I had an emotional weekend. Attended Allan's memorial service, and spoke briefly; I know that any kind of funeral or remembrance ceremony is ultimately nothing more than a formality. I'm not really sure how I feel about it right now, though, so I think I'll just not say anything. I am, as always, very deeply affected by Allan's art, and by the accomplishments he made with his Apology Line. After the service I went to the very payphone at 166 West 75th Street from which I first called the Apology Line in late 1990. There was no longer a phonebooth, the phone is now in a wood booth against the wall. I called Apology in 1990, I was 22 and had just moved to New York, and would sit in the phonebooth for hours just listening to the tapes. I got a lot of lecherous advances from a homosexual black man who was always hanging out in the lobby, but nothing ever got me to drop the phone. Last night, though, I wanted to call one last time so I could feel some kind of closure, and I expected to hear the voice of his wife, who has maintained the line for the past few months and who had made several recordings announcing the news of Allan's death and the future of the line. Instead, though, it was Allan's magnificent voice, which still sends chills up my spine. It was Allan's voice saying that the Apology Line was down for routine maintainance, and to please call again soon. It actually made me very happy to hear his voice one last time from the same spot on which I heard him the first time. *

Made progress on my idea for Netscape 2.0's frames feature. It actually is looking kind of neat, though still choppy, and if it got a lot of hits I think it would hammer the server. In its present incarnation, assuming I left it as is, it would appear that I had reached another milestone in wasted time and effort. But this is a consistent motif in my silly life, so maybe someday the fruits of my idleness will come back around to thrust me into eternal fame. *

Saw "Crumb" tonight. When that movie was first released it happened that 3 separate people who did not know each other but who knew me all came up to me and insisted that this was the movie for me. It was very good, and I left feeling ambivelant about the cartoonist. I never considered him an artist in the same class as Winsor McKay or Art Spiegelman or even Ben Katchor. But what a discomfort to be the subject of a documentary or a biography like that. *