I am waiting for my new external hard drive to finish formatting so I can put my computer to sleep. [No longer true because wrote this over the course of a week.] It is the latest in a series of accessories I long considered profligate. Realistically, this makes no sense because I paid for my laptop’s recovery twice before I had it replaced, and the desktop before shuffles under its own sickness. I backed up my current laptop at purchase, but that took eighteen cds, which is terribly wasteful. So, I waited a month (for my luxury budget) and decided to buy one.

While the poor reviews for various brands of external hard drive encouraged purchasing a Toshiba, their greatest maxes at 500GB. 400GB represents the price/size sweet spot on both Amazon and newegg (for eighty-five dollars). But, I bit the bullet and bought a Western Digital 1 terabyte device. (Or, is it bit? I know the distinction is why my computer interprets 931GB of space available, but really I can’t pretend they misrepresented the size too badly.) The brand didn’t attract complaints and one mentioned a reasonable customer service experience.

So, now I can finally ignore iTunes’ occasional reminders for me to back up my bought music. In writing this, I realized another advantage. My mother’s coworker uploaded a phenomenal amount of music to their networked memory, maybe 32GB. Likely, he downloaded the lot from some bit torrent. The biggest and most important group is a series of the Billboard Top hits from every year between 1950 and 2003. Before, I listened to several years, noting the worthy songs, and transferred them with my flashdrive. Now, I can load the whole store in one shot.

That represents a great convenience. As I have remarked occasionally, I find music a distraction often times. The best opportunities come when I am engaged in a task like driving, sorting my files, or playing muted games with bad music. Normally, listening or judging music has no urgency, other than to write some identifying lyrics when in my car. My mother’s work laptop, on the other hand, only comes at her convenience. Last month, she brought it every night so she could research for her trip. These past weeks during her vacation have been a good, yet underutilized, opportunity. Theoretically, I should have devoted a day to every year and managed fourteen thereby. But, the opportunity seems more a chore because I have to set and turn on her laptop whilst engaged in an appropriate task.

This block of silicon, in contrast, can soak the entire load. Thereafter, I have infinite time to judge which ought migrate to mipod and delete (most of) the rest. This recovers the original feeling. Listening to every song each year feels like a history of American music. It struck me that the fifties began as quartets, but in 1954 Elvis and “Rock Around the Clock” broke in and stole an increasing share. I am well familiar with the sixties and seventies, to the point where I will skip them until much later. During high school my taste fell exclusively within strong classical or oldies music.

Classical radio stations rarely play any worthy pieces because tons are soft melodies inspired by the setting sun, or from downtime in operas. The only sure time to catch strong symphonies is during their subscription months, when they pour out three minute clips of the hundred that even the uninitiated recognize. (“Just donate the equivalent of ten cents a day, and we will send a copy of blah’s blah.”) Further, of the hundred, the strongest portions often represent only ten percent of the piece. Exceptions exist (Bach’s Brandenburg Concertos, Beethoven’s fifth symphony, Liszt’s second Hungarian rhapsody) that shake the soul to their rhythm at each instant. (Rhythm has entirely too many consonants. I keep trying to put in a ‘u’ at least.) In sum, classical stations were a last resort.

During that period, and extending through my first year attending college, I primarily listened to the oldies station k earth. They share a problem with all theme stations: limited selection. I know that even indie stations suffer this, but oldies stations exaggerate the condition. I listened for so long that I came to know every song. I knew many already because their years feature the songs played at every wedding. The overstimulation killed my interest for a long time. My only saving grace was a conservative talk station that mostly came in. The host I heard most often was Michael Savage. They replaced his zealotry with Dennis Miller some years after.

Living with another person matured me in many ways. Though I curse Zack for many reasons, my current eclectivity mostly stems from his influence. He introduced me to the rag-timey Ditty Bops. He let me copy the mash-ups from the Beastles (Beatles and Beasty Boys), which I have not yet found afterward.

Monica supplied the next wave of songs. Many people like to give her iTunes cards and she collected a great many artists. While our tastes intersect with half, hip hop comprises the rest. I have come to reject my juvenile intolerance for entire musical genres (the classic targets: rap, country, and metal). However, I like some Eminem songs, and Matisyahu’s “King without a Crown” is inspired. I like some Shania Twain and others, though I didn’t realize they were country. I thought they were rock. This stems from no musical education. The distinctions interest me about the same as gauging age by sight. Without going through extensive examples and seeing direct correlation, no one can know intuitively beyond general classes.

Besides copying all American music ever, the external hard drive enables another relief. I had to buy this laptop a year and three-fourths ago because my previous developed that mysterious, maddening slowing. Shortly afterward my grandmother and her friend (and some others I have forgotten) asked for my discarded laptop. Primarily, I refused because it is almost, almost unusable. It would be unkind, really, to pretend I am not giving them (my father recently asked on behalf of another) the equivalent of a car with a broken transmission.

Of course, that isn’t the whole of my resistance. I am a sexual being without a partner. Further, I collect many digital paraphernalia. While I transferred much soon after HP mailed the replacement, the delay and caprice of the leper discouraged me soon after. Having everything I ever collected certainly isn’t essential, but it is nice, in an archival sense. At minimum, the hard drive invalidates waiting any longer (I can also use my extra mouse rather than the sinning touchpad). Then I can let my father and grandmother battle for the dubious pleasure of rewarding some poor shmuck with a comatose block of plastic.

As Chase complimented me, I will do him a kindness too and record more of what occurred in the campaign. Mind, these represent how Supheter would report it, so I explicitly avoid a thorough explanation of events. (Also, it has been a really long time since the following and I didn’t make contemporary notes.)

I am Supheter Iulian, wizard and diplomat for the Baron of Harkenwold. Some fringe members of the adventurers called the Vanguard have saved me and dozens of other former slaves. After harrying a nearby dragon, we returned to the crowd. We consisted of Spah, Citric, Eldrith, and Rayne.

The last is not entirely true. When flying back to the refugees, Spah began to experience a fatal withdrawl sickness from losing a cursed artifact he threw to the dragon. He fell to his death seconds afterward. His companions assured me that he had been wasting away under the influence of the skull for some time prior. They kindly offered me his arcane equipment, so I did not ask about burying him as we sped over the snow-topped trees.

Upon arrival, a barber with pretensions to magic told us two old townsmen had been abducted during the night. This complicated our argument over where to lead the peasants. My peers held some loyalty to the seditious city Fallcrest. I argued that they walk to the closer Harkenwold. Because I insisted on rescuing the old folks, I lost the argument since the others would lead the crowd in my absence.

Rayne accompanied me using the flying carpet to a kobold camp. After a brief skirmish, we accomplished our goal and discovered where the ice witch had disappeared to. She wore a strange leather armor that allowed her to change into a rat. Given the superior armor of the others, I kept the set. Upon our return, the other pair informed us of their compromise. Eldrith planned to head the pack to Fallcrest whilst Citric and Rayne accompanied me to Harkenwold. They had finally coerced their prisoner into promising his estate to them as well as all his money. Silently disapproving, I agreed to escort them to the vault within the castle.

Our carpet ride into the city disheartened me greatly. The dragon’s siege had actually prompted an exodus and disturbing behavior on those who stayed. It demanded a ransom from every citizen, so many families piled their valuables outside their homes. More than capture and desensitization, the half empty and bleary-eyed city shot horror through my soul.

The guards at the gate recognized me and explained the situation. Despite allowing us through, they informed us that the treasury had closed to discourage citizens from raiding it to bribe the dragon. The pair led their quarry down none-the-less. Here ensued the most embarrassing exchange in my entire life. Yes, it out-dunced the time when I mistook a Halfling bodyguard for a child and tried to scold him away with the promise of candy.

I had pointedly tried to ignore their business with the minor aristocrat, as gratitude for liberating me. I even offered to take responsibility for their conduct. The curfew suggested it and I hoped that the pair would keep their business brief and reasonable. This hope had all the reality of fey coins. Apparently, they believed their dupe had failed to pay them for some service and demanded the rest of his wealth in return for not killing him. So, all tromped to the treasury and woke the accountant at the door. I must admit that Rayne does not draw my ire, except in suffering his partner’s behavior. Citric brashly demanded the money despite the obvious farce. The accountant refused, barring the Baron’s approval. So, rather than appeal to me for help, Citric did a little stunt cajoling then threatening the man. Frankly, I suspect ‘divine intervention’ moved that money. Any reasonable person would have called for the guards long before. I saw my own hanging more vividly than when caught in my own crime many years ago.

With their loathsome work completed, we took Rayne and the now penniless man to the mob. [I know I am remembering the next incorrectly in sequence, but it happened at some point.] Citric and I rode the carpet back to the dragon’s keep. Instead, we found a crater with a hardened pool of gold at the bottom. I helped him pry up the biggest lump as a tiefling woman touched down. She obviously had a spat with Citric in the past from the way they traded venomous remarks. Likely, she only forbore killing him for my benefit. She invited me back to Harkenwold to help her unseat the dragon which had taken residence in an inn in town. [We passed through the inn unknowingly earlier, but did not investigate its cellar. The following definitely happened last.]

Logic suggests that Citric would have made a beeline for his newly stolen mansion, but he accompanied me back. In fact, despite all my misgivings, he did me a service. I wanted to investigate the dragon’s new lair, but had cast all my spells and feared not sleeping long enough to memorize them effectively the next day. At my insistence, he snuck into the cellar to scout the area.

Upon return, he reported killing kobolds engaged in creating a portal into a magical prison for a demon of some sort. Citric managed to defeat them and steal the components for the ritual. I suggested that I pay him, but he – uncharacteristically – refused. He finally left to accompany his partner to claim his prize and start his own little despotocracy. I fervently hope I never have the displeasure of speaking with the one-dimensional killer again. I went to sleep in my own house, which ended the session.