Copyright (c) 1993 by Jonathan E. Quist Not-for-profit duplication permitted. ------------------------------------------------------------------ You know the Internet is dominated by engineers when: About this time every year, a few dozen versions of Dr. Moore's "A Visit from Saint Nicholas" ("Twas the night before...") spring up, and the words don't match the meter of the poem in any of the variations. [Note added later... this started out to be a few quick lines, and just sort of got way out of hand...] A Visit from alt.saint.nicholas.ho.ho.ho -- 'Twas the week before Christmas, and all through the net, not a system would boot (save a Commodore PET). The servers were hung, not a cycle to spare (though standalone clients did not really care). The routers were useless; the backbone was dead, yet Barney the dinosaur shot in the head was the only clear vision I had on my mind (for you see, when I'm home and leave Usenet behind I've got small kids to raise and that big purple geek is the object of love of the small and the meek). But back to the subject, the topic at hand, the crux of the matter, and just how things stand. You see, I'm just rambling and waffling about, (but I needn't have told you, you'll figure it out for you're quite a sharp lot and you'll all shout in chorus "This blighter's discovered the Online Thesaurus!" Ignore for the moment my penchant for verse; if you think it's bad now, it only gets worse!). Now where was I? Oh, yes, on the death of the net. The prognosis was grim, nearly hopeless, and yet the end users, the students, and yes, engineers didn't seem to much care; neither cursing nor tears filled the air of the offices, schools, nor spare rooms. So if this was a terrorist plot to cast gloom on the joy of the season, the bliss of the feast, let me tell you, it didn't work, not in the least. For the students were home with their fam'lies this week, and the other net users of whom I will speak found the Internet Outage a positive boon, which would also make quite a droll "Dilbert" cartoon. So instead of frustration, they did as in Rome: when the Senate recesses, it's time to go home. (Okay, so that's stretching a bit for a rhyme, but I'm writing this ditty in near-record time. And again, I digress, now, where were we, pray tell? Oh, yes.) All the netters did let out a yell and they rushed to their cars and they stepped on the gas and they only slowed down when they saw "Do Not Pass". They rushed to the banks and collected their moneys, then rushed to the malls, buying gifts, for their honeys. Then homeward they raced, and they couldn't believe that their shopping was finished, before Christmas Eve. By now, some have noticed, I've left out a bunch of net users, whose social skills went out to lunch: the engineers stayed, I am sorry to say, and figured out how to read news, anyway. They sat through the night thinking nothing amiss with the notion of reading through all comp dot sys. Then dutif'lly wading through technical flames, they proceeded onward, to rec dot games. And so they progressed through the days and the nights, no colleagues to notice their horrible plights, 'til at last, Christmas Eve, sitting still as a mouse, they finished up misc dot consumers dot house. As they crawled from their places of business there rose such a cry of great anguish and horrible woes. "Why, the shopping day's over," they brilliantly cried, "and we haven't bought presents for this Christmastide." (With the rhymes that I've made in these last couple stanzas, I'd not take offense if you called in the Panzers.) So the engineers slunk to their homes full of dread, in the fear that St. Nicholas soon would be dead. They looked 'round their houses and got some strange notions, and stayed up one more night and with expert motions, they made toys and baubles from old odds and ends to give to their children and give to their friends. Bleary eyed in the morning they barely could see as their children and spouses surrounded the tree. There were no cries of "Aw, Dad!", or "Mom, this is nerdy," just "Honey, these CPU earrings are purty!" The kids laughed with glee, as again and again around the tree circled their "quartz movement" train. The engineers learned a great lesson, that day: Technology's great, but it gets in the way of the real things that matter, of family, of friend, and the sweet pitter-pat of small feet at day's end. So I leave you all now with this Holiday wish: that your pride and joy isn't a satellite dish, but the people around you, the large, and the small (and I'll make a concession for college football). May you find through the season and all through the year, that your days are all shared with those folks you hold dear. And I'll close, ere your monitor gets phosphor burn, Merry Christmas to All, and to all, Press Copyright (c) 1993 by Jonathan E. Quist Not-for-profit duplication permitted.