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The greatest thing about the Internet is not the widespread dissemination of information, or the creation of a worldwide community, or even the easy, nearly unavoidable access to naked people. No, the Internet's greatest child is the playlist.

When it comes to saving time for me personally, I mean. The rest is good, too.

Playlists allow me to arrange my music as I see fit to suit my needs, and not in the prepackaged "order" that some fancy pants "artist" thought they should be in. And it's incredibly easy! Not like it used to be (cue old timey music as the column fades to sepia).

Back in the day playlists were called "mix tapes." You pulled out all your records and tapes in huge wobbly stacks and you popped in a blank cassette and you spent a good three or four or seventeen hours dropping needle arms and hitting play and record buttons to painstakingly create the Perfect Music Compilation. Also a crippling lower back ache that would be with you always.

That was back when music was a physical thing and men trembled in fear at the bright fire from the rain clouds. Now that music is digital the backbreaking time and effort has been reduced to a few mouse clicks. You can go online and swap your playlists with other people. The iTunes music store even features a celebrity playlist section that proves famous people listen to the same twenty songs as everybody else, except for those artists who apparently listen only to music by themselves or their contractual connections (coughBeyoncecough).

Like the mix tapes, playlists are mood setters, snapshots of your tastes, and great nonverbal method of communication. Barry White can manage your seductions, with Travis Tritt ready to deliver your break up afterward. You can produce the ultimate Rolling Stones album by taking their life's work and removing all those clunkers. You can make a soundtrack that perfectly describes your personal philosophy, at least until you get bored with it and make another one.

But there's a deeper, more satisfying reason for making playlists: to show other people how cool we are. Bow before my superior compilatory might! Relish the soul-stirring production that I, with no discernable musical talent whatsoever, have created! See how much better my taste is than yours!

It isn't, of course. If people heard what I really sing along with at stoplights they would laugh at me and do that pointing thing. Instead, like everyone else, I list songs I want people to think I listen to by constructing my playlist carefully until it sounds so unutterably cool that even I would sleep with me if I heard it.

There are as many types of mixes as there are people with too much time on their hands. I've made dance mixes, romance mixes, I-can't-believe-I-said-that-in-front-of-her-mother mixes, drive-till-they-make-you-pull-over mixes, and many more (check www.artofthemix.com). But they all have some basic rules.

As Nick Hornby (and John Cusack) advised, start strong. I favor the Emergency Broadcast Warning klaxon. It gets people's attention and sets their toes to tapping.

Next, set the tone. Do you want your listeners dancing, laughing, singing along, marveling at your musical acumen, or screaming and clawing at the speakers? Choose wisely.

Vary your selections to control the mood, and stick in some placeholder songs (Elton John, Barenaked Ladies, instrumentals) every now and then to cleanse the palate and allow romancers to freshen up, partiers to get fresh drinks, and dancers to dump the partner they got stuck with during the last song.

No matter what the era of the mix, include one Who or Aerosmith song so the 40-somethings won't feel totally out of place, and one Kanye West or Gorillaz song so the teenagers don't fall asleep.

Include a song by a local artist to prove your street cred. Google for them, it's faster than actually going to clubs yourself and they're always so loud.

You must -- and this is important -- include at least one song that no one in the room has ever heard of. Otherwise there's just no point. Ideally it should be something only ever mentioned once in an obscure British music magazine.

Close with a song guaranteed to get into everyone's brain and stay there for a day or two at least, to ensure they'll be thinking about you. This should reflect the genre of your mix but "Brickhouse" seems to inflict everybody more or less equally.

Now that the grunt work of making a mix tape has been streamlined, it could be said that some of the magic has gone out of it. No longer do you have to dig and play and record and spend hours getting it right. You're no longer a producer. You're a DJ. But that's OK. DJs get hit on a lot more.

And now I can spend all my time more productively: making the perfect CD cover.