KEY POINTS:
Last night there was an incident involving my M-Chip. I was jogging. I took a tumble and put my arm out to steady myself. My pinky finger started beeping. Then every car stereo within a 20m radius started to pump out furious drum'n'bass.
It might sound silly but if the iPod shuffle is small enough to be nicknamed the Tampod in 2006, then surely by 2016 we'll be wearing these digital transistors on the inside.
Just imagine. No batteries included. Bluetooth could literally be a blue tooth; for the non-gangstas among us, we could swap files simply by fluttering our eyelashes at each other in a choreographed rhythm. You could dance with your favourite DJ rather than wave your arms at him or her from the floor.
This sort of thing is nothing that hasn't already been prophesied in an Isaac Asimov novel but I'm sure I'm not the only one wondering how the future crept up on us so fast.
And by future, I mean digital music downloads that won't get you in trouble.
This issue of TimeOut is, if you haven't noticed, a digital music special. Crazy, isn't it, that for a few years we've been able to rape the internet of our favourite music, and only now the major-player legal version is on our doorstep.
Anyway, I doubt there will be many ethical issues surrounding the implanting of digital music technology in the body. It could be something as tame as the earring Jem wore in the 80s.
"Show's over, Synergy," we'd say, pressing that deceptively pretty jewel in our lobes to switch from Metallica to Beethoven. "The white swan flies backwards at night with 007," we'd whisper, to remix the end of that Beyonce track. She's a bit past it now, after all.
Getting the implant could be as ritualistic and excitingly barbaric as getting your ears pierced.
"Mum said I can get my M-Chip when I turn 13."
"Lucky. I heard it's really painful and you bleed heaps. But you get a free nose-ring Blackberry with it if you don't get a back-street one ... "
Nope, no issues. Unless a digital music terrorist makes a dodgy chip that broadcasts an hour of K-Fed classics at 4 each morning. Or one that acts like a virus and infects others in the vicinity if they have appalling music taste. Or one that emits disturbing lines from Silence of the Lambs that means you're forever going to the chemist and putting lotion in your basket for no apparent reason. Okay, maybe there are a few ethical issues.
Students sitting in French class might be tempted to listen to Daft Punk than to actually learn their verbs. A vigorous game of tennis might be enough to kill an ear drum. Worst of all: without the telling presence of those little wires that come out of our ears, we'd really start to think the guy sitting next to us on the bus was twitching and murmuring because he's mad.
Speaking of buses, small talk would be eliminated as people tune in to their inner android. On second thoughts, that's already a reality.
The future is here, all right. Whether you can't wait to obey the law on your next big music download or you refuse to remove your dusty nostrils from that old vinyl sleeve, you'll be hearing a lot more about it in the coming weeks.
So back to my M-Chip incident. I didn't know if I should go to A&E or Bond & Bond. I know most doctors are M-Chip qualified these days but you want the very best when you're suffering, y'know, in the downloading region. Turns out it dislodged from my jaw and had been gradually making its way down my arm since Tuesday. The doctor said I'm not allowed to listen to drum'n'bass for at least three weeks or I'll have to have an operation. Who said this stuff wouldn't get us in trouble?
