Wintermute

Today I'm going to find the central core of the evil Artificial Intelligence that controls music in Starbucks. It sends out the music compressed from a control tower in Slough or Seattle or somewhere, presumably via a geosynchronous satellite stamped with mermaid decals over its previous military ones.


Once I find the central core of the evil AI, I shall, Tron-style, fling in a frisbee of ... Sibelius or something. Bartok. Nancy Sinatra. Anything. I'd rather listen to Norwegian black metallists shouting about pig-killing and burning churches, or loop-tapes of people screaming, than put up with that bastard mix tape I hear every single morning one more bastard time.

Once upon a time I thought that the music's sole function was to get people to drink up quickly and leave. In the same way that they make plastic chairs in fast-food restaurants uncomfortable on purpose. Take up your laptop and walk!

But it seems clear, now, that it has an extra, useful, educational function. And in this it's done well. I thought I only hated brass bands and 50s doo-wop music, but no! I hate LOTS more. In fact, Starbucks has taught me to hate far more types of music than I thought possible. More types of music than I even thought existed.

Yes, this all smacks of late capitalist psychotic individualism; these are not the ratings of a freedom fighter. It doesn't make me come across as a G8 summit firebomber. More the sort of person who'd demand their own television in hospital, or get ratty about their 'right' to have plastic surgery. Am I simply a duped stooge of the right-to-chooseTM society?

No! Nonononononononono! I just want an evil big brother with consistent taste. Starbucks tries to please everyone in a creepy, creepy way. So very, very creepy. It would be so much better if they just played one type of music, even if I hated it. I could bear that. If Starbucks just played cheesy west-coast pop, or gilbert and sullivan (or Gilbert O' Sullivan) or North Korean Party Anthems sung by schoolkids, or even the sound of dripping water, constantly dripping. That would be better.

Once they've sorted the music out, I have a list of other things: the murals, the cups, the lights.
I have a lot to say about all those, too. And then I should sort out my loser life.