What I don’t see is that poster of Dan Grabauskas’ smiling face – the one that says, “Hey, sorry I can’t make the trains run on time, ever, why do you think I don’t ride the trains myself? anyway, here’s a number that you can call and complain to; your complaint will be fielded by some politician’s in-law’s cousin who will treat it with spite, as he is pissed that he has to work all the way until he’s 55 to retire on a fat pension, but hey, have you been to the Registry lately? Doesn’t that place rock?”

No. That poster has suddenly vanished, along with all other traces of our old dear leader.

Instead, there’s this bleak poster that says, Hooray, the evil fare-hike man is gone and now we’re all safe!

It’s like Pinochet is running EOT.

This is a photo of a parking space I snapped recently. See all the snow piled up?

Neither do I.

Last month, I ventured to say that DRM was dying, and dying quickly. It seemed like a decent call at the time – Apple was getting its teeth kicked in by Amazon’s DRM-free downloads, so it threw in the towel and decided to follow Amazon’s lead. Collectively, the two own the vast majority of online MP3 sales. It wouldn’t seem to be a great leap to assume that other online music retailers, unable to compete on market share or openness, would have to fold and ditch DRM, and actually start selling songs to people, instead of renting out a suite of restrictive permissions.

The thing is, all of that assumes that America’s captains of industry actually know what they’re doing and/or are interested in making money. So, apologies for the mistaken assumptions.

Every Christmas, I’m the happy recipient of an FYE gift card. This year, after the thing sat on my desk for a month, terrifying all who walked past (it’s some horrifying Batman/Joker deal), I figured I’d save myself a trip to Everett and just download some songs.

And my fault for not reading FYE.com‘s Draconian EULA. Usually, the things are all, “Do you promise not to ravage our technology like a Somali pirate?” Instead, this thing said something like, “Give us your money for these digital music files which shall be totally and completely useless to you the moment they hit your desktop and hahahahaha we just stole $20 from you hahahahaha.” (I’m paraphrasing there.)

It should go without saying that, after several hours spent opening up Windows Media Player, using it to burn my all-but-worthless DRM’d WMA files, then ripping the CD’s with iTunes, just so I can listen to Ray LaMontagne on the T, that these dudes have seen the last of my filthy lucre. Which is the point of running a business, right? To make commerce as difficult and unpleasant as possible?

And next January, I’ll see you in Everett. Assuming you can still buy a CD without signing your life away, that is.

[image via]

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First up, a truly inspired moment in Jesusy Christmas journalism. Wonkette fires this salvo at Rick (RICK!) Warren’s smug dome: “Hey man, we’re not the ones who earn livings by scaring people with ancient ghost legends.” Oof.

And speaking of fat guys, here’s the Boss singing about one.

www.youtube.com/watch?v=DINRR5H0VKc

But. BUT. Plenty of world leaders can go shirtless. If this Obama character wants to be taken seriously, he’s got to flex his pecs next to some mountains and fishing rods and guns and bullet-riddled bodies of vanquished journalists.

Or, maybe, strip Bernie Madoff naked, pile him into a human pyramid, let the dogs loose, smoke one of those cancer sticks he loves so much, point and laugh, and say, “You’re next, Mahmoud.”

Only then will America’s (shirtless) standing in the world be restored.