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.