Awash in the stream of consciousness

You know, a very long time ago, before you were born, I used to be an apa hack. Do any of you know what an apa was? (Or actually, still is. There are a few of them still left around.) An apa was sort of like a bricks and mortar collection of blogs, which is to say that a group of like-minded people -- most often members of the large, amorphous group of semi-detached souls known casually as "science fiction fandom." Someday, if you eat your rice pudding, I promise not to explain science fiction fandom to you -- would club together and produce, monthly or bi-monthly or whatever, a compendium of essays, conversations, fiction, really, whatever each writer liked. Each member was responsible for his or her own contribution, called a zine, and would write it and have it photocopied, enough copies for all the members. Then everyone in the area would get together and have a party called a collation, at which M&Ms were eaten and all the zines were, well, collated into what was called a mailing. Each member received a copy of the mailing, and copies were mailed to out-of-town members. In addition to the main body of the zine, most members made what were known as mailing comments, remarks to the writers of the zines in the previous mailing, kind of like blog responses, which I notice none of you are still making. Anyway, this was considered lots of fun by people who had spent a great deal of their youths being shoved into lockers by football players, and I was one.

Blogs, as far as I know them, which of course isn't very far, really do remind me of apas, except that with apas, you had time to think; you had a month or two to write your zine and your comments, so there was time for contemplation and reflection. This in no way meant that there weren't sometimes awful fights, known as flame wars (a lot of computer terminology comes from apas), between members, but you weren't so rushed, so pushed. If you missed four days, okay, you missed four days. IT WASN'T LIKE YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO UPDATE YOUR ZINE EVERY DAMNED DAY OR RISK GETTING STALE AND IGNORED OR ANYTHING LIKE THAT. Ahem. Anyway, I'm just fine. Really. No pressure or anything, and I certainly don't intend to let four days go by in between posts on a regular basis. Perish the thought. It's just that I'm not yet used to this mad, breakneck pace, during which you make a post, then turn around and suddenly the Yankees have won the ALCS and will face the Phillies in a World Series in which I don't know how to root (it's just no fun if you don't root, even if you only root for one team because you heard the other team's shortstop's brother-in-law was a liberal) and it's several days later and people are anxiously awaiting your next remarks, even if they don't respond. It's a perilous straight.

But I have been plugging away like a little woodchuck on the project, producing an average of one letter a day so far (yes, I know, I know) and my efforts are starting to bear fruit. I today received my first letter back, in an envelope and with a postage stamp and everything, from ace buddy Vince in Allentown, who shares good wishes and ruminates on cats. I'm thinking of having it bronzed. So much nicer than email, and he wrote it on a typewriter, which would warm the cockles of my heart if I had any cockles. Or a heart.

Some days, it's fun to be a master-blogger.

CC Sabathia (I know that's not spelled correctly) against Cliff Lee tomorrow evening. This is pretty much a wash, as are the starting line-ups -- look for a plethora of home runs in this series -- but I'll go with Lee, if only because he's easier to spell. I don't know if my nerves can stand this.

I mean, really.