October Turtle

by Thomas Keenan 

I wrote this about 10 years ago, inspired by a conversation I had with a friend in 1993 or 1994. 

"Pictures and graphics pulled up in a browser? What the hell is a browser?" I asked, letting the basketball knock me in the side of my face with a loud, audible THUD.

Now, I consider myself a computer savvy individual with a fairly active imagination, but I just could not believe that there is a huge network out there, criss-crossing the country, and the world, like a giant web, in which I could connect to through my parents old glorified typewriter, and view pornogr… er...I mean baseball statistics for free.

"Yeah, it's pretty amazing," my old high school buddy responded as he grabbed the rebound off my face. "They use it for the military to share information. I've been messing around with it at work. You type in an address like www.usarmy.mil and an informational page with pictures appears on the screen."

We were both home for the summer to work with our fathers. His father happened to work at a U.S. Army arsenal in our county. He was a computer major. I was a speech communications major meaning that he actually knew what he was talking about while I only pretended to know what I was talking about.

We went to high school together (thus, him being an old high-school buddy), and actually grew closer as friends after graduation. During the summers and on breaks, we tried to get together as much as possible to play a little basketball and catch up on each other's lives like the girls we had hooked up with in the previous semester. So, that would take about 15 seconds and being that we were both borderline geeks, computer talk did creep into conversation.

"So your saying that on my parents' old Apple computer, I can type in some magical phrase likes ‘abra cadabra' or set of numbers and plans for building my own F-16 jet will suddenly appear on my screen?" I half pondered, half proclaimed. Obviously he found me to be quit amusing as he tripped up, mid-stride of a lay-up, sending the ball careening off of the pole and back to me.

"No," he said through his snickers. "You need to have a program call Mosaic. It's a browser…An Ethernet card and …"

I interrupted, "Browser? You still haven't told me what the hell that is…And, Mosaic? I thought we were talking computers, not art history…Ether-what card? Can I use my Visa card?" (I prefer being a wise-ass to being patient. Although using sarcasm to cover for confusion or ignorance probably isn't a good trait.) I bounced the ball back to him, thinking somehow it might emphasize my point or to let him know that he needs my charity.

"A browser is a program that interprets code that is past to it from a server on the network or internet," he carefully explained as he sunk a fifteen foot jump shot, hitting nothing but net. "It is used to display text that is embedded in the code and gif files that are downloaded from the network or internet.

"Mosaic is the name of this browser software, much like WordPerfect is the name of word processing software," he announced, hitting the bottom of the net with another 15-footer.

"An Ethernet card is a piece of hardware that you plug into the motherboard of a computer, and then you plug a network cable into it." Swoosh went another jumper from 20 feet out.

Now, I might be a smart-ass, but he was just plain smart.

"So a browser interprets the code and displays whatever like WordPerfect interprets the code tag you use to bold or center text in a document?" I inquired while putting in an easy lay-up.

"Exactly," he responded.

"The Ethernet card is the hardware that allows the computer to communicate with the network?" I dropped in a short jumper from about three feet out.

"Right."

"And Mosaic is a browser software program that I can go to the computer store at the mall and purchase." I tried another easy lay-up that rolled around the edge of the rim.

"Well, not exactly." My shot fell to wrong side of the rim. "You have to download it off the Internet. And it is free."

"Your bullshitting me, aren't you? No software is free. Especially if it does everything you say it does. And the Internet? So, what, I get the program by using my school e-mail account? How do I do that? I'm lucky if my school's e-mail system can handle a two page letter. Your making all this up." My next shot hit the backboard like a brick.

"Seriously. You don't use your e-mail system. You connect to the internet, go to an address and download it off a server." Almost to further humiliate me he hit a shot from mid-court.

"So, almost like Telnetting. Someone gives me the address to go to. I would telnet out to that server. And then download the program to my computer?" I threw up a high awkward shot as I tripped over my own feet. Somehow, the ball went through the net in what is called in basketball, a "Hail Mary".

"Yes…Just about. You're very close." He missed the rebound, somewhat surprised that I was kind of getting the point. Of course, he did proceed to make minor corrections to what I said, but I was pretty surprised I was even on the right court.

Being a good American that I am, I asked, "But what the hell can it do for me?" I wanted to get past the technical crap and move the conversation a long. And, like any hot-blooded young man, I wanted to know how to get to the porn…I mean baseball statistics as quickly as possible. (Oh yeah, I also hit a beautiful 10-foot turn around jump shot from the right side of the basket.)

"I mean, if it can only be used by the military, how I am I going to be able to get anything truly useful off of it." Although the thought of floating out on Lake Hopatcong in a battleship while "studying baseball statistics" intrigued me.

"Well, it was designed for the military, but guys are using it for other stuff like pictures and stories. Like today, I downloaded some ‘baseball statistics' and photos of Darryl Strawberry," he gasped as he attempted to copy my shot.

I was less interested in what exactly he was downloading and more interested in why I didn't have the kind of job he had. He managed to get the rebound and sprinted to the top of the key, turned around and drained his shot. "And I think I may focus my major in college on it a little bit," he added.

Realizing that the complexity of what he was trying to tell me was hampering my game (I was sure that was indeed his intention); I decided that I needed to end the conversation. So I tried to dismiss it with the following proclamation, as I headed to the top of the key to copy his shot, "It will never make it big."

For an exclamation point on my statement, I launched the ball just as I finished the sentence. My eyes followed it's tall, graceful arc, until it bounced off the pole behind the backboard and ricocheted into a large oak tree and careened quickly right back at me and slammed off of my head and over the fence. Onto the street it rolled and down the hill. I heard my friend laughing so hard he could barely breathe as I gave chase to the ball that now appeared as a small orange dot in the night.