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'¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯'                   ISSUE #1
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|   / __\___  _ __ ___  _ __  _   _| |_ ___ _ __  |                  1.24.1980
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*                              Letter from the Editor...                          *
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Welcome, readers, to Computer Magazine! Sure, there are other computer magazines,
but this is the only computer magazine you can only read on the computer!

We hope that you enjoy this exciting new digital format, by removing the expense
of the printing process, we make dramatic savings which we can give right back to
ourselves.

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*                                  In this issue:                                 *
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1. Software Review of the Month

2. Editorial - A Matter of Perception

3. Nixon's World

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*            Software Review of the Month - OfficeCo's Wordsmith                  *
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In the interests of full disclosure, this review, indeed this very magazine has
been typed on OfficeCo's Wordsmith.

One word: wow!

We've all been there, that fatal mistake on the typewriter. You pressed the key,
but realise too late that the letter got caught up on another, or your ink ribbon
has dried up in a very specific area, meaning that you have to type up the page all
over again.

Now that we live in the future, this is a problem of the past!

Are you a fast typer? Thanks to light speed circuitry, your keypresses will show up
on screen almost instantly - it takes a mere 10 seconds for the computer to catch
up with you, as opposed to the typewriter, where keypresses will sometimes physica-
lly bar one another. Not so on the computer! When the people of the future press
too many buttons at once, the computer helpfully shrieks in digital pain instead of
just becoming entangled briefly.

Ever since man first wrote on lined paper, he has dreamed of being able to spend
multiple thousands of dollars to do the same thing but with the ability to erase
mistakes. The day has finally come!

Graphics - 10/10

                  Green on black letters. Absolutely stunning.

Sound    - 10/10

                  The sharp beep when you press three keys at the same time is of
                  such stunning definition and fidelity as to be near unbelievable

Story    - 10/10

                  My screenplay about a horny wizard upends the traditional three
                  act structure because I can't think of a good ending and suffer
                  from premature ejaculation.

Overall  - 10/10

                  OfficeCo's Wordsmith is the full package. Actually Officeco's
                  Officesmith Multipackage is the full package, Wordsmith is just
                  the word processing part of the package. But in terms of writing
                  words? This does it all: commas, periods. The whole nine yards.

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*                      Editorial - A Matter Of Perception                         *
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CGA is just around the corner, and eyes are popping straight out of their sockets
left, right, and center. The vivid colors, the incredible high definition 320x200
resolution. This is the future, and the future's bright.

There are two kinds of people in this world, those who are excited about the advent
of CGA, and those who think it looks like vomit made out of microscopic lego becau-
se there's something wrong with them.

Here are some hard scientific facts:

The human eye can only distinguish 3 colors - red, green, and blue. So to display
4 colors at once is not just damn near miraculous, it's frankly overkill. There's
not a single instance I can possibly think of where you'd need more than 4 colors
displayed at once, and I defy any reader out there, bathed in the frankly rather
OLD looking green glow to think of their ancient monitor displays, to conjure up an
eventuality that would demand it.

And let's face it, it's 1980: Magenta? Purple? They just look so damn cool!

If you're not in front, you're behind. And you know what a behind is? An ass.

I'm not an ass.

Are you?


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*          Nixon's World - It's Nixon's World, we just live in it!                *
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My fellow Americans, when I was first asked to write a column for this publication,
I was thrilled to immediately say no. Then, slowly, as the zeroes in their offer
began to accrue, I realised I have a duty as yet unfulfilled to my people, due to
my abortive presidency. I know now that as a man of honor, I must acquiesce. In the
name of truth, in the spirit of that which the French, lilly-livered as they may be
call fraternité, and in pursuit of big cash paydays, I am here to guide you through
the dispiriting and unsatisfactory milieu we find ourselves in at present.

As recently as three days ago I was made aware that the purpose of this periodical
is to inform discussion of computer issues. Computers, as far as I'm aware, are the
domain of the boffins, the poindexters and what have you. Needless to say, I am not
"of" you, I played football in college, I served in the war. However, despite your
multitude of personal failings, dear reader, I have no desire to contribute to any
kind of fractious environment. That is why I undertake a rather belated paternal
task: if I am right about you, reader, which I know in my heart I am, you know
little of the wide world of sports. Sports played little role in your upbringing.
Know this; to reject sports is to reject society, for they are one and the same.
Sports are a ritual of great social import, a kind of codified combat amenable to
the modern condition. Children not forged in the crucible of sport are like poorly
socialized dogs, they are not equipped with the mental faculties to react properly
to the processes of life and are prone to being beaten. Un-sported children, they
grow to be mere simulacra of men. They may appear outwardly similar to the normal
population, but something integral is missing. Some component of humanity has been
lost, or worse yet, replaced with the rock music and so forth. You know, Pat hates
it when I say this, but I'm glad Jimi Hendrix died the way he did. Sends a message.

So, sports, a most marvelous medicine for your particular condition. Welcome to my
sports column.

The world finds itself gripped once again in that quadrennial pandemic: Olympic
Fever. This time round, its seen through a lens with a rather pernicious tint. The
Olympics are to be held in Moscow. The media crows that we'll see who Jimmy Carter
truly is by scrutinizing his handling of the Soviets. God damn right! He's a dumb
bastard with no character! To boycott the games in this fashion is to beat a cowa-
rdly retreat from the field of combat. No proxy war is more important than those
fought in front of a televized audience. To use military force and be perceived as
an international bully is a good thing. To use diplomatic blackmail to walk away
from the playground is disastrous. We'll become international pariahs, but worse
than that, by turning our backs on sport, we'll become known as a nation of nerds!

Those five multi-colored rings symbolize something. They symbolize the various
peoples of the world coming together to stand with Americans as equals even though
they're not. Jimmy Carter has spat in the face of all that, but as a dedicated
columnist, I offer you a guide to who's who at the upcoming Olympics.

The Soviet Union - Communists. A bunch of coddled slackers if you ask me. These
boys have never known real work. Never touched a real football. Probably wouldn't
understand the rules even if you gave them one. Still, they're odds on favorite to
take the top spot. Winners they may be, but not on my terms.

East Germany - Say what you will about the ladies of the East German weightlifting
team, but they believe in something, and they're not afraid of needles. Yessir,
East Germany gets Dick's Silver.

Cuba - These shysters. It's tough for me on a personal level to give them credit,
but they mold their young into rather fine pugilists. "Boxeao" or whatever they
choose to call it down there, they're good at it. The problem of course is that
Castro's no morals to speak of, the damnable fool. Everybody fights for the athle-
te stipend like dogs with bones. It changes them. The other thing they're good at
is judo, a bunch of grown men wearing costumes and playing grabass all day. They
call it a sport, but it's not really. And then these South Americans - I've been
to South America - adult men crying and kissing each other all over the place.
The bastards win though. But only bronze. That's the most shameful position.

Join me next time as I fix something else that's broken about you people. It's the
collapse of values, Christ...