An open letter to Mr. Steve Jobs (who is dead to me!)

Dear Mr. Jobs--

I activated the "genius" button on my iTunes account today. When I first learned that you had created a program that groups similar music from my music library to create playlists, I was intrigued. I was even more pleased to discover that "genius" would make music recommendations within genres based on my library. I use Pandora occasionally, and I'm always impressed with its technology. Looky here, I thought, now you've allowed me to do the Pandora thing right through my beloved iTunes library.

Groovy.

You've always had my heart, Mr. Jobs, and once again I recognized you for the hip genius that you are.

And so I gave it a shot. You knew I would eventually succumb, Mr. Jobs, and I did. What else could I do? Because what would I have to lose? Other than giving you my Social Security number, my bank account numbers, and two of my daughters, you asked nothing of me. Well, that and installing several web cams around the house so you can observe our every movement. But other than that, nothing.

After I said good-bye to my daughters, I activated the program. The first thing I did was create two playlists centered around two of my favorite songs, Autumn Tactics by Chicane and The Bleeding Heart Show by The New Pornographers. And guess what? The playlists were quite good in capturing music with the same mood, tempo, and feel. I was pleased. You did not let me down, Mr. Jobs, and I still had a man crush on you and your groovy black wardrobe.

But then I went to the iTunes store to see what music recs it would make. I went to the "pop" genre, and guess what I found? Well, I'll tell you what. Music recs for music by:

1. James Taylor.
2. Dan Fogleberg.
3. Cher.
4. Ambrosia.
5. Backstreet boys.

Not that you haven't seen it before, Steve, but let me ask you to note numbers 1 and 3 on this list from my other blog: http://rankingthings.blogspot.com/2008/12/my-top-10-irrational-music-hatreds.html

You're dead to me, Steve Jobs. You're a no good pod person. True, I will continue to give you a significant portion of my income every month and, yes, I will continue to eagerly look forward to your new products, and of course I will still end my day by drifting off to sleep dreaming of sweet mac laptops, elegant iphones, and exquisite new touchpad ipods--yes, I will continue to lust after and covet every product you make. And yes I will give you my third daughter if you request her. But you, Steve Jobs, you're dead to me.

Dead.

Now I know I shouldn't say that given that your poor health threatens to may make all of this far more literally true than either of us would desire. But you get the point.

Genius?

Try evil genius. Or better yet, Moron. Evil moronic genius.

James Taylor?!?!?!?!

See you in hell, Jobs.

Sincerely,

Me.

p.s. Please recover fully from your illness; I love your products.

p.p.s. And you, too. I love you, Steve. And yes, I'll start listening to James Taylor. I know you wouldn't lead me astray.

p.p.p.s. Don't worry about the ties and coins photo, Steve. I sometimes just post photos that have nothing to do with anything. I'm sorry if you found it distracting.

p.p.p.s. Have I told you I love you lately?