Microserfs

to plant on top of sterile goop in petri dishes in third grade, waiting to sprout or explode. Susan's exploding. Todd's going to explode. Karla's germinating gently. Michael's altering, too. It's like we're all seeds just waiting to grow into trees or orchids or houseplants. You never know. It was too sterile up north. I didn't sprout. Aren't you curious to know what you really are, Dan?"

I thought about it. It's not really something you think about.

"Now I can be me - I think," Bug said. "This is not easy for me. Let me repeat that - this is not easy for me."

"Does this mean you'll start dressing better? " asked Ethan.

"Yes, Ethan. Probably."

So that was that.

Maybe he'll be less cranky now. Karla and Susan said they were proud of Bug. I guess it did take guts. He's a late bloomer - that's for sure. And me? Am I curious to know what I really am? Or am I just so grateful to not be a full-scale, zero-life loser that it doesn't matter?

* * *

Bean bag chairs: how odd it is that they're still . . . I don't know . . . a part of the world.

* * *

Dad signed up for a night course in C++. He's going to make himself relevant.

* * *

Susan's sister sent her a bag of pot via FedEx. She wrapped it in magazine scent strips to foil FedEx dope dogs. What a good way to make those things do something useful.

* * *

Bug's right. We are all starting to unravel. Or sprout. Or whatever. I remember back in grade school, VCR documentaries on embryology, and the way all mammals look the same up until a certain point in their embryological development, and then they start to differentiate and become what they're going to become. I think we're at that point now.

SUNDAY

My sense of time perception has gone all screwy. Sundays always do that to me. One day is so much like every other day here, and yet every day is somehow different. I designed a little program that I click into every time I get an interruption - like a phone call or someone asks me a question - or I have to change a tape in my Walkman. My average time between interruptions is 12.5 minutes. Perhaps this is part of my time schism.

I mentioned these interruptions to Todd who said, "I'm still doing 18-hour days like up at Microsoft, except instead of doing just one thing, I'm doing a hundred different things - my job is so much better. More diversity. It's the diversity of interruptions . . . time becomes 'initiative driven' as opposed to passive."

He then added that in Christian eschatology ("the study of the Last Things") it is always made very clear that time and the world both end simultaneously, that there is no real difference between the two.

Then he panicked, worrying that he was doomed to turn into his parents, and roared off to the gym. He's doing upper body today. He alternates upper and lower body. He never sleeps. That's how he names his days: Upperbodyday; Lowerbodyday; Absday; Latsday . . . Sometimes I admire his single-minded drive to achieve muscular perfection, and sometimes I think he's a freak.

* * *

I read about fishermen off the Gulf Coast whose net, dragging the ocean floor, snagged a sunken galleon, and when the net was raised, a shower of coins fell on the ship's deck. Talk about a story to appeal to us here in the Valley!

* * *

Sent out my Christmas cards today - I went to McDonald's and got a stack of "JOIN THE FAMILY" job application forms and filled them out for everybody. The only remotely personal question the form asks is: Sports? Activities?

Here's what I wrote for everybody: "Abe/Susan/Bug/Michael/etc . . . greatly enjoys repetitive tasks."

* * *

Geek party night: it's kind of like if we were in Hollywood and going to

an "industry party." That guy Susan met from General Magic had a party up at his place in the Los Altos Hills. All day at the office Susan and Karla talked about what they're going to . . . wear. It was really un-Karla, but I'm glad she's getting into her body and taking pride in it.

Susan's on the prowl, so she wants to look sexy, techie, "fun," and serious all at once. Good luck. She complains to Karla that "I've got period boobs . . . they feel like they're going to go on a lactating spree momentarily." She's so tell-it-like-it-is, but Susan . .

Karla said, "Well, that could work to your advantage if you wear that Betsy Johnson dress."

"Excellent idea!" Susan was motivated.

* * *

At geek parties, you can sort corporate drones from start-up drones by dress and conversation. Karla and I stood next to two guys who work on the Newton project at Apple. They talked with unflagging enthusiasm about frequent flyer miles for about 45 minutes. They had a purchasable Valley hip. One guy had the mandatory LA Eyeworks glasses and a nutty orange vest worn over baggy jeans. The other guy had Armani glasses and a full Calvin Klein ensemble, but not a matching ensemble, mind you - "thrown together" in "that expensive way." You can't help but be conscious here of how much everything costs, and where it comes from.