Pink Floyd won a tremendous victory in court this week against EMI, their record company. The trouble at issue was EMI’s “unbundling” of Pink Floyd albums to sell individual album tracks on services like iTunes instead of requiring consumers to purchase the entire album as required by their contract with the band.
I love my David Gilmour Black Strat — I don’t like, however, the fact that if I want to get the best out of that guitar — I’m locked into buying a certain strings set from a single company.
Grieving is frowned upon in America. We are expected to buck up, to smile, and continue on with our day even in our deepest despair. Grief, in America, is marker for a visible weakness and those in active grieving are required to put on a happy face and sing a tuneful song to demonstrate their fortitude and their goodwill for their fellow kind or risk being indelibly labeled as a crybaby: If you must cry — do it in private behind a locked door and under the covers in the middle of the night and don’t make any sound.
Do you suffer from the “Curse of the Common Name” or are you one of those blessed with a truly unique name that identifies you before anyone actually meets you?
I’ve always hated the name “David” because it was so common.
I much preferred “Keith” growing up but I never had the gumption to insist others actually refer to me by that name.
My father wanted to call me “Rocky” but my mother demanded the ordinary safe “David” harbor to the extraordinary rough shore. I’m not thrilled with the idea I was almost a Rocky, but anything is better than the “beloved” David.