've tried it, and if you're as single as I am, I'm sure you've tried it too.

First, I tried Myspace; browsing pictures and nearby zip-codes. Then it was Craig's List; sifting through all the fake posts for that one crazy who may or may not axe you to death when you don't tell her you love her on the first date; and then, there was Match, a site where you wink at people in hopes of getting the point across that you may want to pursue something.

The one thing they all have in common besides thousands of delusional fruitcakes: it's the same damn thing as Ebay, Amazon, or any other shopping website, because that is precisely what you do. You scroll and scan and stop on a certain girl/guy that, just like when you eyed that certain 40" widescreen at Best Buy, fills you with a certain amount of material want. It's all bologna, it's all appearance. No one reads the fine print and how they built orphanages in Africa or the time they met the cast of Saved by the Bell on a cruise ship.
Guys look for two things: pictures and whether these chicks have kids or not.

Girls look for three things: pictures, kids or not, and a dude's yearly income.

Take it from me, a non-photogenic, grad student living at home: your best bet is to go out and meet people away from the computer. That is, of course, it's the summer or spring, because you should damn well know that all females hibernate in the winter months.

When the Internet Saves Your Ass

Oh, wait a second. That's all the time. Everyday. Right now even.

I'm not joking when I say that I would be a helpless pile of quivering, confused mush if the internet wasn't consistently at my fingertips.

Let's look at my jobs:

The Newburyport Daily News - when I'm not in the office, I NEED email to send my story and pictures over. I NEED email to get in touch with potential features. I NEED email to talk with my editor.

NPR Digital Services - There is no aspect of this job that does not revolve around an internet connection.

The Metal Observer - It's an e-zine.

How about school?

Fiction Workshop - I use the internet constantly to research ideas, places, things, etc. to make my story as believable and realistic as possible. Email is also a huge part of me having the capability of writing on a different computer and then sending the updated version to myself.

Electronic Rhetoric - Yeah.

The major reasons why the internet domineer my life are as broad as they are pathetic. I think it's about time we all junk our PCs or Macs or whatever and start counting stones again.

Who's with me?

Don't feed the...

TROLL!

That means you.

The slang term "troll" is a clever Internet twist on Norse mythology that describes, as is posted by Wikipedia, "someone who posts inflammatory, extraneous or off-topic messages in an online community, such as an online discussion forum, chat room, or blog, with the primary intent of provoking readers into an emotional response or of otherwise disrupting normal on-topic discussion."

Yes, that about sums it up, but I've always thought it interesting and again, rather clever, that the noun and verb forms of "troll" are so suitable for this very common Internet phrase.

Sure, you have your troll, your bone-eating ogre who pulls children under bridges, walk three stories high, and smell like dung, but the verb, "trolling," well, if any of you have any fishing background, is a method of catching multiple fish by offering some delicious bait and then drawing them - hook, line, and sinker. Again, the omnipotent Wikipedia article explicates a bit better.

In my broad experience of message board use, it's safe to say that there is no shortage of trolls out there. And, to be honest, although many are out there for the lone sake of being assholes, many trolls are misinterpreted as people who are simply tired of seeing the same old threads, by the same moronic posters. In many cases, they're simply saying what you wish you could without being ostracized from this virtual community.

And who am I kidding? Every now and again, it's kind of fun being the troll.

Read this...or not.

While there is no question that I enjoy signing on to Facebook for its array of news feeds - like whether my beloved Celtics are having a season or not - and checking a host of Blogspots for free music links to the latest metal albums, I simply cannot get on board with the sheer and unadulterated vanity that accompanies blogs and other social networks.

I can understand if someone is using a blog as a source of writing practice and criticism, or as a way to post important news content, but the truth is that the majority of Facebook feeds and blog posts are excerpts of self-indulgent "listen-to-me" masturbation. Just like what you're reading now.

I'd post more, but then I'd be practicing what I preach (against).

(Can you tell that I've been having a bad day? Yes? Well, there you have it - digital depression!)

Guilty Pleasures #1: Picture Picking

One of my favorite things to do whilst surfing the web, aside from robbing a large variety of Death Metal musicians blind, is discovering a whole world of beautiful, disgusting, hilarious, depressing, and altogether emotive photographs.

Some are real, some are fake, and some, for lack of a better word, are pornographic, but they're all unique and each picture exemplifies how vast the internet is and how there are so many truly talented (and weird) people who have nothing better to do than upload a bunch of crazy crap.

Here are a few random pictures. Enjoy.