While I will continue to do my occasional postings on Everyone on This Train, I have decided to come back to this old blog in answer to Kelli Russell Agodon's call for poets to return to their blogging ways, turning back the clock to 2005 (at least in my case with this blog). We are committed to posting a weekly entry for 2018, and I'll be adding links to those blogs as we move along.
I've also decided not to update the template for this blog, though I see I have a bit of cleaning up to do here with what I do have, and it actually means brushing up my old school html coding.
This throws me back to the days of WordStar 4.1, with my old Model D Leading Edge Computer with two 5.25" floppy discs--discs that actually were floppy--and yes, no hard drive! Cost my ex-wife and me $1495 in 1985 so we could write our dissertations on them; this model was about half the price of the IBM PC. We're talking about a 4.7 MHz processor and 256 Kb of memory, far better than what the Apple IIc had going for it. The individual floppy discs could contain 640 Kb of data (that would hold about 400 pages of double spaced text). One disc contained the word program and the other disc held the file. You had to use DOS commands to locate, open, copy, or delete files--there were no "windows" then. Naturally, we had a dot matrix printer.
The keyboard was wonderful, with large individual keys that had a lot of play to them. It also had a separate "reboot" button beneath the on/off switch, and our model had a large, heavy, monochrome amber monitor.
Anyway, sorry to go all George R.R. Martin on you, old white man's writerly nostalgia. I promise no more.
I've also decided not to update the template for this blog, though I see I have a bit of cleaning up to do here with what I do have, and it actually means brushing up my old school html coding.
The keyboard was wonderful, with large individual keys that had a lot of play to them. It also had a separate "reboot" button beneath the on/off switch, and our model had a large, heavy, monochrome amber monitor.
Anyway, sorry to go all George R.R. Martin on you, old white man's writerly nostalgia. I promise no more.
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