In 1997, e-mail was a funky land of fun. I never have fun with e-mail anymore. It’s hard to believe I ever did, though I have proof, having printed out my e-mails from 1997 and kept them warm and cozy in a nice blue folder by the furnace. Hard to believe there was no alcohol, drugs or other substances involved in writing these, but I am pretty sure there wasn’t. And I want to thank my employer for connecting me to the Internet as I am confident all these e-mails were done at the office on company time.
Conversation between me and my friend Nate, who lived in San Francisco:
Happy Weekend Mr. Nate, said the slow and dusty butterfly.
I am headed to St. Louis. Is that in Kentucky?
No, said the butterfly. It’s in Africa. Don’t you know. I saw zebras
there and several tribal bands. Some even have their own boats in
which they capture people and drown them in the Mississippi.
Meow. (That was my cat. I can hear him 25 miles away.)
The slow butterfly did not believe this. Nevertheless
he continued flying in the dry office air waiting to see if he could be of any
assistance in filing the stacks of papers labelled simply logistics.
Have a fabulous weekend. I have pictures to send you but I shant get
them to you for several days.