A few newspapers and magazines have begun to put their articles online—you can visit the Web—and although you sometimes find interesting stuff here, you're constantly struck by how little there is to do.
You rarely linger on the Web; your computer takes about 30 seconds to load each page, and, hey, you're paying for the Internet by the hour. Ten minutes after you log in, you shut down your modem.
It was late summer when we met, on a patio jutting out onto the Pacific.
Busy professionals, our schedules rarely overlapped so the digital flirtation commenced.
It didn’t take him long to ask me to send him a “saucy photo,” (his words) and it didn’t take long for me to tell him that just wasn’t my thing. Days later, Jennifer Lawrence and over 100 other women were exposed across the Internet. He sent me an almost full frontal—via Snapchat—back. I’m basically a Victorian, but I thought we might be able to find a happy medium in the modern era. Two minutes in, or perhaps when he asked me if I wanted to leave the restaurant and go take a bath together, I realized we were looking for different things.
A mailman stuffs some bills into the shark-shaped mailbox next door, pulling open its door of tiny white teeth.
moments are like those on any reality show; who can forget the time they made a bespectacled twenty-year-old come over naked for sex play with some Cool Whip?