Tag Archives: ipod

Google Game: Why won’t my…?

Am I tempted to take this set of results as an opportunity to soliloquize smugly on the fallibility of Apple? To point out the difference between omnipresence and omnipotence? You bet I am. But I won’t. Much.

Considering that people are apparently inclined to turn to Google while sitting in a car that won’t turn over (presumably on their iPhones — and indeed I did watch my traveling companion a couple weeks ago google “why won’t my Ford van start”; it did not return what we soon figured out was the answer: hold the shifter a half-inch above “P” with your left hand while turning the key with the right), it seems fair to conclude that the search engine fields myriad queries about glitches in our most prized and important machines.

And so isn’t it curious that just one of the top ten Google searches aimed to elucidate the causes of malfunctioning electronics regards anything other than an iPod,  iPhone or iTunes? I wonder.

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Finally, a Way to Turn Your iPod into a Zune

image008Platinum HD Radio

Ever look at your iPod and think, “Gee, I wish you were more like a Zune”? Well aren’t you in luck. Today iBiquity, developer of HD radio technologies, announced an $80 receiver accessory that will let your iPod or iPhone get HD radio broadcasts, just like the Zune HD, released two months ago.

The Digital Entertainment Upgrade

Adding HD Radio Technology to the iPhone and iPod touch is an easy two-step process:

image004Step 1: Buy the Gigaware HD Radio accessory, designed for and sold exclusively at RadioShack for an MSRP of $79.99.

Step 2: Download the FREE application on Apple’s App Store.

Microsoft got the jump on Apple with the whole HD radio thing, but I’m guessing the chances of people shelling out for this “upgrade” are roughly as small as the chances of people, well, buying a Zune in the first place.

To Sleep, Perchance to Import

Fantasy author Terry Pratchett published an op-ed in the UK’s Daily Mail last week arguing for the legalization of suicide. I’ll set aside for now the myriad reasons, simple and existential, why I agree with Mr. Pratchett. I’ll even abstain from veering off on an elaborate imagination of two constables arresting a man for suicide and the inevitable weekend-at-Bernie’s hilarity that would ensure during the court proceedings.  (“Bollocks! The powdered wig keeps falling off his head!” “Don’t be daft, hand me that stapler!”)

Pratchett, who was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s two years ago, wrote a piece that is personal, thoughtful, and at moments, poetic:

We are being stupid. We have been so successful in the past century at the art of living longer and staying alive that we have forgotten how to die. …Now, however, I live in hope – hope that before the disease in my brain finally wipes it clean, I can jump before I am pushed…

He describes the way he wants to go, : sitting in his garden with a glass of brandy, and “Thomas Tallis on the iPod.” What could be a more romantic end than in an English garden enjoying the last taste of your chosen poison? And what could be less romantic than an iPod? (Only an 8-track, I’d venture.)

Technology changes, and the vestiges of ages past take on a romance of their own, simply for their being part of our past. But there’s something so sadly disruptive about an mp3 player working its way into Pratchett’s tragic tableau. Like trying to be taken seriously while crying in a monkey costume.

Stop laughing! Im really upset here!

No, a banana will not make it all better. Quit asking me that.

I think being distressed looked a whole lot cooler in the old days. Huddling around a cabinet radio, or in front of your town’s one television store to hear the latest news of the war represents a situation’s gravity in a way that following Twitter never will. And slamming down a three pound telephone receiver is so much more dramatic than angrily — but ever so gently — pressing END with your right thumb. And for my money, nothing will ever be quite as sad as the way it sounds to reach the end of the first side of a mix tape from your ex. Eject, flip, close, play, weep.

When my eternal mix tape reaches the end of its spool, I hope there’s no Apple logo in the coroner’s photos.

But I also intend, before the endgame looms, to die sitting in a chair in my own garden with a glass of brandy in my hand