... parts is parts ...

-- Wednesday, July 21, 1999 --

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10:07 a.m. Okay. It's been a hard-won month here on lone. I mean, on line. Typo? Freudian slip? Who knows? Who has the time? Gotta make the doughnuts.

Gotta keep the words coming.

Parts of this job have been really easy and other parts have been much harder than I'd anticipated. For instance, getting a domain name and putting stuff up isn't all that difficult -- you poke around, make a few phone calls, ask for help. If you've got a hundred dollars or so, kind people on the other end of the line will help ease it out of your clutches. Getting search engines to find you, however, is another matter.

It seems that now, as of today, the searching robots are so far behind they may never catch up with all the sites. You can be cynical and notice that companies with loads of dough are easily found, blinking and flashing their catchy slogans in blinding neon banners, while the lowly dank denizens of the free zone are mumbling and grumbling in a long, unlisted, undistinguished line stretching off to the mute point of the horizon.

You can be practical and pay up, get your bag of crumbs to scatter about, and hope people will find you. Or you can just cast your fate to the wind, which is a catchy thought, but also pretty darned catch-as-catch-can. So, for now, unless I hold your hand and point you in my direction, you will not find me via any of your old faithful search-and-retrieve missions.

Another part of this job that has been quite easy is starting 'er up. It's sort of like bungee-jumping. You gather up all your courage for the big thrilling leap, but once that's done ... well ... you're up, you're down ... up ... down ... updown ... and then, well ... you're just sort of hanging there. On an extremely long line. Over a ravine. Upside down.

But the hardest part of the job, by far, has been trying to explain it. Somebody walks up to you. Asks you what you do. Simple enough. Happens all the time. Goes something like this:

"Oh, yes. The world wide web. Sure. Great opportunity. Company's online. Been there since last year. Cost us a fortune. What's your -- you know?"

"Url?"

Right. Your yurl.

"www dot i'mouttamymind dot com."

That's nice. What do you write about?"

"Anything. Everything."

"Yeah, and who reads it?"

"Right now, nobody. But potentially -- everybody in the entire world."

"Who asked you to do it?"

"Well, nobody ..."

"I don't understand. How do you make any money?"

"Well ..."

"Let me get this straight. You're knocking yourself out over something that nobody wants, nobody reads, and nobody's paying you for. Very odd. I have just one more question."

"I know what it is."

"What?"

"Why?"

"So?"

"Nobody knows. Go on -- ask him. Here's his yurl."

It's fun, it's easy! To make something nice. Sense of pride and all that. Giving back and all that. You know: art. Flopping and pounding and flipping and spreading the dough each day -- that's the easy part. Running outside to yell at passersby, making up the placards, tapping out the Morse code, wiring up the big neon for the highway overpass ... that's the hard part.

So, if you've gotten yourself here somehow, anyhow, by hook or by crook, by all means, tell your friends. Please. Stick around. Stop back in next time you're by here. Please. Bring the relatives and stay awhile. Please. Here, have seconds! They're fresh! Take some home with you. They're free! Be my guest!

Take my doughnuts, please.

Tomorrow -- I'll make more.