READ ME ... yeah, right. Right?

I'm sick of everyone else having on-line diaries. I want one too.

What is this all about? Maybe you should read the READ ME READ ME.

february 7, 1996: slippery

today had some high points.

i spent an hour or so at my internet service provider's. that was cool. chief programmer guy ran some scripts though my home page (that he wrote on the spot) and showed me some cool things he has set up for neosoft.

i stopped by sound exchange, finally. that was cool too. i was terrified of showing up there, after having disappeared for the past three weeks.

but everyone was really nice! and all the internet and mac stuff was working! and there was a check waiting for me! happy, happy trip to sound exchange. i even got a cool demo cd that no one else wanted.

i also brought my car in for its 9000 mile check-up, brought my powerbook in to have its floppy drive fixed, picked up my dry cleaning, bought more pet supplies, and picked about 50 free boxes from my moving company. i even went to target and picked up some stuff. i love target.

finally, i went to AAA and got my triptik, marking out my route to san francisco from houston. the woman behind the counter at AAA had a houston-san franscisco triptik already prepared; apparently a lot of people drive from houston to san francisco. seems reasonable to me.

i had even more happy things to write about today, like the fact that the weather was absolutely beautiful, but i just spent a couple of hours wasting time on the icb allowing myself to be talked down to by conceited assholes who think that they know everything about everything just because they can program a fucking computer.

i cannot imagine ever believing again that anyone is intelligent or educated just because they have marketable programming skills. i can't believe that i bought into that hype before.

creativity, kindness, imagination, humor, ability to write, to read, to play music, to observe, and to treat others fairly must always carry the day.

ah, i feel better now. although i still do hate packing.





or, if you must, back to Rebecca's Revenge

Copyright 1996 Rebecca Eisenberg