Bought It on iTunes

July 12, 2026

"I can see you're a bit older." That’s what someone posted on my guestbook recently, prompting me into a tailspin that forced me to take a sip of water and finish another row of knitting. As in, I didn’t care. Well, I cared enough to write this. But not so much that I’m loading my cart with anti-age snake oil.

Because on the one hand, it's true. I was born a few days before the 1990s began. I am a bit older than the average Neocities user, assuming the average Neocities user is in their early 20s or so.

And on the other hand, it's funny when younger people act like 30 is ancient. I used to think 30 was an impossible age too; when I was a teen, I couldn't imagine living that long.

I'm still here, though. It's good to be in your 30s. Every day that passes is another day removed from bad things that happened in your past. I say, as if I’m a wrinkled old sage and not 36.

Really, I just find it funny. Like I've successfully tricked you into believing I'm a functioning adult and not the perpetually 17-year-old person I still feel like.

Actually, I was digging through my ancient teenage email account a few days ago. I never deleted anything, so I found a message I sent to myself the night before my 18th birthday.

In it, I talk about my social experiences in high school and then lightly flagellate myself about the bare-bones effort I gave academically.

I also give myself generic commencement-speech advice about being true to myself. Boring, but something I still agree with. I wouldn't say it in that way now, though. I'd just do it, and make my point to others through osmosis.

Mostly, I was surprised by how much the writing voice still sounds like me 19 years later. I'm not sure what that says about the progression of my writing skills.

I'm comforted by the fact that the genuinely insane writing style of my earlier teenage years is gone everywhere except in my old email account. Here's an example of what I mean:

Just kidding. When I tell you it was insane, I mean I can barely bring myself to read it, let alone share it publicly.

There was something about writing my weird thoughts for a small audience that made all of my goofiest shit come out. One thread with an old friend includes a Wolf Parade lyric as the subject line. But then as days pass it slowly morphs, one word at a time, into complete nonsense. Like this:

Psych! It's not gonna happen.

I guess that's why I have no problem writing whatever comes to mind here. Most weeks I try to limit myself to one blog post, but I have a lot waiting in the wings. I'm chatty as hell. Teenage me let it rip; adult me has a slightly less malfunctioning filter.

Anyway, I didn't sign in to that email to punish myself with my teenage writing style. That was just the toll I had to pay to find what I was really looking for: the first thing I ever bought on iTunes.

For some reason, it had occurred to me that I could easily find this information via the dozens of iTunes receipts I’d saved in my inbox. So I did.

On February 26, 2005, I paid $9.99 for Neutral Milk Hotel's In the Aeroplane Over the Sea. I had recently gotten an iPod Mini and was obsessed with loading it with music that would make me cool.

Frankly, it worked. I am cool, and I owe it all to Pitchfork.