The audiovideo time machine
Boon or bane to historians?

The first thing to do is get a forensic musicologist involved. One's
tromping up the stairs now. Mike Check. As usual, he's got his bag of
onion rings. You just don't want to let him touch your gear.
     "C'mon, let me use regular headphones this time."
     "Forget it." I put a red laser dot on his left temple. Like the
asshole he is, he jerks out of the way at the last minute. The earphone
hovers would crash into the ceiling fan like before, if I didn't cancel
the acquisition sequence. I brandish my credit slab at him -- "Dang,
you know...now that I think about this, I don't think I can really afford
this after all--"
     "Okay, okay," he says, standing dutifully like a child.
     While he listens, he walks around the apartment, pulling onion
rings from the bag and eating them one by one, with a great deal of
sniffy nosebreathing. He looks out over the pool. Silhouette against the
venetian blinds, with two little silently hovering ear satellites. I
know he's looking for Jennifer, but it's one of those subjects you feel
in your stomach you just don't have the energy to broach.
     "You know, I think there are elements of 'Better Than Heaven' in
this," he pronounces at last.
     "What's that? Better than what?"
     "Heaven. 'Better Than Heaven'. Stacey Q."
     I punch it up. Music plays.
     "No, the second theme, the verse."
     I listen. Neither of us is willing to commit.
     "Anything else?"
     "This part here at one thirty-five oh-four sounds a little like 'See No Evil'
by Television."
     "Television?"
     "Mghm," he nods. A snotty nod, like Marisa Tomei in My Cousin
Vinny at 1:42:15. Though nowhere near as cute.