So THAT’S what was in her box.

Last week, two people independently suggested that I try Pandora. So I did. Pardon the expression, but I believe my feelings about Pandora are best summed up with the acronym “OMFG” (apologies to Gossip Girl fans).

In case you’re unfamiliar, Pandora is internet-based streaming radio. You input songs or artists that you like, and Pandora uses magic some sort of technologically-based algorithm to recommend similar music you might also enjoy (Blink 182! Jack Johnson! The Strokes!). As each song plays, you can approve or disapprove—what Pandora calls “guiding” it. Helpful, no?

There are all kinds of features I don’t use, like the ability to create multiple stations of your own, watch videos, and use Pandora on your phone. I prefer upholding my grand tradition of recommending something based on the promising results of shallow research. Or, as in the case of Rome, no research at all. Obviously, I missed my calling as a journalist.

(True story: In another life, I would have majored in journalism at Northwestern. I’d still move to Washington, but would be like Woodward and Bernstein. Except not.)

If you find yourself iPodless for some reason (dead battery, theft, had to use it to defuse a bomb), consider Pandora. It’s free. And vaguely scientific.