Microserfs

computer world.

Abe-mail:

I am going to RRNT today. 2 things:

1)

The US Dollar is the working currency not only of the domestic econimy, but of nearly every other country on earth (minus Europe and Japan). That must count for somethin. It’s obviously grossly undervalued. Why dows the Federal Reserve keep the value so low?

(insert conspiracy theory here)

And WHATS WITH THESE MUTUAL FUNDS AND PENSION FUNDS? I REFUSE to believe that money put into a bank in 1956 is *still* money in 1994.

1956 money may still technically be “there” (wherever “there” is) - but it’s undead money. It’s sick. Evil.

I can’t believe that *l*, of all people, am saying this, but there’s soemthing obscene about money that sits inside a bank and collects interest for decades. “It;s hard at work,” we’re told …

OH RIGHT!

No, I think money is due for some sort of collapse. People are going to realixe that money has a half-life - a decade or so? and then it becomes perverse and random. Expecting a pension kids? Ha hah ha!

I’m feeling like Bug today.

2)

Easter egg

platform

surfing

frontier

garden

jukebox

net

dirty linen

pipeline

lassooo

highway

We will have soon fully entered an era where we have creatted a computer metaphor for EVERY thing that exists in the real world.

Actually when you think about it, *euerything* can be a metaphor for *anything*.

To quote YOU, Daniel: “I mean, If you realy think about it.”

Abe has a friend in research who’s working on “metaphor-backwards” development of software products. That is, thinking of a real-world object with no cyber equivalent, and then figuring out what that cyber equivalent should be. Abe’s worried because at the moment he’s working on “gun.”

Thought: sometimes you accidentally input an extra digit into the year: i.e., 19993 and you add 18,000 years on to now, and you realize that the year 19993 will one day exist and that time is a scary thing, indeed.

Actually, I’ve noticed recently that conversations always seem to reach the point where everybody says they don’t have any time anymore. How can time just … disappear? Early this morning I told this to Karla as we were waking up and she said she’s noticed this, too.

She also said that everybody’s beginning to look the same these days—“Everybody looks so Gappy and identical.” She considered this for a second. “Everybody looks the same nowadays because nobody has the time to differentiate themselves — or to even shop.”

She paused and looked up at the ceiling. “Your mother doesn’t like me.”

“How can you get so random out of nowhere? Of course she does.”

“No. She doesn’t. She thinks I’m a hick.”

(Oh God—not this stupid stuff again.) “You two never talk, so how can you even tell?”

“So you admit she doesn’t like me?”

“No!”

“We have to do something together. We have no shared experiences or memories.”

“Wait a second — don’t I count?”

“Maybe she sees me as stealing you.”

“Mom?”

“Let’s arrange a lunch. We’ve been here how long? And we’ve never even had a lunch out together.”

“Lunch? That’s not much.”

“Memories have to begin somewhere.”

Now that I think about it, Mom never comes over to our work area. Ever. And the two of them never really do chat. It occurs to me that I should have noticed, and I realize that I’m worried about it.

A crisis in my new-and-improved life.

We shot Nerf darts (Jarts) for a few hours this afternoon down in the backyard to allow the sunlight to reset our circadian rhythms. We drank Napa Valley Cabernet like we were Cary Grant and made Klingon jokes. We used Dad’s Soviet binoculars to inspect the enormous blue “Jell-O cube” down in the Valley below — a.k.a. the Air Force Satellite Control Facility, at Onizuka Air Force Base in Sunnyvale.

A citrus tree was blossoming outside the house; the air was lemony fresh and smelled like an expensive hotel’s lobby.

Ethan was, as usual, in a beautiful suit, like one of those suntanned Academy Awards guys. (But again, his dandruff!) He greeted us with, “Good afternoon, my precious content delivery system.”

We asked Ethan if he wanted to throw Jarts with us, but he said, “Love to, kids, but antidepressants make me photosensitive. Sunlight kills me. My retinas’ll get etched like a microchip. You kids keep on playing. Sunlight is good for productivity.” He and Dad then went into the kitchen to discuss psychopharmacology while Mom made us a tray of Dagwood sandwiches.

Ethan told me something really cool. He said that the reason lion tamers brandish chairs while cracking the whip is because the lions are mesmerized by all four points of the chairs’ legs, but never all of them at the same time — their attention is continually distracted, and hence they are subdued.

Ethan talks so “big-time.” I’ve never heard people talk this way before. Susan says he talks like characters in a miniseries.

I agree with Susan that Ethan is annoying, but it’s hard to peg exactly why — there are all these little things that he does that just add up to ANNOYING. When I really think about it, I realize that if someone else did those things they probably wouldn’t annoy me. It’s just the way he is, all smarmy and fake genuine. Like he’s always coming into the office and going up to me and saying, “How are you” in this concerned voice while looking deep into my eyes. Retch. Like he cares. And when I say, “Fine,” he squeezes my shoulder and says, “No, really, how are you?” as though I wasn’t really being honest. “I know you’ve been working hard.” I never know what to say so I always just look back at my screen and keep on coding.

Another annoying thing he does is ask you something about what you’re working on, and just as you start really talking about it, he takes over and somehow ties it into an anecdote about himself. Like I was telling him about the problems we were having deciding whether or not Oop! will have sounds or not, and how we’re trying to calculate the extra memory space sound would occupy and whether or not having sounds adds enough value to justify the extra work. It was like Ethan was just waiting for a place where he could break in. He said, “Added value. What an arbitrary concept, since it’s different for every person.” He then launched into this story of holidaying in Bali, staying in little shacks at this super-resort called Amand-something which cost $400 a night which even had little slaves to do his bidding. In his mind it tied into the notion of “value-adding,” but