When I was 15, I purchased a subscription to Computer Land Magazine. I’d read articles that I rarely understood, always puzzling over the science fiction-like jargon. I’d study the photographs of men who had grown elaborate displays of facial hair, and who were always hunched over their keyboards the same way that I enjoyed hunching over the VIC-20. At the back of every issue was one of those “No Postage Necessary” postcards that I could fill out, ticking off the names of the magazine’s advertisers who I was interested in receiving more information from. I would check every last box…