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January 10 1998, Saturday

T

he day was clear and cool (by recent standards). But it warmed up in the heat of the low winter sun.

When Deya came home from work, I interested her in getting a pizza. Instead of the usual cut rate places, I wanted to give my business to some place a little more quaint and a little more interesting. So I ordered a large mushroom pie from Anna's Pizza (which is practically in the Kappa Mutha Fucka backyard - on Maury Avenue near the Seven Day Junior). Then Deya and I walked over there with Shira the Dog. She was going nuts on the end of her leash, but I don't have the time to track her down and I knew she'd vanish if I set her free.

The pizza cost about twice what a "similar" Gumby's goes for, but it was definitely worth it. First of all, I saw the inside of Anna's for the first time. It's a great place, full of old greasy wood and funny awkward little tables and not a table cloth in sight. The customers are a mix of baby boom regulars and stylish young white people, many of them with pitchers of beer at the ready. The staff were a bunch a happy fat Italians speaking the mother tongue. I was delighted to be supporting their efforts with my cash.

And back at Kappa Mutha Fucka, the pizza was far better than any I've had in recent memory, except perhaps that time we splurged and ordered two larges from Hot Tomatoes.

S

ubtle problems plagued my scanning again today, but I think I've finally got it all worked out. I really don't know very much about the little files that make up Windows 95, and conflicts seem to pop up unexpectedly, and resolving them feels more like alchemy than the work of a computer professional. As much trouble as I've had with the Mac, at least I understand what the funny System files do.

By the way, if anyone is experiencing the "flurry of JavaScript errors" that Burr casually mentions in his journal, kindly tell me what browser/operating system/hardware you are using. I don't like making things difficult for people in the name of a few cute magic tricks.

I

t's 10:16pm on this Saturday Night, and I've hardly been out from in front of my computer all day. An expected arrival of Jessika never materialized, sad to say.


M

any of you readers maintain pages that have links to my site. You've no doubt noticed that I'm now hosted on Spies.com. That change is permanent; my old server (Atlas.Comet.net) has been auctioned off as part of the liquidation of Comet's old assets. It was sad to see it go, but times have changed, and the situation was beyond my control. If you have links to my site, please update the URLs sometime when you have a spare moment. I really hate asking because I know what a drag it is. But there is nothing on Atlas to redirect people over here; chances are some unsympathetic nerd has it running Windows 95 and is playing Doom even as you read this.


I

  hung out a little with Matthew Hart after he got off work. We went on a last minute beer run just before midnight and I bought an 18 pack of Budeweiser. Then we sat around listening to They Might be Giants. Matthew likes them even though they are clearly a bunch of dorks.

Matthew said he hasn't drunk much alcohol for the past two weeks, and that he feels healthier. It's true, and I've noticed. His drinking has gone down enormously, and so has Angela's. Ironically, hard Philadelphia street drugs may have played a role in this welcome development.

one year ago
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