Sunni's father arrived that day--with another laptop and a modem!
The only of my addictions worse than my tea-addiction must be my Internet-addiction. After a few days without my computer I can get rather nasty--and now I'd been living without for just about five whole days. Of cause I can't have been nearly as desperate as Sunni--who hadn't checked her e-mail for almost three weeks.
I never thought I'd be so glad to see a 28.000 BPS modem, but right then I could have kissed it.
Just about here I'd like to whine a bit about something else I don't like--web-based e-mail. I find the idea of having to be logged on, not only to check your e-mail, but also to read and write mail, completely absurd. It might be because I'm a writer--I like to read my mail several times and give accurate replies, I like to proof-read and spell-check, and honestly enjoy pressing the queue-button and wait until later to send the messages.
It might also have to do with my utter paranoia--which compels me to have my e-mail safe and downloaded onto my own computer; where I know how to find it and where I can make backups of my mailboxes whenever I find it necessary. It could be because I just happen to find Eudora to be a very practical and reliably piece of software. It could also be because I'm not too good at remembering passwords, and if I'd have to enter my password every time I wanted to check my mail I'd never get things done.
Oh--I'm fond of POP-mail, let's just leave it at that, OK?
Whatever the reasons for my prejudices against web-based mail might be; I was willing to put them all aside if that meant I could check my e-mail.
This is where irony enters the picture.
I have a web-based e-mail account (sunshiney3@yahoo.co.uk if anyone's interested); I only use it for emergencies, like when my computer crashed or when my other servers are down. And I would easily have categorised this as an emergency.
I got as far as the Yahoo-start-page.
"Invalid Password" it told me.
"What?!" I replied. "You're wrong! That is my password." I tried again.
"Invalid Password" Yahoo told me.
"Excuse me?" I asked politely.
"Invalid Password" Yahoo replied helpfully.
I sighed, counted slowly down from ten, and tried the password-retrieval-thingy.
"Enter your birthday and membername." Yahoo told me.
"May 14th 1982, Sunshiney3." I told them.
"Wrong birth-date." Yahoo replied.
Now--excuse me for just a minute; don't you think I know better than Yahoo when I'm born? Apparently not. It takes me quite a bit of experimenting before I manage to get Yahoo to tell me that I'm not in fact born in 1982--as I've always believed--but in 1980. How can I have been so wrong? For seventeen--no--nineteen years I've thought I was born in 1982, but I guess Yahoo knows this so much better.
Hey--does this mean I can vote?
At least I got them to send me my password--to an account I've got no way of checking.
Why me? Why me? Why me?
Introduction