Raymond Chen's blog post is a miniature heist story with zero stakes and maximum charm. He finds an unlocked door at San Francisco's Civic Auditorium before the Windows 2000 launch, slips into the empty upper level, and watches the rehearsal — including the reveal that Patrick Stewart would host. He tells no one. That's the whole plot, and it's enough. The set piece details are what make it work: a 10-meter mock laptop whose lid closes in slow motion, an airplane cabin built to demo infrared file sharing, a crew member in a headset bounding onstage to stand in for Captain Picard so the lighting crew can set their marks. Chen renders the corporate spectacle with the deadpan precision of someone who has watched many such spectacles and finds them genuinely, affectionately absurd. The Patrick Stewart observation is the centerpiece and it lands perfectly: 'If he had come out on stage and announced, "It is the dawn of a new era: The era of lime Jell-O," people would say, "Yeah, lime Jell-O, I need to upgrade to lime Jell-O."' That single line captures the entire dynamic of celebrity tech endorsement — the borrowed authority, the audience's willingness to be sold, the mild absurdity that everyone agrees to ignore. The footnotes do real structural work. A colleague sneaks into the VIP tent and scores a Commemorative Edition boxed copy of Windows 2000 — the contrast between that petty corporate souvenir and Chen's genuine discovery is the quiet joke. The second footnote about infrared file sharing ('Remember infrared file sharing? Of course you don't') is Chen at his most characteristic: the aside that makes you feel the passage of time without sentimentalizing it. This is a blog post, not a book or a film. It does exactly what it sets out to do in roughly 600 words. It belongs to the tradition of insider tech memoir told in small, self-contained episodes — the form Chen essentially built with The Old New Thing. The writing is precise, the comic timing is good, and it leaves you wanting exactly one more anecdote, which is the right length. The piece works because Chen understands that the interesting part of a product launch is never the product. It's the rehearsal, the stand-in, the unlocked door, the moment before the spectacle locks into its official shape. He has been writing these dispatches for over twenty years, and the craft hasn't slipped. If you already read The Old New Thing, this is Chen in his comfort zone, doing what he does well. If you've never encountered him, this is a fine entry point — short, self-contained, and representative of the whole project.
