I Hate Apple and iTunes!

Actually, I don't really hate them. I'm just mad at them right now. A couple of days ago I bought myself an iPod Nano 3rd generation in pink (my favorite color). It was a birthday present to myself. I wanted to be able to download music videos and watch them on my iPod. I had visions of watching, anytime I wanted, all my favorite videos. Videos that I would spend hours in front of the television during my formative teenage years back in the 80's waiting for MTV to play, like Madness, The Cure, Culture Club, Duran Duran, Siouxsie and the Banshees, The Pretenders, etc.

I walked over to my local Target in the pouring rain just to buy it. I thought I hit the jackpot when the sales associate told me that I was entitled to a free $25 iTunes gift card with the purchase of the iPod. Woo hoo! When I brought my new iPod home and plugged it into my laptop, I got an error message that said the iPod was corrupt. So I schlepped back to Target, by which time the rain turned torrential, because I wanted immediate gratification and didn't want to wait until the next day to replace it. So I took my new iPod home only to have the same problem. Since I didn't want to go out in the rain a third time, I decided to surf the net first to see if others had this problem. In short, it turns out that the new iPod requires the Mac operating system of OS 10.4.9 or higher and iTunes 7.6, neither of which I had. So that's my first beef with Apple. They make it so that their older software and operating systems don't support the new products they release, thus requiring consumers to either download, or spend $130 on the newest upgrade. I tried to download the upgrade, but since I have dial-up (I know, I should really get with the times), it would have taken 12 hours to download it. As it happened, it took me 3 hours to download the iTunes 7.6 upgrade, only to learn I couldn't install it because I didn't have OS 10.4.9 or higher. I finally got the bright idea to try the computers in the management office of my apartment, which are available to residents. I thought surely they would have high-speed internet access. I was right. It took 4 minutes on the office computer to download the upgrade that would have taken 12 hours on my laptop.

Once installed, I was ready to download music videos. I hit iTunes' New Wave Nation, the perfect homage to the era that spawned the music video. Alas, the selections were meager. So I downloaded ABC's The Look of Love and then hit the current video section to grab Amy Winehouse's Rehab. But with my dial-up connection, each video took 3 hours to download. And once downloaded, I wasn't able to play them in iTunes, even though it should support the videos because I purchased them from iTunes. And even worse, when I tried to load the videos into my iPod, I got a message that says the iPod won't support the music videos at all. I think it only supports movies and television shows purchased on iTunes, not music videos. How misleading! And another beef I have with iTunes is their new "iTunes Plus," which means that, even though I had iTunes, there were some songs and new albums that I couldn't download unless I upgraded to the newest version of iTunes. So it was like having iTunes but not being able to buy anything on it.

So now I'm completely pissed off at Apple. They are the undisputed leaders in MP3 players and legal music downloading, so perhaps they feel they can get away with this blatant marketing ploy of continually upgrading software and products while rendering previous versions practically obsolete. I do like my new iPod, but I still can't play videos on it, nor can I watch them in iTunes. And is it just me, or did Apple re-design the ear buds that come with the iPod so that they don't fit in the ear as well as the original iPod's earbuds, thus forcing you to buy the more expensive but better-fitting in-ear headphones? Perhaps the matter requires more investigation online, but as it's four o'clock in the morning (I'm downloading the new Nada Surf album, Lucky, and it's taking over 5 hours), I'm too tired to surf the net for more answers. Maybe tomorrow.

Stop Calling Me, Hillary Clinton (You too, Barack Obama)

Tomorrow is Super Tuesday, which means eight states are having their presidential primary elections all on the same day. And every day for the past week, I've been getting telephone calls from both the Republican and Democratic parties asking for my support for various candidates. But these are not the solicitation telephone calls of the past. Back in the day, volunteers from the various candidates' committees used to personally call local residents who were registered voters of that particular candidate's party, hoping to count on their support. But with the advent of the modern telemarketer and that pesky invention of theirs, the autodialer, now candidates can bombard entire states with their own pre-recorded messages. I get at least three telephone calls a day. Just today Hillary Clinton, Mitt Romney, and Mitt Romney's wife have all called me to ask for my support. Yesterday Barack Obama called me. I've yet to hear from Ron Paul, but as no one seems to know who he is, maybe he hasn't bothered with telephoning anyone.

I can't wait until this election is over. Being bombarded with television advertisements as early as last fall was bad enough. Now they're monopolizing my telephone. When I was in college and was about to register for my first election, a friend advised me not to put down my telephone number on my voter registration application. He said it wasn't a requirement, that they only used it for the aforementioned committee volunteers to cold-call voters. Now with autodialers, that point is moot. But at least I can fight back with counter-telemarketer technology: Caller ID. Any time I get a call from "Private Caller," I can be sure it's another pre-recorded election message. Then I let it go to voice mail. And they do leave voice mail.

I'm not the only one who is sick of the campaigning, and how it started off way too early and got too intense too fast. A recent episode of The Simpsons totally took the piss out of this year's election campaign with its "Ralph Wiggum for President" episode. And like Hillary and Barack and Mitt, Ralph has his own presidential election campaign website: http://www.wiggumforprez08.com. So pick a winner. Vote Wiggum in '08!

Old Punks Never Die (They Just Sell Out)

I first heard of Debbie Harry and Blondie in the 7th grade. Being too young to know about any type of music that was outside of mainstream radio, like Punk, I didn't know about Blondie until their 1979 punk-disco crossover hit "Heart of Glass" climbed the charts and received major national radio airplay. At the time, I was kind of intimidated by Debbie Harry. She looked so tough. She was junkie-thin, and wore those Candies high-heeled slides that my mother wouldn't let me have. Her black roots revealed that her peroxide-blonde hair was a dye job, and what's more, she didn't give a shit! And most intimidating of all was that she sang the word "ass" in the song (cuz it rhymes with "Glass"). I heard it, once or twice, before radio stations replaced it with the censored version. But as scared as I was of Debbie (remember, I was only 12, growing up on Long Island in a conservative suburb of New York City), I did like "Heart of Glass." And when Blondie released their next single, "One Way or Another," I put aside my fears and bought the 45 rpm single at my local Record World. It shared Top 40 space with disco holdouts like Gloria Gaynor's "I Will Survive" and last-ditch efforts at '70s mellow music like Poco's "Crazy Love." But while disco ultimately died, and mellow music gave way to the New Wave and Heavy Metal noise of the '80s, Blondie was well on their way to becoming a hallowed musical institution.

Fast forward twenty-eight years. "One Way or Another" is now used in a Swiffer dry mop commercial. "Call Me," Blondie's theme song from the 1980 film American Gigolo, has been grossly misappropriated by a Massachusetts used-car dealership. And this week, I was shocked to see a commercial for NBC's game show The Singing Bee touting the fact that this Friday Debbie Harry would be joining rock and roll legend Little Richard, and the show's host Joey Fatone (of N'Sync fame) as the musical guest. Huh?

With the Hollywood writer's strike in its seventh week or so, network television is scrambling to come up with reality shows to fill the void left by the scripted dramas and sitcoms whose production has been halted by the strike. The commercial for The Singing Bee proudly heralds the show's "return." Translation: the show was pulled due to low ratings, but is back on the air because of the writer's strike. So why is Rock and Roll Hall of Fame-inductee Debbie Harry appearing on a tacky mid-season replacement game show that includes the likes of Fatone, and which has its own dancers, The Honey Bees (hey, wasn't that the name of the Beatle-esque pop group that Ginger, Maryann and Mrs. Howell formed on Gilligan's Island?). Does she really need the money? Of course, she is in her sixties by now. And in the grander scheme of things, one could argue that there really aren't all that many old punks, as many of them died in their prime, either by OD (Sid Vicious, or Malcolm Owen of The Ruts) or by suicide (Ian Curtis of Joy Division). So maybe selling the rights to songs and appearing on television shows is the punk rock star equivalent of Social Security. And punk itself doesn't evoke the same emotions as it used to. In 1976, punk scared the crap out of The Establishment. Over thirty years later, punk, like disco, is considered a farcical music and fashion movement of a past decade, as evidenced by a chocolate chip cookie commercial featuring claymation punkers singing "Chunky Chips Ahoy, oi, oi, oi!" I bet the kids watching that cookie commercial today wouldn't even know the origins of Oi (the Cockney Rejects' single "Flares and Slippers," FYI). But for someone who once sang "Die Young, Stay Pretty," Debbie looks pretty darn good for her age.

I for one will not watch Debbie Harry on The Singing Bee. I prefer to remember the Debbie Harry of the good old days of "Atomic" and "Rapture", ringing in 1980 on Dick Clark's New Year's Rockin' Eve, and of course, her Gloria Vanderbilt Jeans commercial (didn't she seem really stoned in that one?). We'll always have "Rip Her To Shreds."

No No No to Ho Ho Ho?

I'm all for political correctness, but this is taking it too far. Some department stores are now having their Rent-a-Santas say "Ha Ha Ha" instead of "Ho Ho Ho." Why, you ask? Because the word "Ho" now has certain derrogatory connotations. How ridiculous. Do we really think Santa is calling our children an urban euphamism for prostitutes? "Ho Ho Ho" is merry in nature, reminiscent of Santa in Clement C. Moore's classic holiday poem "The Night Before Christmas." It positively evokes Santa laughing so hard that his belly shook like a bowl full of jelly. "Ha Ha Ha," on the other hand, sounds like someone is laughing at you. Witness Nelson Muntz from "The Simpsons," with his trademark "Ha Ha" (and, in one Christmas episode, when laughing at Ned Flanders, "Ha Ha - you're sad at Christmas.") Is Santa laughing at you? Could it be because you were foolish enough to stand outside of Kohl's to be first in line when they opened at 4 am the day after Thanksgiving to buy the new Tickle Me Elmo, only to discover that it was pulled from the shelves because it sounds like it's saying something obscene (but apparently not as obscene as the word Ho, which is why Santa can't use it anymore)?



That Nelson cracks me up.

Kinda Bumming Today

Forgive me if I'm not my usual cheery, irreverant self today, but I just learned that one of my neighbors died this week. It was sudden - no one had seen her all of last weekend, and then her daughter found her in her apartment on Monday. It makes me realize how you never know what will happen. I just saw her last week. She was in her car driving out of our apartment complex as I was walking in. We waved to each other. I didn't know it at the time, but it was the last time I would see her.

Usually I try not to get too chummy with my neighbors, in case they turn out to be kind of weird, or want to start coming over to visit all the time. I know, it's sort of anti-social of me, but I do like to keep to myself a lot of the time. But this lady was one of the few neighbors that I am friendly with. She was eldery, a widow who lived alone, although her children and grandchildren lived nearby. But she was fiercely independent. She once told me that, until very recently, she used to keep a loaded gun in her apartment and so she never locked her door at night ("If anyone got in, they'd never get out."). Her late husband was a police officer, so I guess she learned how to handle a gun from him. But that's the kind of spunky woman she was. And passing away suddenly in your own home beats dying in a nursing home, sick and feeble, sometimes for years, hands down.

It's especially sad for her family that she died around Christmastime. I lost my father ten years ago this month, just two weeks before Christmas, so I know how it can affect one's holidays for the rest of one's life. I still think about my father more at Christmas. But in a strange way, I derive a little comfort from the fact that he passed away around Christmas. When I go to church every year on the anniversary of his death to light a candle in his memory, I am comforted by the pointsettias and the Christmas decorations that adorn the church. And if I'm lucky, I'm treated to a rehearsal of the organist or the choir practicing Christmas music. In fact, on the first anniversary of his death, in a beautiful cathedral on the Upper East Side in New York City (near where I worked at the time), the organist started practicing while I was there. I was crying a little bit, and the first song that the organist played was my favorite Christmas carol, "O Come, O Come Emmanuel." It's pretty, yet kind of mournful, medieval and monastic in sound. I felt that it wasn't a coincidence -- that it was a gift to me that day, a sign that my father knew I was there, and that he was at peace. Sounds crazy, I know, but it made me feel better to think that. And maybe in time my neighbor's family will find the same comfort that I do during the holiday season.

Why Am I Such a Misfit?

Christmastime is here again. Time to put up the tree, hang the mistletoe, and take out those DVDs of the classic holiday television specials you enjoyed as a child. I'm talking about chestnuts like How the Grinch Stole Christmas, A Charlie Brown Christmas, and, of course, anything by Rankin Bass. So last night I waxed nostalgic and watched my DVD of Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer. And last night, like every year, a thought occurred to me, as I'm sure it's occurred to everyone who's seen the program - a nagging question that, for the past forty-plus years that this program has been in existence, has never been fully explored nor satisfactorily answered: What exactly is wrong with the Misfit Doll?

You all know the Misfit Toys: Charlie in the Box, a cowboy on an ostrich, a train with square wheels. Sure, it's obvious what their problems are. But what's wrong with the little doll? She looks perfectly normal in her red gingham dress and pigtails. So why is she a misfit, banished to a life in limbo on the Island of Misfit Toys? I posed this question to a co-worker once, and he replied that she's a misfit because she cries a lot. I countered that she cries a lot because she's a misfit. Is this a vicious cycle? Watching it again last night, however, I realized that she only cried once, on Christmas Eve, when the fog became so thick that it looked like Santa wouldn't make it to the Island of Misfit Toys to pick them all up and bring them to new homes. Who wouldn't cry at this massive disappointment?

But maybe my co-worker had a point. An article on tvparty.com suggests that the Misfit Doll's problems could, perhaps, be more psychological in nature. Personally, I think she was a Misfit because she had red hair! As a redhead myself, I know how she would be ostracized - called names like Carrot Top, Freckle Face, or Pippi Longstocking. But if she's a misfit because she has red hair, then dammit, so am I! I think there's a lesson to be learned from the Misfit Doll, and indeed, from all of the Misfit Toys: Be Yourself. To remind myself of this valuable lesson, I've got the Misfit Doll action figure (part of a two-pack with Rudolph) gracing my computer table year-round as a reminder to embrace my individuality. I'm a Misfit and proud of it.

Just don't get me started about my theory that Hermie's desire to be a dentist is actually a veiled reference to coming out of the closet.

The Million-Dollar Question

Anyone? Anyone?

My guess would be that they both fight crime. Batman took an extremely proactive approach, while Jesus used more preventative measures (the 10 commandments, thou shalt not steal, etc.).