Evil Gal Productions

Mere Smith
is a recovering Southerner,
longtime TV writer,
author and blogger.
August 17th, 2011 by Mere Smith

Baby Roof?

So here’s the problem with trying to be an InterWeb Writer/Producer:

You actually have to understand how the InterWeb works.

Which sucks, ’cause I don’t, really.  I mean, I get the blogging thing (obviously), the Twitter thing, the YouTube thing, the Amazon thing, and even the Kickstarter and Indiegogo things… but not much else.

In my brain, “writing code” means using a toy ring out of a cereal box.  “C++” is what you get on a test when you don’t grasp the subject, but the teacher can tell you’re trying hard.  And “Java” is what they’ll give you only after you’ve sacrificed your firstborn child to Starbucks.

For me, attempting to get Google Analytics up and running for this page was the equivalent of getting a hedgehog to solve Fermat’s Last Theorem — which we all know is completely ridiculous, since hedgehogs can’t even pass Trig.  (Except for that one hedgehog, but he was also a Swiss patent clerk.  Total fluke.)

And this bugs the shit out of me, because once upon a time, I was on the cutting edge of the Internet.

Stop laughing.  You’re hurting my feelings.

Of course, this was back when email was still a newfangled thing hardly anyone used — because writing a real letter with a real pen on real paper with your real hand and placing that letter in a real envelope and putting a real stamp on it (a stamp you had to lick, mind you) and depositing it in a real blue box on a real street corner and waiting 5-7 real days for that letter to magically reach its real destination (maybe, depending on the postal carrier’s real sobriety) was way more trustworthy.

This was a time when Usenet was considered “social media,” when the sound “buzzzz-ding!-dingle-ding-dunnnnn…” meant you were only seventeen minutes away from accessing one of the dozen URL’s in existence, and when we said, “Double-you double-you double-you period ay-oh-ell period cee-oh-em” when we gave out our email addresses, feeling very “hep” as we did it.

I mean, I’m talking way way back, back before Google was even created (some people call this “The Pleistocene Era.”  Evangelical Christians call it a myth sent by God to test our faith.  When it comes to Google, I’m not sure who’s right).

Back then, every moment of my spare time was spent at the college computer library, since I, myself, couldn’t afford a computer, considering they cost, like, ONE MILLION DOLLARS!!! (I may have rounded down, there, I can’t recall.)  The computer library had — I’m  telling you, it was fucking amazing — twenty-five of these things — in the same room!  In other words, more computers than could be found on the entire continent of Europe.  And standing/dozing in the back of the library for fourteen weeks waiting for a computer to be freed up was time I considered well-spent.

And once I sat down to one?  Oh my god, I was the fucking Queen Of Alt.Everything.  There was nothing I didn’t know about Eudora.  I sent copious emails to any of the two other people I knew who had addresses.  I could go three days without peeing in order to finish downloading a funny picture, and at the same time, I had Usenet friends across the country — you knew they were across the country, BECAUSE THEY TYPED IN ALL CAPS SO YOU COULD HEAR THEM FROM SO FAR AWAY!!!!!!!!!!  (The exclamation points helped the ASCII get over the Ozarks.)

But now?

I feel like Sloth from “The Goonies”.  Just throw me a Baby Ruth and leave me to my fuckwit slobber.

And thank god I don’t really have to understand it.

I have a younger brother in IT.

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