Thursday, March 13, 2003

Its late enough in the day where all I can think about it going home, but early enough that I can't even round up to the half hour yet. I can taste it in my mouth, my immanent freedom. I just can't have it.

Yahoo has a new interesting software called "Launch Cast" where you make your own radio station.

You pick from a bunch of different genres and then, within each genre, can pick artists you like. The trick tho is the ratings system. The more artists, songs, albums, etc, you rate, the more they get played on your radio station. Now, I thought I would beat the system and just check the boxes for certain artists, and not entire genres. That way, I could listen to the Clash, in "rock", without getting the horrors of whatshisname with the Messiah complex.. Creed.. shudder. (anyone who shouts out in support of Creed will be banished from the Universe. Luckily Mom, I don't think you know them).

However, somehow, someway, Yahoo planned for my cleverness and still delivered the latest R&B drivel when I clearly only chose those Hip Hop artists with integrity, true talent, a gift for rhyme, and no studio execs marketing the sneaker to go with the song before its been released or even finished. (HA HAHAHAHAHAHA, i know, i know, that was funny).

And then I realized, this ratings thing is really truly nefarious. There you are at work. Humming along. Doing your thang for the University. All of a sudden, a decent song comes up- you think "I havent heard this before" and you rate it high because you want it to come back.
You go back to work, shifting the piles of paper around in a nice little circle on your desk, and then another song comes on. Or an artist you've never heard of but this album seems cool.
The volume is low not to disturb the other worker-bees, but now your wondering if maybe while you were reading the latest spreadsheet, you missed a song or two!
Before you know it, your a slave to LaunchCast, rating songs, putting on their generic stations to catch the glimmer of a fading chance of possibly good music to rate high so your own station will be the envy of everyone in your building as they make their way to the bathroom next to your office (must play music at all times, the bathroom is next to my office!) and NO work is getting done, Instant messages go unnotices, email chimes, phone rings, but you dare not venture too far away because what if the next song is really cool and YOU HAVEN"T RATED IT!!!!

Just when things seem too bleak for words...

You find the wonder of the skip forward button.
You can't skip back, which means that once a song has played out unrated, its gone forever into the depths, but you CAN skip forward and maybe find something better. Maybe even save some time! Run through the crap and get straight to those underground artists you know are out there that you can then go and burn all their MP3's and be the next coolest person at the party when you put on the cd and say "dudes, check out this band". So now, your skipping, your listening for 3 or 4 seconds, you rating artist, song, album, your toggling through the stations just in case someone who really should be pop punk is under "skater punk", skipping, rating, stopping, skipping, rating... And then, THEN, with the email program still running, the spreadsheets running, IM windows all over the place, the phone not being picked up by anyone else because apparently your forehead says "I AM YOUR BITCH" in invisible ink, a game of spider solitaire your were playing earlier still open, and you've just opened limewire to try and find some of this cool music for your permanent collection, LAUNCHCAST FREEZES.

It's stuck on the "annoying hip hop of the late 90s" genre because you were really looking for early salt n'peppa, but now you've got RUMPSHAKER blasting out of your computer, the stupid window won't close or stop or skip forward or even allow you to rate the damn stupid song, task manager opens up so many "end now" windows you can't click through them fast enough and you realize..

you've done no work today. Go you. Go Yahoo.