Promiscuous Me: The Loneliness of the Long Distance Word Processor

So there I was in the mid-1980s processing the words of vainglorious little dickheads, unashamed Republicans, and avowed fans of the accursed Grateful Dead at the biggest law firm in San Francisco, feeling as though neutered. I was one of two straight male IBM Stylewriter jockeys, and at least one of the gay guys with whom I worked made clear that he th…