In the past few years, I’ve morphed from a Microsoft-lover to a fully-fledged iTard. How did this happen? Clever marketing? Good SEO? Growing annoyance with Microsoft?
This may seem a bit strange to you, but I actually blame Last.fm.

You see, back in April 2006, I joined Last.fm, mainly because my peers at the Rathergood forum were joining it, and I didn’t want to feel left out… It’s bad enough being a loner in real life, but being a loner on a social networking website? That’s just sad.

I’ve never been a heavy listener of music, and I didn’t listen to it on my computer at all, because it was just too slow. My computer was a crappy Windows XP desktop that I had bought in early 2004, but 256MB of RAM really isn’t good enough when you have a hundred applications open at the same time. >.> But as time went by, I slowly began to love hearing music on my computer, despite its flaws.

Eventually, I thought, “Hey! If I don’t want my music to stop because my computer keeps crashing, I should get an MP3 player!” *claps self* I have awesome logic.
When I was a little kid, I owned a portable cassette player, which soon got upgraded to a portable CD player when I broke the other one (I’ve broken a lot of gadgets; explained in more detail here). My younger self only listened to Madonna and Cliff Richard on repeat, and needed a portable CD player when they stopped releasing their songs on cassette.

And so, all was well in the Rammi world, until something dreadful happened. I dropped it. As I was changing Cliff Richard’s Greatest Hits from 1994 to Madonna’s Ray of Light, the CD player slipped out of my hand, and right into a puddle. Despite my best efforts – talking to it, hitting it, coaxing it to work – it was never the same again.
I remember crying for a week.

I got a replacement eventually, but that one soon stopped working. After that, I just gave up. In hindsight, this was probably a good thing, because it gave me a much needed break from Madge and Cliff.

When I joined Last.fm, my music taste was just as bad as it was when I was younger, but thankfully did not involve me vogueing down the road. I was just starting to get into this whole “scrobbling” business, and wanted every single song I listened to to show up on the website. Last.fm’s website at the time told me that the only way you could scrobble was through your computer (duh) and an iPod!

I wasn’t too impressed by iPods originally, because they didn’t seem to be *that* special, when you compared them with other MP3 players… They didn’t look like Hello Kitty or resemble something rude, they didn’t come with pretty matching earphones, and they didn’t have as much space as some of the other brands available.

Yes, I judge gadgets on appearance first, and then glance briefly at the specs. Shh.

But all my negative thoughts about the iPod disappeared when I saw that it could SCROBBLE. And so, I grabbed my money, ran off to the shop, and became the proud owner of a second generation silver iPod Nano. It went everywhere with me, and I dutifully plugged it into my computer every night just so it could scrobble what I had listened to earlier that day.

Soon, I realised I wanted more Apple items, and more Apple stickers to stick around my house. When the first generation iPod Touch was released the next year, it quickly became my next pet – to coddle, access websites with, dress up in pretty cases, and, most importantly,  jailbreak the hell out of the software. There’s only so many times you can play Solitaire with the second generation Nano.

I sense that my beloved iPod was feeling jealous around the newer model surrounding it, because a few months after I had bought the iPod Touch, it kicked the bucket whilst I was listening to Wuthering Heights by Kate Bush… “Oh let me have it, let me grab your soul away…” With lyrics like that, no wonder it croaked.

However, I still wasn’t satisfied. After my iPod Touch came the iPhone 3G, because I had gotten sick of carrying around several devices when one could easily do the same job as them all. I promptly jailbroke my iPhone, dressed it up, used it to phone people and accessed the internet on the bus. Oh, and of course, I used it to scrobble all my music every day.

Later that year, my Windows desktop computer finally died. And with it, so did my music collection. After many years of using Windows, I guess I wanted a change. Looking around at my collection of Apple items, there seemed to be only one choice for my next computer…

See? Without Last.fm, I would never have been sucked into that abyss of font smoothing, rounded corners and shiny shiny things without interchangeable batteries. While my music taste hasn’t improved much, my collection of gadgets with the Apple logo emblazoned on them has grown and grown.

And I have lots of stickers!

How old do you think children should be before they join social networks like Facebook and MySpace?

The Vox QoTD got me thinking. I’m not a parent, nor will I be for hopefully a very long time. But I am an internet user, who has been part of the online world from a very young age. I’ve looked at the answers to this question on the Vox homepage, and most of them come from parents who are scared of their children being corrupted/groomed online, and suggest ridiculous ages before they let their kids join websites like Facebook and MySpace. Numbers like 12, 14 and 16 pop up frequently, and even then they say they’ll put in parental controls to keep tabs on their children.

Just FYI, parental controls are bloody obvious. When you’re on a public network or a work area, where your activity is monitored, you subconsciously don’t visit the sites you normally visit at home, because you don’t want your boss knowing what you do on Facebook. It’s the same with parental controls. Children with parental controls installed on their computers will know not to go on the websites they normally go on at friends’ houses, in case you might be watching.

If you don’t think your tween/teen has had some form of persona on a social networking site already, then the chances are, you’re wrong. Maybe they signed up at their friend’s house, putting in a variety of fake details so they won’t get caught by you; a fake name, a different picture, a relative’s birthday. Your children are smarter than you give them credit for.

You see, an online life is just an extension of real life. Parties are planned, pictures are uploaded, and gossip is discussed on websites like Facebook. All too often a person without an account on one of these websites will be left out because people just forget; they assume that everyone is on the same website as they are. 12/13 year olds are no exception to this – they plan birthday parties, arrange meetings with friends and do the same things a college student would do, only possibly in a more innocent way. More and more young people are moving their social lives to the internet, and leaving others behind.

I started playing around on the internet when I was 8 or 9 without any parental supervision. My mother is computer-illiterate, and there weren’t that many parental controls for the Windows 95 system, anyway. In all my time on the internet, I managed to learn the good and bad things for myself. I chatted to many people online, but if someone made me feel uncomfortable, I blocked and/or reported them.
If someone asked me personal questions like where I went to school or my address, it just seemed logical to ignore and block them. The one thing I was encouraged not to do was to upload pictures of myself online. I didn’t have a webcam, there were no photos scanned in, and with the vast number of free avatars and display pictures available for free, why would I need a picture?
Without being encouraged to explore, I probably would never have learnt how my computer worked, how websites were created, and who I could and could not trust on the internet. I’ve developed ninja skillz from being left to my own devices. ^_^

The one thing that’s different from my internet experience and the experiences of those using it now is the abundance of social networking websites, where people are encouraged to put down every single detail of their lives. But, to balance it out, younger people get much more education than I did when I first began using the internet. From an early age, young people are constantly being surrounded with tips and advice on how to stay safe on the web. Don’t meet anyone you know online, never give out any personal information, never share any pictures of yourself… All the stuff that took me years to learn for myself.

Most of it boils down to common sense, really. >.> Anyone you’re communicating on the internet with is basically a stranger, no matter how long you’ve talked to each other for. You don’t know how they walk, talk, if they have any neuroses – all the things that would normally form your first impressions of someone.

Would anyone go off into a secluded park with some stranger they’ve met on a bus? No. It’s not that much different with an online acquaintance. To stretch out this long metaphor, you’re all on an online bus. If a random stranger you met on the other side of town offers to walk you home alone, well, you see where this is going…

If parents don’t let their children become experienced in the online world, then they’re going to have problems when they finally get a chance to experience it. As long as good judgement is taught from an early age, then parents shouldn’t have any qualms about trusting their children to make the right decisions. After all, trust is what it all boils down to in the end; the earlier parents learn to trust their children online, the better.

Just think about it this way: an 8 year old needs help when they want to go somewhere. A 14 year old doesn’t. It’s easier to stop an 8 year old from meeting their online friend than it is a 14 year old.

I don’t blog that much. I blog whenever I feel the need to, whenever I need to yell about someone/something. I’m not a fan of those “ZOMG, I’m so so sorry I haven’t blogged in so long!!111!!!” posts any more. I used to like knowing why people had disappeared for so long, and thought it was common courtesy to apologise for my inactivity, but then it dawned on me: why should I apologise simply because I’ve run out of things to say?

There are four blog post drafts on this website that have been sitting around for years. I just don’t find them interesting enough to post, but I will never delete them, on the occasions that I do improve them enough to be something I’d actually want to read. Sporadically, when I have time, I’ll open up this website, add a few lines, edit some more, and possibly save them again for another day.

My Inner Editor is more serious when it comes to tiny little blog posts than with the novels I used to write for NaNoWriMo. The problem with NaBloPoMo is that I find trying to think of something relevant and intriguing to my life to turn into text difficult. With novels, there are plots, and there is some structure. It may not seem like it, but no matter how much drivel is in there, things will happen. Your character will fall in love, get killed, fall out with someone, meet a ghost, etc.

Unlike my characters, I can’t guarantee what will happen to my life. In general, I dislike spontaneity; I like to plan everything right down to the last detail. But I know there are many things that will never be fully under my control. Like, who reads this blog, for example. I’m a lurker by heart, and rarely ever comment on others’ blogs, no matter how much I love them. I’m not sure who actually reads anything I write, and although I’d prefer to know, one of the great things about the internet is the ability to stay anonymous and lurk as much as you want.

I have four carefully planned drafts sitting here on this blog. I won’t tell you what they are, but it should soon become be apparent which ones I’ve spent a crapload of time on. I’ve worked on them for months and possibly years, but still won’t be satisfied with them after they’re done. After they’re posted this month (because I promised myself that I would get them out of my system once and for all), I’m not sure what I can, and should be writing about.

I love going to concerts; feeling the atmosphere, meeting fellow concert-goers, buying overpriced drinks and merchandise. But I’m apathetic. I hear stories of people travelling across cities and sometimes even countries to see someone perform – I think one of my friends travelled to Liverpool to see Elvis Costello live last year – but I’ll never be that person. I’m quite laidback when it comes to seeing musicians I like. And I mean, really, really like. Artists I only slightly like don’t make the cut.* Unless I’m in the area for another reason already, then NEVER, EVER IN A BILLION YEARS will I go further than a few miles to see anyone I listen to perform.

It may be, no, probably is, someone I love listening to (if I wasn’t sure about loving them, then I wouldn’t even consider buying tickets). It may be a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. It may even be the last chance I’ll ever get to see them alive. But unless I can get there and back within an hour or two for about £3, then it’s not worth it.
The furthest I’m willing to travel for my favourite performer is the length and breadth of London – well, as much as my Oyster card covers. Anywhere I can’t touch in/touch out in London? I’m out.

The average gig (or what usually happens to me)

7pm – You have paid £10-£50 for the privilege of coming here, being felt up, and having your ‘professional’ camera confiscated whilst everyone else is allowed to keep their point-and-shoots. You may have also parted with £1 – £3 of your money for a cloakroom charge, depending on whether you’ve had bottles of water/bags/cameras taken off you.
7:30pm – £2.50 of your money disappears as you buy a drink.
8pm -  £1 vanishes as you get a tiny packet of crisps.
8:30pm – £25 goes for a T-shirt that you just had to have because everyone else in the crowd has bought one each, and you don’t want to be the only one not wearing one.
8:45pm – Another £3 drink! [Prices have gone up because everyone wants one now]
9-9:30pm – The show might begin. Otherwise you’re left chanting the singer’s name whilst they’re on the loo or getting drunk backstage.
11:30pm – The show finishes. You may have made some new friends, had the night of your life, etc., but you are exhausted, your knees and feet could kill you, you’re thirsty and could really do with a drink without being ripped off.

If you’ve travelled from far away to be there, add about 4 hours each way for travel, or fork out another £50 to stay overnight at some crummy B&B. Travelling is tiring. And you’re never gonna feel as comfortable sleeping on a train or a bus than you are in your own bed. Why should I waste several hours of my life travelling back and forth for a few hours of entertainment?

The way I see it is if musicians want my money, they should come to me (or at least somewhere I can easily get to). If the artists I like have gigs near me, I promise that every gig they do, I’ll be there. I’ll buy their overpriced drinks, their T-shirts that don’t fit properly, and won’t throw that much of a fit when they confiscate my camera again. But please don’t expect me to travel for anyone. If I won’t travel for a close friend, why would I do it for a stranger who doesn’t even know me or care?

The best example of a concert venue for me is the Shepherd’s Bush O2 Empire. It may be dirty, the food may be of dodgy quality and pictures may be banned, but there’s a bus stop right outside with a route that deposits me in front of my house. This is the lazy girl’s dream. Whenever someone has a show here, all I have to do is get on a bus half an hour before, and saunter up when it’s time to go in. Who could ask for more?

I’m lucky in a way – I live in a big city, and most of the people I want to see come here after doing a big tour. But I know some will never have the budget or the time to, and this means I’ll probably never get to see some of my favourite performers live. And I’m pretty much cool with that, if it means I can get a few hours extra sleep at home.

*My one exception to this rule is if it’s free. I’ll see anyone within the borders of London, or wherever I am, if it means I won’t have to pay for the ticket. This is why I love the iTunes Festival so much.

I don’t know what it is, but people seem to like asking me for directions. Usually they ask at an inconvenient time, as luck would have it. I’m either desperately late for a meeting with someone, am in a slightly crabby mood, or have my music turned up full volume and am completely oblivious to the world. If none of these scenarios fit, then it’s a safe bet that I’m with family, and am speaking in Thai. What makes people automatically assume (correctly) that I live in the area, and can speak English fluently to them?

When people ask me for directions, I will probably know where they want to go, but am crap at explaining. A simple direction such as “Turn left and walk up the crescent” turns into “Yeah, you need to turn left at the corner by that pink building, and keep walking straight until you see that long banana-shaped road…”, which usually leaves the person more baffled than they were in the beginning.

I visit central London frequently, and it’s populated with tourists. When I feel the need to ask for directions, I look for someone who works in the area. I go and ask staff in Underground stations and coffee shop baristas, not someone who looks very Chinese in an area close to Chinatown, where the chances of me being able to speak English are lessened.

I’m always so surprised when someone makes a beeline for me, and asks me where the toilet/fountain/big dancing donkey is. If there’s barely anyone around, I’d understand the need to not get lost, but when there are plenty of shops and public service areas with people who are able to give you clear, concise directions, I see no need for you to ask me.

Is it because I’m descended from people who have worked in the travel industry? Do I have a big “I LIVE AROUND HERE” sign stapled to my head? Or do people just enjoy getting “Rammi-fied” directions?