there is no monday in the cheese palace.

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dateline: oZolated

14 november 1996 8:54 p.m.

Okay, it's official. My modem will be listed in tomorrow's obituaries. It's completely toasted. Still, I guess I can't expect much from Supra's "Yugo of the Modem World." You know, this sucker is so cheap, it takes its power from the keyboard. I was ready to return it the day I bought it when I couldn't find the plug -- it just simply didn't have one. I was thinking maybe it was done in by a really big spike (I swear I get power surges when my neighbor's fridge comes on), but for that to have killed my modem it'd have to come all the way through my computer, which is grinding along fine. I've tried messing with settings and stuff, to no avail. I think the lights on the front of the thing are acting out a scene from "Close Encounters." Alas, poor Modemo, I knew him well... R.I.P. SupraExpress 144 Plus 1995 - 1996 It's pathetic. Don't doubt for a minute that people can get addicted to the internet. I'm just about ready to sell my soul for another stupid modem, yet I'm still living off canned soup and rice. I guess journaling's an addiction, too. Whether I dump on an actual audience -- or whether I actually write about something at all -- this whole "diary" effort has made me a more reflective person in general. I feel like hacking out my thoughts even now, though my words are going no further than my whining, dusty Mac. O, what woe... Nate is leaving me. The man perhaps most responsible for developing the most twisted elements of my personality. The reason my purity test scores are so low. He who got the job I wanted. My one and only not-quite-an-ex. I found out last night that he's following his job to the Mainland. He (along with fellow-diarist Andrew, actually) is finally being packed up and shipped to Oregon next weekend -- by this very net outfit, even. I'm stunned. They'd moved his departure date back so many times, it was getting to the point where everyone was taking bets on whether he'd ever leave at all. I guess he is. It's the same old story. Sometimes I wonder if, in a few years, the only people left on this rock will be me and half a million tourists. I already miss him. We haven't hung out for so long -- I haven't seen much him at all since the break. I got Derek, he got Jaimee (both thanks to Jen, damn her), and it was like we both vanished off the face of the earth. Well, we were both awful with returning calls and messages to begin with, but after he fell head over heels? Forget it. What is it with guys after they get girlfriends, anyway? They're actually great together -- I'm just playing jealous. He said she's going to move to Portland with him after Christmas. Now that's love. Jen and I are the planning committee for "Nate's Send-Off: Part I," which'll probably include the old BBS gang, a lot of beer, and probably some pool and darts for old time's sake. Part II, I'm told, is being handled by coworkers and involves a strip club. What is it with... oh, never mind. Hmm. You know, this internet blackout could be worse. "There's more to keeping in touch than e-mail" is my lesson of the day. Left only with a telephone connecting my apartment to the outside world, I've actually talked to half a dozen friends I hadn't heard from in ages. I just wish we'd stop getting together only to say goodbye.