Stacy mentions that she’s “tired of responding to arguments like [mine.]”
Fair enough. But which ones? All of them? Most? A few? And would it be fair
to conclude that since arguments like mine make her tired, lots of other
people have been saying the same things to her? Or does she (like some of
the hipper-than-thou folks at Wired) just get tired easily?

(C’mon, Stacy. Join us. If you think I’m wrong on some point, explain to me
why you think so. Then I’ll have something to go on. As it stands, all I
really know is that William rocks your world, I make you tired, EMERGO was
better than ILLUSION-O, and your boyfriend (who lives in LA) writes you
sexy letters.)

But let me try to run with the little I’ve been given. It seems to me that,
completely inadvertently, Stacy has confirmed a few of the points I was
trying to make earlier on. Take the intriguing “legs, tongues and
blindfolds” letter. Though Stacy uses this letter to assure us that, while
reading, *her* body was right there with her (where else would it be?), she
misses the real point, namely, that her boyfriend’s body was stuck in LA,
and that she was aroused despite his physical absence. “Take that,” she
says, “those of you who think the computer can miraculously separate our
hearts and minds (and lust) from the flesh,” overlooking the fact that
she’s just given us an anecdote that shows it can do exactly that. The
moral of the story? While there’s nothing wrong with being turned on by
words on a screen (or a piece of paper), when the letter substitutes for
the flesh, we’re screwed. Or not, as the case may be. Masturbation, to
paraphrase AT&T;, is still the next best thing to being there. I rest my

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