jim race

director of technology / cerebral cortex

In the beginning...

there was nothing of me. not a speck. cheap dna

i went unnoticed. i wore a tie and my shoes were hand buffed by people. i wore a pager-leash. i thought i was happy working for the corporation of america. i was mis-informed.

Then suddenly...

i quit.. not life, but my tie. my suit. i shed a shackle i wasn't fully aware was burdening me. i made a decision on an airplane soaring back from a tiny island nearly 10,000 miles away to end my so-called-career. my corporate existence was toast. "do cool web stuff", i thought to myself... work in my pj's, sleep till noon.. ok... cool.

then i get email..

>Return-Path: hlr
>Date: Fri, 15 Dec 1995 16:59:30 -0800
>From: Howard Rheingold <hlr>
>To: caferace
>Subject: job
>
>Looking for work?

i answered this affirmatively.

jeez, it was from the howard...

And finally...

now i'm playing with toys. mondo toys, and tomorrow i'll get to play with bigger ones. people that i've never met or heard of want me to try and see if their toys are willing to mate with mine. silicon fucking lovefest...

"fine," i say. get them a cold room, some kleenex and a carton of ram. tomorrow is just another day.

brighter? I don't know. but i'm pretty sure it'll be different than today. and that, strangely enough is enough to keep me this side of postal...

define "weekend"

::end::