Word: worded
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Dates: during 1990-1999
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...Emporium, the late-night crowd began to filter through the double-doors; the melange of characters included packs of greasy-haired junior school punks, permed teenage girls donning skin-tight Wrangler jeans and an occasional preschooler in an XXS patent leather jacket. The cab driver refused to use the word "emporium," insisting that my friends and I were mistakenly visiting his old billiards hang-out, "Good Time Callie's." The towering marquees, however, confirmed that we were entering the famed den of Somerville carousal and inflated Michelob paraphernalia. Before gaining admittance, I was asked to flash my driver's license...
...Sterile and deafeningly quiet, the Science Center terminal rooms offer everything from ancient Macs that still require a paper clip to extract your floppy disk, to the Digital Alpha workstations with their gargantuan monitors. A word to the wise: don't check your e-mail on these mothers the night before CS51 assignments are due. Office isn't installed on those bad boys anyway. Stroll on over to the back of the lab, and try to find a computer that isn't either occupied or "logging out." If you're lucky, you might get to actually enter your username...
...Corel WordPerfect Suite--it will convert your files from Word format, but the learning curve for new software is not trivial. Plus there's probably a reason why no one's used it since pre-Windows...
...Break out the college-ruled notebook paper and a number two pencil. Try to emulate twelve point Times New Roman. Bold, italic, cut and paste...all the functionality of a real word processor. You can even buy a supply of paper clips to talk to when you need help. Can't find a pencil sharpener? Jab yourself with a sharp stick and write that Sophomore essay in your own blood. Looks like Microsoft is going to bleed you dry eventually anyway...
...Emporium, the late-night crowd began to filter through the double-doors; the melange of characters included packs of greasy-haired junior school punks, permed teenage girls donning skin-tight Wrangler jeans and an occasional preschooler in an XXS patent leather jacket. The cab driver refused to use the word "emporium," insisting that my friends and I were mistakenly visiting his old billiards hang-out, "Good Time Callie's." The towering marquees, however, confirmed that we were entering the famed den of Somerville carousal and inflated Michelob paraphernalia. Before gaining admittance, I was asked to flash my driver's license...