Here’s a screenshot of a bill I just almost confirmed.

So, let’s take a look at all those wonderful fees.

First off we have the ticket price: $25 for adults. No problems there.

Then we have a “Total Building Facility Charge” of $2. Uhhh, what? Wikipedia says this is determined by the venue, so I guess I can’t blame Ticketmaster. Too bad.

Then there’s the “Total Convenience Charge” of $8.30. This fee is for the convenience of not having to go over to a Ticketmaster retail location to buy a ticket in person. Apparently Ticketmaster say that this convenience is worth 33.2% of the total ticket price. 33.2%. That’s fucking ridiculous.

Following is a $5.10 “Order Processing Charge,” because we all know how these web servers charge a pretty penny of an hourly rate. Virtually no human effort is required for the processing of an order and the electricity/bandwidth required for the computers to do it is insignificant. This is laughable.

The last one is my personal favorite: a $2.50 “TicketFast Delivery” charge, which is a fee for printing your own tickets as opposed to having them shipped to you. Mind you, some of the shipping options are quite pricey, and rightfully so (UPS Next Day and similar), but choosing to have your tickets mailed to you via standard USPS is free. They charge you $2.50 if you don’t want them to bother with mailing you a ticket. In addition to the free USPS option there’s a retail pickup option for $1. Taking up a Ticketmaster employee’s time at a window somewhere will cost you less than doing all the work yourself.

So the total is $42.90, $17.90 of which is various (read: bullshit) fees. Fuck you, Ticketmaster.

Scam, anyone?

I hereby refuse to pay 42% of the ticket price in fees, because I refuse to be ripped off like a complete idiot. I guess I’m not seeing Pendulum. Shame.

I used to think just about everyone could do with a bit more of it, but lately I haven’t been so sure. I suppose it’s the same thing as with everything else: moderation is the key.

Now I just have to take my own advice…

And then it hit me: I really like me.

I couldn’t think of a single person in the whole world I’d rather be.

That, my dear readers, is quite possibly the most satisfying thought one could have: I’m cool in my own book. Often that’s all that matters…

…Because everything else follows. :)

Your music, wherever you are, whenever you want it. And nothing else.

No videos, no Internet…Hell, not even album covers. No distractions like touch screens, EQ settings, or playlists. No unnecessary crap.

Just you and your music, alone.

Thank you, Apple.

08ama. It’s in the name.

I should never be allowed to contribute ideas to a political campaign.

In that story I didn’t leave Bosnia on best terms.

In that story I never felt like I fit in, anywhere. In high school in Bosnia I thought I could belong, but I eventually realized I didn’t want to. I didn’t want to be like them, I didn’t want to hang out with them. I was glad I was different, and I was glad I was now elsewhere.

I can’t exactly recall when I started telling this story. All I know is that it started at some point after I moved here. I imagine it was my subconscious self-defense mechanism that had to cope with the uprooting of my life and everything I built over there. In any case, only the first line of the story is true - I really did leave Bosnia on crappy terms.

Sadly.

I miss that place. I miss the streets on which I grew up. The bloody knees, the countless free throws, the hours of walking around… I miss the people, too. When I’m reminded even of those I never liked, usually via pictures on Facebook, I still kind of feel like it’d be nice to walk by them on the street and just nod. I miss playing basketball in P.E. and cramming for quizzes during those 5-min breaks. I even miss the lack of central heating, though not too much. I miss the cliques, the drama, the gossip, and the teasing.

I miss walking pretty much anywhere and seeing at least one familiar face on the way. I miss knowing every corner, alley, and questionable shortcut. I miss feeling like I have a home. I even miss complaining about the damn place.

I miss it all, at least a little.

However, Prijedor is no longer my home, and I’m afraid to feel even this bit of nostalgia. Here I am, writing this in English, as if hoping nobody from there will understand it…

And if you do…well, sorry it didn’t work out too well. I suppose life sometimes follows Newton’s first law.