(no subject)
OCD & iTunes Are A Dangerous Combination!
The project is now complete. Five hundred hours later, three weeks, 8518 mp4s, 25.6 days, and 33.72 GB later, my music collection is absolutely perfect. It began in early November following my tonsillectomy. Confined to the 70s shag comfort of my parent’s retro living room sofa, I had little to do with my time amid spitting up endless buckets of phlegm and popping Demerol narcotics. It came to light that my digital music was in terrible disarray, and, after learning of the new mp4 format, I took my 150 data discs of MP3s and went through them. Copying the material I didn’t have hard copies of in the original CD format, I edited the tags and found the appropriate album cover art. Taking the discs I owned, I recopied them and slapped on the edits and art, making one deliciously complete mp4 catalogue. Crisp, reduced, it was a complete OCD project, one of which I haven’t taken up in years. My first was an encyclopedia at the age of twelve, laminated, containing an alarming database of science that spanned five thousand pages. It now rests peacefully on the shelf in my room amid the accruement of awards and plaques adorning the walls. I hate that room. I hate it because I am not as accomplished at present as I once was. So, I suppose this is a little victory on my part. My next project shall consist of compiling a set of listening mixes. My favorite artists, a “LOVE” collection spanning all phases of a relationship, those slit your wrist awfully blue songs, and a 12 disc set of 2004 containing songs played during that month and those appropriate to the people I was around. Aural nostalgia, I should think. The first and second discs (January & February: Little Lies & Ghosts) shall contain songs from 2003 and the people in it, considering I spent those months still thinking about them.
I now must put the entire catalogue on DVD-R discs. I’m calculating 9 will be sufficient, and, after organizing the music by genre, it should be a lovely collection. Some laser printed CD labels and jewel case inserts should be a nice culmination.
Last night consisted of the “Black Grrl Beauty Shop.” Posing as starquesha, grasping some thinning shears in hand, a makeshift smock and kitchen turned into the most ghetto fabulous hair salon in Bozeman. Trimming up the boy wonder’s shag to the company of Sex & The City season 6 and ebonic silliness, we died the bitch’s hair a pleasant auburn, collected earlier at “Sally’s Beauty Supply.” Not too shaggy. I opted not to take part in the drunk stripper lesbian festivities downtown and made an early evening. I’m off to shower for Sunday brunch.
The project is now complete. Five hundred hours later, three weeks, 8518 mp4s, 25.6 days, and 33.72 GB later, my music collection is absolutely perfect. It began in early November following my tonsillectomy. Confined to the 70s shag comfort of my parent’s retro living room sofa, I had little to do with my time amid spitting up endless buckets of phlegm and popping Demerol narcotics. It came to light that my digital music was in terrible disarray, and, after learning of the new mp4 format, I took my 150 data discs of MP3s and went through them. Copying the material I didn’t have hard copies of in the original CD format, I edited the tags and found the appropriate album cover art. Taking the discs I owned, I recopied them and slapped on the edits and art, making one deliciously complete mp4 catalogue. Crisp, reduced, it was a complete OCD project, one of which I haven’t taken up in years. My first was an encyclopedia at the age of twelve, laminated, containing an alarming database of science that spanned five thousand pages. It now rests peacefully on the shelf in my room amid the accruement of awards and plaques adorning the walls. I hate that room. I hate it because I am not as accomplished at present as I once was. So, I suppose this is a little victory on my part. My next project shall consist of compiling a set of listening mixes. My favorite artists, a “LOVE” collection spanning all phases of a relationship, those slit your wrist awfully blue songs, and a 12 disc set of 2004 containing songs played during that month and those appropriate to the people I was around. Aural nostalgia, I should think. The first and second discs (January & February: Little Lies & Ghosts) shall contain songs from 2003 and the people in it, considering I spent those months still thinking about them.
I now must put the entire catalogue on DVD-R discs. I’m calculating 9 will be sufficient, and, after organizing the music by genre, it should be a lovely collection. Some laser printed CD labels and jewel case inserts should be a nice culmination.
Last night consisted of the “Black Grrl Beauty Shop.” Posing as starquesha, grasping some thinning shears in hand, a makeshift smock and kitchen turned into the most ghetto fabulous hair salon in Bozeman. Trimming up the boy wonder’s shag to the company of Sex & The City season 6 and ebonic silliness, we died the bitch’s hair a pleasant auburn, collected earlier at “Sally’s Beauty Supply.” Not too shaggy. I opted not to take part in the drunk stripper lesbian festivities downtown and made an early evening. I’m off to shower for Sunday brunch.