Originally posted on Sat Apr 05 08:22:39 1997
Yep, from the Albany Public Library on her cellular. Yesterday. Place was packed with Power Macs, with a minority of Wintels, which of course colored me pink with passion as I tried to waddle her through the surf. It's amazing how Sue maintains this mental block about the Internet, can't quite get her mind around it, but because I know what I know, my own level of expertise far outstripping what little she does know, it makes some sort of weird GT-BS sense. We tend to rush into each other's void. I still prefer to let her troubleshoot my OS when there's trouble but in the last few months of fixes, managing very nearly on my own, I've regained a confidence I lost to boredom even in that area, although Sue usually can instantly answer a system question and she still has the edge in local area networking savvy, while I grunt at such mundane interruptions to my more natural work.
When Sue was finally successful in loading a page, it was slow, slow, slow. My loads beat hers by a factor of four if not greater. She couldn't give me any modem or CPU details. Her first machine froze, so she moved to another. The second machine dazzled her with reload speed after each crash, but with a skeletal OS framework, there was no surprise there. I didn't even bother trying to get her to check the Navigator memory cache; the damn thing was crashing on that Lily Artwatcher page, a very simple, and hardly graphically burdened upload. I had her try to mail me from a Netscape/iMote link, but the library has no POP3 service, so THAT failed. All in all, a nightmare on Elm Street (is that the street the library is on???). Nope, a quick check. It's on Pine Street. Close but no cigar. Not quite the bohemian hip we managed at New York City's@Café last May with Jennifer watching and nodding favorably, carrying on in her own words "that my online work was sort of like rock stardom..." Always seductive, but dangerously frosty under certain conditions, Jennifer could spell the most charming kindness and come off as the most untethered supportive girl a man could ever want to know when she wanted, and she didn't even have to be chasing something at the moment, but I never doubted her sense of entitlement in the bloodsport of our agestar fucking. She could quickly and maniacally transform into a mankiller on a nickel, in a wildcat hustle, clawing flesh and sheetrock leaving clumps of DNA all over any later testimony, especially when drinking past her stopping point. But on this sunny May afternoon we were merely romping through the city without restraints or vile poisons in our blood, enjoying ourselves at an Internet café on the softer side of rock and roll. I felt the spirit of Blumstein enter me as I said to myself, "Dammit, I felt like a rock star showing off my designs, the blueprint of my future victories over self-loathing. Thanks for noticing, you flatter me you clever girl." True however, was the dumb fact that I had passively aggressively coerced her flattery by mumbling something to the effect that "Well, it's not as glamorous as being in a band, but I do enjoy creating pages..."
On the beachhead, check out the freshly ported Literary Chip pages, slighted overhauled from the GeoCities look. You can access them from the main page (the second one) by clicking on the Lily Artwatcher link located just under the wordslaphappy. Sue grew up in the house in which her parents, Wilma & Dermot still own and reside a single block off the old Albany family-named Slappy Drive, Albany's most notable commercial avenue? Hence, slaphappy.
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