PAWS.

PAWS. Damn if I remember what it stands for, I just know I loved that program. Remember? The typing program? The silly orange cat, a as at ask asp asks...I could hammer away on a clackity IIe for hours. I don't remember playing it that often (how could a kid from San Diego resist Carmen Sandiego?), but I remember being pretty good at it.

Next memory: growing up, I had a clunky plastic typewriter. It was blue. I rarely used it, but it was neat. I don't remember actually doing it, but I have this strange feeling that I wanted to take it apart. I'm sure I did. It was all caps. I didn't realize that wasn't normal until I used a typewriter in the library job. The library typewriter was electric, and that combined with both cases just blew my mind. It scared me at first, after years of doing everything on a computer. Clackity clackity. I grew to love it, even though I never mastered how to center a title.

All this comes up because one lazy morning, G asks me if I know how to touch type, or whatever newfangled word he used for it. All I remember (terminology-wise) is something about home keys, and always being shit at reaching the period with the proper finger. (I remember the cat would get angry if I didn't press the key in time, so I would just use a different finger.) I was a little incredulous, a little offended (to me, people that hunt and peck are inferior) but then again, he's never seen me do much more than check my mail. Always the same position--left hand holding up head, right hand picking out the letters in my addresses. I guess he's never seen me write email. ::shrug::

Funny, the things we still don't know about each other.

(And to salve my pride just a little, I checked a few typing tests online. About 60 WPM, averaged over three tests. That makes me feel better.)