Alice, I Think

by Susan Juby

  Can you believe it? I danced at Driftwood Hall! Life Experience Number 2010! The line dance fell apart when one of the lumber-jacket women tackled Finn and wrestled him away for some up-close-and-personal two-stepping. I guess she hadn’t heard.

  Weirdest of all, Jack snuck up to me in this very top-secret way and tapped me on the shoulder. When I turned around, he mumbled something I couldn’t hear.

  “What?”

  He shuffled around in his high-tops and looked over his shoulder.

  “Sorry about, you know, everything.”

  I was so floored, all I could do was stare. Then, shuffling even faster, like he was willing himself to disappear, he said, “Your hair’s cool. Don’t, ah—” He didn’t get to finish because Kevin staggered toward him, leaning forward at an unsustainable angle.

  “Man, I am so fried,” he slurred, as Jack broke his fall, too drunk to even notice me.

  “Shit,” Kevin said, as Jack got him stabilized. I walked away, shaking my head in shock. Shit indeed.

  So in the end, even though Dad let MacGregor drive home, saying it was his turn, I still feel that I can call myself a driver and a dancer. And even though I didn’t really talk to anyone, and only danced with my dad and younger brother, I didn’t get into any fistfights and people spoke to me, and that is definitely progress.

  September 8

  Just when I thought life would go disappointingly dull and I’d have nothing to look forward to ever again, I got incredible news! My family is leaving the Dark Ages and heading into the Enlightenment. Or at least the computer age. We are finally getting a computer. With a modem! We are only the last people in the civilized world to get one. Bob’s very excited for me. He says being computer literate and comfortable on the Web is essential for anyone who wants to be a cultural critic. Maybe there’s some sort of Cliff Notes version of The Lord of the Rings available online for those of us who are finding it hard to make the transition from The Hobbit.

  I’d suspect that being a cultural critic, I will probably show a lot of natural ability in Web design. Or at least in Internet surfing. I haven’t really shown any special talent in computer class at school, but I think that’s just because real Web people work at night in the privacy of their own homes. Plus I take computers at the Alternative, and due to some of the students’ lack of respect for authority and the female form, they’ve had to install a lot of security so the computers can only access a few sites now, like the Anglican Church directory.

  We are getting the computer from some friend of my mother’s who is tired of modern life and is selling her system so she can get a loom. The friend doesn’t want to be able to work from home anymore. She probably doesn’t want to work from anywhere, if she’s like most of my parents’ loser friends.

  She’s supposed to drop it off tonight. Dad thinks he will set it up, but I bet MacGregor will end up having to do it. Dad’s excited because he’s going to write his “bodice rippers” on the new computer instead of on his typewriter. He used to say that he was a traditionalist from the old school and that’s why he didn’t word-process, but I think it’s because he (a) doesn’t know how to use a computer, and (b) doesn’t write enough to justify a hard drive.

  Mom is excited about making flyers for the folk music society (I’m sure they will be marvels of design and typography), but she’s nervous about electromagnetic fields. MacGregor is looking forward to doing research about bugs and fish. Myself, I just plan to soak up Internet culture, you know, how people talk to each other and stuff. Maybe I’ll write a paper about the Internet. The paper will be so good that it will be clear that I am ideally suited to a career in Internetting. Who knows, the essay may even be groundbreaking for my age category. I wouldn’t be surprised if it got me immediate job offers from, like, Wired magazine or something.

  Later

  Well, they’ve been at it for hours, and my father retreated long ago to the basement in frustration. It’s always like this when anything mechanical has to be done around here. Dad thinks that because he used to be a musician, he is “quite handy.” Personally, I don’t think that the ability to plug an electric guitar into an amp translates into technical wizardry. That particular delusion leads to disappointment for my father every time.

  MacGregor and Mom are climbing all over the computer trying to get all the plugs and cables straightened out. So far they have managed to achieve a loud hum from the box part, but the TV part is still black. I hope the hum isn’t signaling some kind of irreparable damage to the thing’s innards. Mom and MacGregor are not being very gracious about the advice I have been kind enough to give them. From my vantage point on the couch, I think I am in a good position to call out directions and insights.

  Mom yelled, “For the love of God, don’t help!” a few times, but I ignored her ingratitude. They wouldn’t have gotten nearly so far without my assistance. Except for my suggestion that they get a professional because they were never going to make it work, I have been quite encouraging.

  Watching them work is boring, so I think I’ll go have a nap and read some Fellowship. I certainly hope they have the thing working by the time I get up. I have a lot of Web discovery in front of me.

  Late

  So apparently the stupid thing is working. Everybody has been taking turns doing their activity on the computer, but they are all giving me the big freeze. Mom says it’s because I was such a pain in the ass when it was being hooked up.

  I have assured my incredibly selfish family that I don’t need their help, that I am perfectly capable of figuring it out myself. I am sitting here in my room until they go to bed. When they are asleep, I will surf the Net all night if I want. Screw them.

  Still later

  Well, so far Internet culture sucks. I’m not even sure if I am on the Web or not. If this is it, all these stupid little boxes on the screen, then the Internet is the biggest fraud I’ve come across yet. I think there is supposed to be some kind of noise when the computer hooks up to the Net, but so far all I’ve gotten is these clanking sounds and squawks and beeps when I hit the keys.

  I can’t take this anymore. I’m going to go wake up MacGregor.

  Really late

  It turns out I was in the Help menu. I don’t know how a person is supposed to tell what’s going on with these computers. Anyway, MacGregor showed me how to get online. You have to hit a bunch of commands and then the computer makes this whirring noise, and then you do a few more commands, and then you look for things by their names.

  It all seems pretty time-consuming to me. I certainly don’t feel like I’m entering a whole new realm of communication or anything. I’m going to look at some Web pages and try and find a chat room. MacGregor left me some Idiot on the Internet book to help. I would prefer a more serious manual, but it’s all I’ve got. So far I don’t see much in the way of career opportunities on the Internet, unless I want to be professionally frustrated for a living.

  September 10

  The number of perverted things on the Internet is mindboggling. It didn’t matter what I looked up last night, everything that came up was about sex. I looked up careers and got all these ads for Big Bouncy Bimbo Will Do the Job and Cyber Slut Goes to Work. Unbelievable. The Internet is a sewer.

  The whole thing is disturbing. I mean, I have spent only a couple of hours on the Net and I am pretty much corrupted. I looked at some of those dirty Web pages, and the stuff on them is totally disgusting. I am only fifteen years old. I just shouldn’t have access to some things. Things like my mother’s and father’s failure as human beings and explicit Internet perversions.

  Also, it takes forever to see anything on the stupid Web. I don’t think it’s a good idea to waste my youth waiting for porn pages to download in the mistaken hope that they will contain something enriching or helpful. If it takes this long just to look at a web site, I can’t even imagine how long it takes to make one.

  I still haven’t found a chat room. Given my lack of conversational skills, it’s
just as well.

  Later

  I guess web sites can tell when you visit them, or whatever. I know because several of the sex sites I tried to look at last night sent us e-mails today. My dad got them when he checked our mail in this depressingly hopeful sort of way that I can already tell is going to get on my nerves.

  The only e-mails we got were thanks-for-stopping-in-at-our-filthy-site type greetings, followed by advertisements for FREE LIVE GIRLS FREE LIVE GIRLS FREE LIVE GIRLS.

  Dad, thinking he was being very witty, wrote them back and said:

  yes, by all means free the live girls

  He is already doing that no-capitals thing that you’re supposed to do if you are an e-mail hipster. Anyway, Dad said he was disappointed in my choice of websites and hoped I had gotten it out of my system. Mom said the computer and the Internet were supposed to be for educational purposes and were not to be abused. Blah, blah.

  They probably think I have some kind of sex problem now. If being disinterested to the point of asexuality is a problem, then I guess I’ve got one. Other than that, I’m fine. Except I am pretty exhausted from staying up all night surfing the lame-o Web.

  Later

  The Internet has become quite the family togetherness tool. This afternoon I found something called the Butt Page. It’s a whole web site devoted to detailing the things misguided thrill seekers put up their rear ends that they later have to have removed at the hospital.

  Is this any sort of education for a young girl? I think not.

  Anyway, I stumbled on the page when I was looking up my favorite band, and one of the only two CDs I own, the Ass Ponys. I found the Butthole Surfers, and then the Butt Page instead of the Ass Ponys.

  The Butt Page is done by some doctor at a hospital in what must be quite a big city, judging from just the sheer numbers of people who check in with this problem and the incredible varieties of items that become “anal lodgings.”

  After I discovered the page, I called MacGregor over to see an amazing X-ray of a “misplaced” screwdriver. He said he’d heard of the site but thought it was just an urban legend. Dad came over to tell me to stop misusing the Internet, but as soon as he saw the list of objects, he pulled up a chair. Mom, an eavesdropper of the highest order, started to give us a lecture on human dignity and all that sort of crap, but she too was hooked the second she saw the case study of the lawyer who had been admitted three times to have an avocado removed from his nether regions and who still refused psychiatric help. I didn’t think that we, as a family, were capable of degenerating much further. Apparently I was wrong.

  September 14

  Well, it looks like I’m not much better with friends in cyberspace than I am in person. I finally found a chat room and talked to a few people. It was an unsatisfactory experience all around.

  Right away I was irritated by people’s handles. There’s something kind of pathetic about having to make up your own nickname in the first place. And then when you choose one like Big Kahuna or Lizard King or Sexy Stuff, well, that’s just plain embarrassing.

  The first chat room I got into was supposed to be about careers or livelihoods or something. I thought it was actually kind of virtuous of me to go to a room like that. I was hoping that it would impress my parents if they happened to walk by. So anyway, I got into this room and made a few comments. I don’t know if I got the cutesy computer-geek punctuation wrong or what, but the chatters immediately started getting hostile.

  There was some stupid conversation already going on when I got into the room.

  Apollo commented:

  is it not true that cultural and gender constructs are the products of specific historical and cultural transformations as well as the hegemony of the powerful elites?

  Athena responded:

  that may be true but it must also be remembered that such constructs must be viewed through the lens of a mediating nature, the reciprocity of marriage, the socialization of children, transforming raw foodstuffs into meals, and the multiple discourses of civilization.

  I couldn’t understand what they were talking about, so I tried to get the conversation going a bit. I typed in:

  hi! hey what’s up with that butt page on the web, eh? does anyone want the address? you should really check it out. it’s really gross!! **^ +

  Apollo:

  what??

  Me:

  isn’t this the careers in culture chat room? i wouldn’t mind discussing the ass ponys or maybe courtney love, since she’s pretty controversial and everything. i hear she goes on the web quite a bit. if we discuss her she might even visit! i’m interested in maybe doing cultural studies or something with computers for a living but i’m still in school right now.

  Athena:

  this is the comparative cultural studies room for the unified analysis working group at the university of western washington …

  Apollo:

  and we are trying to have a serious discussion.

  I thought that was rude, especially after I was so nice and everything. I typed:

  well, excuse me very much, but I’ve read a few things and i know that the web is open to anyone. it is the last truly democratic place on earth and i can be here if i want.&^”{/** if i want to talk about careers in popular culture you can’t stop me@$$&

  Athena:

  ok. we, the majority, vote that you get out so we can have our seminar in peace.

  For all I knew there were lots of other people in the chat room who were bored into silence by Athena and Apollo’s terrible conversation. To encourage them I tried to liven things up:

  i think courtney love is a major talent, even though i wasn’t allowed to see the people vs. larry flynt. please respond all those hole fans! !! *.*^*

  Apollo:

  look. we’re trying to have a meeting here. we don’t care about hole or courtney love. we’re academics.

  Athena:

  there’s no one here but us.

  Me:

  i think that courtney and madonna would be evenly matched in a fight because madonna works out at least five hours a day but she’s no spring chicken anymore, and courtney’s tough and everything but rumor has it she’s weakened by drug addiction.??:@^## and for all you lord of the rings fans, i’m on page 32 and really loving it!!!!!

  Apollo:

  for god’s sake just ignore him.

  Athena:

  all right. well, as I was saying, the analytical domains are not dichotomous, but rather continua.

  Apollo:

  true, you posit a valid perception. it is often imputed that such dichotomous thinking is a uniquely western phenomenon.

  Me:

  the butt page can be found at __________________

  Nobody answered me, and Apollo and Athena kept having their stupid conversation. I gave up.

  That’s it for chat rooms. They’re full of snobs and freaks, just like the rest of the world. The shabbiness of Internet culture just goes to show that people cannot be trusted. Give them a bit of free time and all of a sudden the world is filled with people documenting the items other people put up their bums and talking gibberish to each other 24/7. The least we can do is keep all that self-involvement and perversion private.

  September 16

  Well, the family fascination with the computer hasn’t lasted. Too much like work for some people, I guess. MacGregor is the only one who still uses it. Dad has stopped, I think because he really doesn’t function well upstairs. Mom couldn’t handle the idea of the electromagnetic fields coming off the monitor. She was terrified that her ovaries were being affected. I haven’t the heart to tell her that her ovaries are too old to matter. She’s a bit long in the tooth for concerns about the health of her reproductive organs, if you ask me.

  Bob thinks I’m making good progress on my cultural criticism. Today he brought in a tape of what he called the “most exciting, empowering show on TV.” It’s called Buffy the Vampire Slayer, and I have t
o admit, it was totally amazing. It seemed a little risky, enjoying something so … fun, but I couldn’t help it. We watched two episodes, and by halfway through the second episode pretty much every Teen in Trouble was piled into Bob’s office. Everybody loved it. Too bad Buffy wasn’t on when I was in first grade. If I’d gone to school dressed like her instead of a hobbit, my life would have been very different.

  September 17

  Mom borrowed an old lead apron to shield us all from the electromagnetic fields coming off the computer. She got it from her hippie dental assistant friend who doesn’t need it because she has trouble keeping a job. This friend likes to wear those sleeveless batik dresses, which wouldn’t be so bad, but she’s one of those uncontrolled-growth-of-body-hair types, and her armpits are a bit much for the clients. They lie there helpless while she drags her pit hair across their faces. The result is that she hardly ever needs her lead apron. She’s lent it to Mom, who now uses it when she has to water the forest of plants that she has put all around the computer. You can hardly even see the computer anymore because there are so many plants around it. Apparently Mom has decided that the plants will absorb the toxins that are supposedly leaking from the screen. Somebody should tell her that our twenty-year-old TV is probably quite a bit more hazardous than the computer. The TV was made before there were any safety regulations about appliances, and it’s probably doing us serious cellular damage every time we turn on CBC News or Road to Avonlea. I don’t think it’s even capable of hooking up to cable or a satellite or anything, which is what we’ll need if I’m going to get access to Buffy.

  Mom makes MacGregor wear the lead apron every time he uses the computer. How he manages to keep his dignity with a thirty-pound sheet of lead squishing him into the chair is beyond me. He can barely see over it. I enjoy watching her dash over to put the apron on him, contorting her body to shield her vulnerable ovaries, and then scurrying away into the kitchen to pore over her detoxification books.

  MacGregor seems immune to all the perversions and distractions on the Net. He clicks away intently, once in a while printing out some bit of information about making your own food mix for your fish, or about the breeding cycles of the Lake Malawi cichlid or something. He calls for someone to get him out from under the apron when he’s done.