I have an iPod Touch. Actually Jobs has me firmly by the curlies as I also have a proper iPod _and_ an iPhone. This means I am ear-plugged much of the time, including at work where it is still tolerated. Sony's planned obsolesence has struck and for the second time in 12 months their earplug products have died on me. They have a 12 month warranty on earplugs which I thought was madness 7 months ago. I had a stand up argument to collect on the warranty the first time (no receipt, but I had the box with a manufacturng date), but of course I traded up by 50% to a better product since my model was "out of stock".

7 months later the Sonys karked it again and I take my [framed] receipt and box to the Sony Style shop on the ground floor of my building. And I walk out with a yet another trade-up and this time I doubled the price of the last pair.

That warranty is cunning genius worthy of E. Blackadder

My brother has been stuck in Bangkok, thankfully not Mumbai, since Tues/Wednesday. Our elderly mother with the heart condition has been calling me approx every 4 hours to ask if I have news. He has just emailed (we've been emailing, txting and skyping; he doesn't "Tweat" - no proper bloke should) that he will be hopping the 12 hour bus to Phuket tomorrow, wait overnight and fly to Singapore, wait another day and then fly back to Godzone (NZ).

I became quite anxious on Friday as I hadn't had a txt/email/Tw@t or call for 24 hours (plenty from the mother) - who knows what will happen once the Thai Air Force and Navy (?) goes in to extract the protesters from the airports. He of course was watching hotel, er, movies and dining out with nurses from Perth.

Currently listening to the latest podcast (77). Thanks be to [The] Word

Help.
Help.
I have a good job - so far I'm not being d#cked by "these troubled economic times". Get into my office (no beknighted cube) around 7:45 am, out again around 6 pm. Beautiful wife of a certain age, bright children who aren't yet binge drinking or knifing policepersons. But there's a dark spot in this paradise of "work-life balance". (sorry)
A box of black depression sits in the bedroom and it just keeps filling up.
What with?
Unread copies of The Word Magazine.

And now there's shame to go with the black dog funk.

The magazine is great. I have few complaints and if I do complain about something then that's all part of the [previous] fun. I can't _get_ to the magazine. The box is only inches away, but I just can't seem to lever enough time into the week to read it. The crusty build-up dates back to around July 2007. Most copies are still in the plastic.

What's to blame? It's the interweb I tell you. The TV and all manner of hard copy printed, ahem, word, has faded into dusty misuse in favour of that networked temptress. I spend hours consuming news sites and blogs. While I eagerly await and revell in your podcast, the mag lies undisturbed. It's possible I may resort to self-harm - although I may need to check on the net to see exactly what it involves.

How do we fit hard copy magazines into our busy, modern lives? Help, please.

P.S. Mojo also sits unread in the box too. Even more unread, if that's possible