The ubiquity of the search — via cell phones, online directories and the far-too-trusted Wikipedia — has overshadowed what we all used to do when we sought something special: browse. But if you take the power of search and integrate it into something that was made for browsing, you get a lazy, so 2009, bastardization of technology. Exhibit A: the Internet jukebox. ("There's no time for browsing 100 CDs — I've got a bucket of Bud Lights to guzzle here!") That's why it's so refreshing to happen upon a jukebox whose owners have nurtured and cared for it, a grouping of albums and singles that's clearly an assembly of personal favorites. Tucked away in the corner of the bar, the Bleeding Deacon's jukebox is just such an animal: Its 100 CDs — ranging from cult hits to weekend-warrior rap music — demand your attention, and your browsing. Ease in your dollar, slow down and pick your three songs. Forget about whatever conversation was going on at your table, because you could be standing in the yellow glow of this 'box for a while.
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