June 9, 2000

On Wednesday, I finally got with the program and joined the 21st century (has that officially started yet? Does it start next year? We're in the same goddamn millennium as last year, aren't we? Oh god, I feel so dumb.) by purchasing a 56K modem to replace my achingly slow 26K. I try, you see, to make due with the barest of essentials when it comes to computers -- otherwise, I will pump thousands of dollars into a piece of machinery I basically use as a typewriter.

Although I realize that, at $150, the modem is not really all that expensive, I would've been much happier had it been closer to twenty bucks. But it would make my virtual life so fast-paced and fancy free, I thought. And then, upon thinking the words "fancy free," I spent a good hour or so trying to remember the words to "Movin' Right Along," from The Muppet Movie. I couldn't get past the chorus. If only I had my new slammin' 56K modem right now, I thought, I could zoom onto the Internet and find the lyrics within seconds. Clearly, this was something my life needed.

So, I got the damn modem at Tekserve, along with a 10-cent coke in a bottle, which is really the only reason I go to Tekserve in the first place (note: that is a patent lie. It is the only place to get Mac stuff in the city. Plus, the people who work there are nice and cool), and considered briefly going to a movie. I'd had a rather convoluted day at work, mostly because of several hours of weird misunderstandings on IM (When will I ever learn? Never. I will never, ever learn.), and I just wanted to do what the legions of would-be psychoanalysts keep telling me I want to do, which is: escape, but then I thought about how I'd miss Survivor if I went out, and I just wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I did that, knowingly, two weeks in a row.

So, the movie idea was scrapped, and I came right home to hook up my new toy. I really couldn't wait. 56K! No more taking a shower while waiting for sites to load. No more reading the dictionary while opening email. No more tear-ridden coniption fits when my computer crashes on the Girls of the WB pictorial file from Maxim for the 17th time in as many minutes. 56K, man. This was gonna be better than Cats in a big, big way.

And yet, oddly, not. After reconfiguring my modem and getting all slap happy on Diet Pepsi, I connect to my ISP of convenience rather than choice (as in, yes, I use AOL. I can't believe I just told you that.) and go straight to nba.com, because that site is the one that has killed me more often than the Knicks have injuries in any given year. Instantaneous download! This is what I expected. What I got was: really not much faster than my old modem. What the fuck? I mean, really. I just spent $150 in order to, basically, hear a slightly different connection sound when I, y'know, connect. I suppose it was a little faster, but I was looking for instant gratification, as I so often am in this crazy, hazy little world we call the wide web, and, once again, I was sorely disappointed.

Let us go back to a happier time -- specifically, last Sunday -- and discuss something that, in stark contrast to the rest of my life, never disappoints -- specifically, Diet Pepsi. On Sunday, before heading off to a Sex and the City premiere party, I found myself at, shockingly, a street fair. It was hot and smelly and crowded, but I didn't care. Even more than usual, I didn't care, because I heard a voice in the distance. A voice crying out words I have longed to hear for years. A voice that did not literally address me by name, but figuratively took my hand and dragged me toward it. What did that voice say? "Come take the Pepsi Challenge!"

And so I did. Yes, it was regular Pepsi, not Diet Pepsi, but in my heart, I was doing it for the Diet. I waited in line behind a very touristy family of four -- all of whom found it necessary to take several sips of each soda before identifying them oh-so-wrongly. Amateurs. I had been preparing for this my whole life. Coke or Pepsi? Please. You may as well be asking me the difference between Chicago and New York.

After the family left with their collective tails between their khaki-clad legs, it was my turn at bat. I was offered oyster crackers to cleanse my palate. I respectfully refused. I didn't need them. I took the first sip. Coke. It was clearly Coke. Classic Coke, if you'd like specifics, vintage circa 1999. I could've ended the absurd "test" right there, but I wanted to draw it out. Make 'em sweat. Again, the crackers were presented to me, and this time, I accepted one. Just one. I sucked it slowly, with a quizzical look on my face, making them think I was stalling.

I took the second sip. Pepsi. Of course, of course, Pepsi. I swilled it around in my mouth, again, pretending to be unsure. They asked me if I wanted another taste. I said no, that wouldn't be necessary, and then quickly pointed to the cup on the right and said, "Pepsi." They asked me if I was sure. I repeated, "Pepsi." Congratulations, they said. You have just won 10 free Pepsi Points that you can use toward making your very own five-song custom CD! "What?" I said. "That's it?!" That was, indeed, it. "That blows," I said. "At least I have that 56K modem to look forward to. When I get that, my life is gonna make me feel like dancin' (I'm gonna dance the night away). You just wait. You'll cry at night wishing you were me." I then stomped away haughtily and bought my very first can of RC.

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