I’m gonna say it loud, and say it clear: DIAL-UP INTERNET ACCESS BLOWS GREEN DONKEY CHUNKS. We are staying in the one place in Chapel Hill that has neither wireless, or an Ethernet plug, and it has untimely ripp’d my ass back to 1996, when downloading porn was an all-night affair. I have about fifty unread emails stacked up in my inbox, filled with delightful links, and pictures, and I have to SAVE them all, because it would take the better part of a weekend to view them now.
Seriously, how is dial-up still tolerated in this country? I feel like I’m using a cat-whisker quartz radio attached to a dipole, powered by hamsters. I know it can’t be intellectually true, but this feels slower than the 14400 baud modem on my mom’s Powerbook 165c. I think my brother Steve had one of those modems Matthew Broderick used in “War Games,” you know, the one where you put your phone receiver down into two upright cups, and the two devices scream at each other