Swapping Notes

You know what the coolest thing about Napster was?

It finally made a computer a thing worth having.

As media hype and internet service finally spread to those of us outside the major cities, it suddenly became tres' chic for everyone and their grandma to take home a PC. Shoot, grandma used it more than I did.

Most folk I know jacked around on theirs a couple weeks before its table became something of a magnet for other gadgets and garbage in the house: VHS camcorders, boombox cassettes. Cell phones the size of a Bible.

Then along came Napster. Woohee. Suddenly every Tom, Ben & Jerry had his own box set of '80s death metal and Nick Drake's Greatest Hits.

"You mean that pieceashit HP has a purpose beyond bad jokes, chain letters, cheap sentiment and penile enlargement? No foolin'? Wow. Now get the hell offa my porch."

Now we're being sued. Big whoop. Compared to the Iraqis, we've got it easy.

I figure, how much are a couple hundred Uncle Heck Buford recordings worth anyhow? Forty bucks and change? If I could find them at the frigging Mal-Wart I wouldn't be waiting an hour and a half for each of the sonsabitches to download.

Isn't ripping off music why there's anything as rock & roll in the first place? Where would the Beach Boys be without Chuck Berry, George Harrison without the Shirelles, Ghost Busters without Huey Lewis?

I admit it. I done wrong. I've shipped burnt bootlegs via through the US Postal Service, distributed them as Christmas presents, tortured unsuspecting visitors during latenights on the linai.

That said, bootlegs were where I first heard the music of Frank Zappa. Miles Davis. David Alan Coe. Just because it's a bootleg doesn't mean it's any good.

I figure, same thing with this file-sharing bidness. If I was hawking my handiwork at the local flea market, I could see where Metallica might stand to get a little peeved.

As it is, since I detest their stuff anyway, any point there may have been is rendered moot.