Moofed

By Darren Lock

Follow the story of one man has he takes his first steps into the online world back in 1997. In a world before YouTube, Twitter and Google, a narrative is woven from the stories of a number of disparate souls cast adrift on the information superhighway with no compass, no map, no chart or hope in their heart.

The internet is more than just online shopping and cute cat videos. Sit down and read some of the stories influenced by it.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Mar 23, 2012
• ISBN: 9781471644122

Book preview

sleep.

Moof

  Nick had experienced almost every kind of software error on his computer. It had taken him a lot of time and help (from an engineer where he worked) to get his system running properly. Most of the problems were caused by the software operating system. He now made sure that no other software was installed on his PC just in case the delicate balance was disturbed.

  In the old days, a computer error was described simply as a crash. The actual term ‘crash’ was coined from the terminology of the 1970s. It would happen to the giant mainframes of the day with their huge Winchester disks. The air gap in the hard drive would collapse and cause the system to crash.

  But don’t confuse the humble crash with a ‘head crash’ where the disk heads would misalign and physically damage the magnetic disk. That’s another story!

  Oh yes, a ‘system crash’ is something totally different. That’s when a bug in the computer operating system causes the machine to grind to a halt. That’s a software error as opposed to the two hardware errors that have already been described.

  When Nick was a teenager, he was bought his first computer and this was where he learnt the value of system crashes and hardware failures. How he used to sit for half an hour waiting for the latest hit game to load into his ZX Spectrum only to watch the system crash in the last dying seconds of the computer tape.

  In the time that had passed nothing had really changed in terms of computer errors – they were still evident. But the fashions and the computers had changed – and so had the jargon.

  The term crash became a little more sophisticated with the advent of the Apple Mac and the Atari ST. Both machines shared a similar Graphical User Interface with the ST being a virtual copy of the Mac. Out went the word crash and in came the word ‘bomb’ or ‘bombed’. The term came from the little graphics of cherry bombs that danced across the screen whenever the machine crashed.

  For Christmas, Nick was bought an Atari ST, and although it gave him good service, the machine would bomb at the most inopportune moments. It was usually when he was finishing his homework and was about to save his essay on Shakespeare’s tragedies for his English project.

  The times had moved on once more, and the ST was a thing of the past but the Apple Mac was still kicking around in its many incarnations. When Nick first got a PC, he soon became involved with the Internet and chatting online. He noticed that a lot of people complained about ‘moofing’ or being ‘moofed’.

  For the newbie, most jargon is confusing but Nick soon came to learn the meaning of the word moof. To moof, means to get kicked off-line for no real apparent reason. Net users described the process in a myriad of ways often personifying the crash. And lo, the almost mystical moof monster was born.

  But this creature of legend had existed before on another system. Nick soon discovered that the Moof was actually a little iconic creature that popped up on the Apple Mac system. The moof was also known as the dogcow and could be accessed by pressing a number of keys while hacking the Apple O/S. The little dogcow would make a ‘moof’ noise whenever you clicked on it. It all made sense to Nick, if something is half-dog and half-cow it’s bound either go moof or woow…Think about it…

  But if you do end up trying to surf the net you are bound to get moofed one way or the other. At least, you have been warned this time. There are many out there who are still oblivious to the green-eyed moof monster. Next time you could be its prey and if you do end up being bitten by moofie, remember that getting moofed is not harmful, you will never end up totally gronked out. Respect moofie and he will respect you.

Another Day, Another Dollar

  Nick looked around him. Everyone in the office was working. He suddenly cursed at himself what a terrible job this was and then his conscience reminded him that there were worse jobs out there. He remembered one of his previous jobs. The magazine was called Gold Dust and it was a magazine launched to cash in on the then new British lottery. They were the worst six months of his life. Nick called them ‘the missing months’.

  All magazines have a staff that easily reaches double figures with editors, sub-editors, designers, journalists, photographers and advertising sales staff. This outfit employed only six people to launch a national magazine. The company was so dodgy that you did not have to go to work in a suit, the company dress was spurs and a pair of chaps! He remembered his role as Journalist, Photographer, Layout Artist, Technical Adviser and Production Manager. It really didn’t take long for the magazine to go bust.

  He remembered it all started to go wrong when the transsexual editor turned up with a gun and tried to shoot his/her gay lover. It was not long after the police left that the bailiffs arrived and began meticulously removing the computers that the staff were working on. Let’s just say issue number seven of Gold Dust never hit the shelves.

  Whenever Nick remembered this story, his heart always soared at the prospect of working another day for his current employer. It was a fable to put anyone’s feet back on the ground.

  The shortest job he had was working in production for the East Anglian Farmer’s Monthly. Now this wasn’t a bad job at all. The offices were nice. The people were friendly. The pay was excellent. The downfall for Nick this time was all down to the paperwork. For those of you who have not worked in magazine production, there is quite a bit of paperwork to deal with. Flatplans, schedules, advertising copy are the staple diet of any production editor. Nick was used to dealing with this kind of thing. There was no problem there. It was when he was about to make his first external phone call to an advertiser. A matriarchal production manager informed Nick that every phone call needed to be accompanied by a form that was to be completed in full. This form consisted of the following information: client, telephone number, time of call, length of call, contact name, fax number, dimensions of advert, copy date, advert date and so on. Now considering that Nick made six phone calls in 14 minutes and that it would take him an average of two minutes to complete the phone forms in a neat and proper manner, one can see the kind of predicament he was in. He was a patient man but not that patient.

  Lunchtime soon arrived and he decided to go to the pub with his workmate Dave Butler. The pair of them made their way to the nearest pub. It was called The Eagle and a peeling sign hung over the door of an eagle of interminable breeding swooping over a mountain landscape. Inside the pub things were brown, very brown indeed. It was probably the most depressing pub that Nick ever had to