So, my iPod FINALLY did the equivalent of giving me the finger the other day. I tried to access my playlist and it displayed a file folder with a URL that directed me to Apple support. Translation: “I’m done dealing with you, and your erratic musical selections.”
I had been toying with the idea of an iTouch, which is a very cool gadget with touch screen and the ability to access the internet through a WiFi connection. I wasn’t thrilled with the price tag for the amount of memory. For a mere $400, I could buy a device that had several gigabytes LESS memory than the previous. I think not.
I could make this a long story, but why bother? At the end of the day, I ended up with a black 80G video iPod classic.
I was so used to the old version that I’m completely in love with the color screen and new features! Yay! I love technology!
So . . . Styx . . .
I went to a benefit with my father the other night, which he billed as a charity event at the Vic. Turns out it was actually a Styx concert.
The VIP reception was nice. Styx was comingling with the group, which included a bunch of media people, Rev. Jesse Jackson and wife (whom I love dearly), and pizza. (I was probably happiest to see my old friend pizza).
There was a group of students that opened for Styx, which include an energetic 19-y-o Prince-inspired singer, complete with the long, flowing relaxed hair, and the stage splits. They were pretty good.
When Styx finally hit the stage, I had ingested a slice of pizza, a few glasses of (bad) wine, and I was sleepy and ready to go home to catch The Bachelor.
We stayed for about 4-5 songs (none of which were Domo Arigato Mr. Roboto, mind you), and I realized that it had been a while (at least a few decades) since I had seen so much stringy hair and so many skinny ties on a stage. I think there are only two original members left, which makes them dangerously close to becoming a tribute band.
We left because my father felt that the speakers where we were sitting up in the balcony weren’t equalized correctly and that the music was too loud.
The irony of this is that my father, who’s been a professional musician for his entire adult life, can’t hear shit. If you see someone driving for miles and miles with a signal light on, that would be my father. His favorite word is “hunh?” I could be sitting right next to him, talking about anything from hot sex to a drug deal and he wouldn’t hear a thing.
Good thing we left, because I was able to catch the last 10 minutes of The Bachelor. TiVo, which I love dearly, malfunctioned for some reason and didn’t capture it. This makes me crazy because I love to watch all of the house dynamics, and I loved seeing the black chick get into random screaming arguments. (Every reality show should have a crazy black woman, dontcha think?)
I was disappointed to see her get kicked off. Not because I liked her so much, but because both of the troublemakers — she and Robin — got booted in one fell swoop. I was wondering why our hunky bachelor boy was drinking Robin’s Kool-Aid. She is not a cute girl. But then, I guess it’s not always about cute (unless you’re of the ilk that would plaster your love life across millions of households).
I can’t wait until next week when he goes home to meet the families and gets to meet the moronic Shayne’s dad — Lorenzo Lamas. I’m keeping my fingers crossed that he’ll get to meet her grandfather, Mr. Fernando ‘You Look Mahvelous’ Lamas. Wait a minute . . . is he still alive?
I think I’m going to go check that out.
