The night Jake the guru got his

WHAT maddens me about talking with people who think they're smarter

than you is that they tell you such rubbish with the complete conviction

that they are enlightening you.

Let's be specific. I'm talking about Jake, the number one console

cowboy of my own experience. This is the kind of guy who loves sitting

in front of a new computer security system just to show how easy it is

to bring it crashing down.

Well, the other night in Cafe Citadelle we were sitting having a few

espressos while some of our buddies yakked on about what they did or

didn't like about playing the net. Some loved the Mosaic interface: it

is beautiful and so simple to use, great for downloading graphics.

Lorna, one right-on-line young thing, enthused over the pictures she

found of the Shoemaker-Levy comet hitting Jupiter. All eyes turned to

her. Needless to say Jake hates to lose the spotlight.

''The net,'' he said in a cool authoritative tone, ''is to the

nineties what train-spotting was to the thirties. Lots of frenzy over

what is essentially a great big total zero.''

Nobody likes to argue with Jake. His technical expertise is stunning

on everything from a battered old Amiga to the latest product from

Thinking Machines, or so it seems. But this was a value judgment. And

anyway I have argued with him in the past -- I argue with everybody.

''Justify that!'' I snapped at him.

He shrugged. ''Logged on. Looked around. Found some klingons and a

couple of losers trying to figure out how to become 'Mac-literate'.

Gimme a break, man! Then I did something intelligent. Logged off.''

Same old story I hear time and time again. And its pathetic. It's like

someone deciding to visit Edinburgh, getting off the bus, wandering

around the bus station and catching the first one back home and saying

that Edinburgh's rubbish. This is the activity of someone whose

batteries need changing.

So I lost the place. This has happened before and is one of the

reasons we tend to meet in cafes as opposed to pubs these days. You can

tell it's Glasgow, can't you?

However, my defence is that is was quite understandable. Here is this

character who sets himself up as a guru and berates the second great

love of my life (we'll go into the first some other time). This is

definitely meriting a Heavy Nod or at least some lively discussion. I

settled for the latter.

I asked him just what he did when he logged in and it went something

like this. He joined a couple of random newsgroups, found them dull as

he came in slap bang in the middle of a flow of correspondence and

wasn't patient enough to keep going back in over a week or so to catch

the drift.

Then he found a couple of newsgroups which did interest him but when

he left a notice to say he was there if anyone wanted to talk to him,

nobody replied. Why should they? This was a newsgroup, not his beloved

Cafe Citadelle where everyone knows him the moment he strolls through

the doors.

''You got to know where to go,'' I said, rummaging in the scrunched

leather satchel for the big jaundiced bible. Then I dropped it on the

table shuddering every capccino cup, tinkling every spoon: my

newly-purchased copy of the internet yellow pages. Wow, you could hear

the eyes popping in their sockets!

''Okay,'' I told him. ''This is what we pros use to navigate the net.

This and the white pages.''

''Phone books?'' he asked, batteries definitely showing low.

''Similar,'' said yours truly, enjoying the switch of spotlight. ''In

here, the yellow pages, you look up what you want, the subjects, like

Artificial Intelligence . . .''

''AI!'' he excalimed, this being Jake's second hottest subject right

now.

''Yup,'' says I and I reel off a number of addresses and newsgroups.

''Of course I had all these, just lost them,'' he mutters while the

biro does overtime on the back of a Citadelle menu.

So as I reach over to take the big book back I just happen to say:

''Well, I don't suppose you'll need the addresses for the stuff on

nanotechnolgy.''

This is Jake's top hottest subject right now.

His hand slams down on the book and he positively snarls as me as he

mines it for everything he wants.

Someone pipes up that there's a newsnet group for Rangers fans. Jake

is not impressed. He pushed the volume back across the table and says

''Gotta go, you guys. Things to do.''

Clutching the precious menu he actually jogs out the door.

I snuggle back into the armchair and signal up another espresso.

Nice to have the spotlight all to yourself, eh?