Online and off, the month of December exerts a destabilizing force on publishers everywhere. With the triple threat of shopping, traveling, and family hell on the horizon, thoughts naturally turn toward editorial-calendar gimmicks: year-end bests and worsts, people of the year, resolutions, predictions, reruns, gift guides, and photos of Christy Turlington dressed as Santa. Preferably accompanied by a midget dressed as an elf.
Absent the possibility of a Christy cameo in this column (much less the midget) and my new gig (same as the old gig) continuing in its omnipresent timesuck, it's time, then, to wrap up this production for '97 and strike the set. Before I nod off, though, it seems only apropos to give a nod to yuletide tradition and offer some sort of catalog of holiday desire.
For those inclined to ship me some earthly reward for a job, well, done, here are only three things I want - three things, not coincidentally, that would bring not only joy to my world but a noticeably increased measure of peace on earth for all tethered to this sprawling digital hookah.
1. A new keyboard for my Mac, identical to my current keyboard, with one barely perceptible, but undeniably profound, omission. I'm speaking, of course, of the Luciferean Help key. Far from a help, but not far enough from Delete, this key emits a magnetic pull on one's finger each time a typing error transpires. You think you're going to wipe out a few keystrokes, and one misplaced tap wipes out a minute or so of your life instead, as you try to explain to a nonexistent cop that you didn't mean to dial 911. Really.
2. A newer, dumber Internet Explorer. Baby Jesus in a Redmond manger save us all from smart software. Internet Explorer may be Microsoft's first-ever example of actually perfecting, rather than merely appropriating, a software concept of someone else's creation. But despite its virtues, IE doesn't know what URL I want to visit before I finish typing it. AutoComplete not only shouldn't be a default option, it should be sent into the recycling bin forever. Worse, the File menu is a mess - and has no options. If I use it to jump back to five pages ago, and then hit the Back button, let me be six pages back, not back at square one. Please.
3. Versions of Shockwave and RealPlayer that last more than a heartbeat. How many times will I need to download these damn plug-ins before that lucky day when I stop eating, shitting, and breathing for good? As it is, the interval between new versions is roughly equivalent to the interval between which I visit pages that need the plug-ins in the first place. Wouldn't it be nice to just wake up one morning and think, "Hey, I wonder what the folks at Macromedia and Progressive have been up to lately; they must have cooked up some superdiddlyuper improvements," and then voluntarily, out of pure nostalgia, aimlessness, or desire (not need) for a marginally better stream, wander over for a new download? Ah, it could never happen. If the future didn't break the past, this wouldn't be the Net.
Is it all too much too ask? Probably, while being all too little to chew on until the next hyperlinker pushes me off my seat and points the way to newer, fresher hells. Think of both the brevity of thought and eternity of transition as gifts, for which you can thank me later.
This article appeared originally in HotWired.
