It sounds so simple, doesn't it? So did crack cocaine. The analogies are eerie--both involve a pipe (in Apple's case, a broadband pipe), both are cheap, and both offer instant gratification. And both, unfortunately, can cause seemingly normal people to become unhinged.

The first night after Apple unleashed this monster, I strolled (virtually) onto the site and did what I do in any CD store: I browsed around and listened to a couple of songs. No problems so far . . . but then I stumbled across the cheesy old Tom Jones hit "What's New Pussycat?" and figured it could be useful in chasing away unwanted party guests. I clicked the "Buy Now" button. Zap. Onto my hard drive it went, in less time than it took me to consider whether I really needed any Tom Jones. Too late--I owned it, like it or not. I could put it on my iPod, or start a "When Lounge Lizards Walked the Earth" CD compilation. It was too easy. I had to have more. I was hooked.

So as the hours whizzed by, all non-iTunes reality faded away. I had been sucked into a Jobsian Vortex of Doom. Unlike a regular record store, this accursed thing never closes. It's open all night. "Open All Night" . . . wasn't that a Georgia Satellites song? (Click-zap.) Sleep? Who needs sleep? I can sleep when I'm dead, I thought. "I'll Sleep When I'm Dead" . . . Warren Zevon! (Click-zap.)

By the time my wife shoved me out of my chair and started downloading Dolly Parton classics, I knew we were on our way to being the Kurt Cobain and Courtney Love of the iTunes set: descending into madness and wrestling for control of the mouse while the "Complete Works of The Troggs" wings its way through cyberspace and onto my hard drive. I started having visions of my formerly happy family living under a bridge while I sat by the road with a "Will Work for Downloads" sign made out of six months of unpaid Visa bills.