Goodbye to the Dial-Up Days
American Online and Mop DeSalle
Goodbye to the Dial-Up Days
This week I read something in the news that hit me harder than I expected:
America Online is ending its dial-up service on September 30th.
First of all, I didn’t even know AOL still offered dial-up. According to a 2023 census report, 160,000 people still get their internet this way. Honestly, I’d forgotten AOL was even a thing—except when I hear Kevin Smith and Ralph Garman on Hollywood Babble-On give their email address (yes, it’s still an AOL.com one). That’s usually my only reminder that AOL is still out there in the world.
But AOL isn’t just a relic of the past to me. It’s the reason Mop exists. And Mop is the reason I’m still telling stories in Limbo thirty years later.
The First Connection
I was a senior in high school in Alabama, no home computer, no need for “the internet” as far as I knew. My friend Harley’s dad, however, had both—and one afternoon he sat us down in front of AOL.
I was instantly hooked.
To the point where Harley’s dad had to hide the AOL icon to keep us from logging on. It was $2.99 an hour back then (yes, kids, we used to pay for the internet by the hour). Parents loved that.
Around this time, I was deep into my Pearl Jam obsession. Signing up for AOL meant picking a “screen name”—your identity in the wilds of chatrooms and message boards. I cycled through Pearl Jam-themed names:
Footsteps (failed choir solo audition, not my teacher’s favorite song)
Daughter (nope, didn’t fit me)
Alive, Black, Nothingman, Betterman (all taken)
Then I spotted Harley’s copy of Vitalogy. At the bottom of the CD track list was the infamous final “song” — Foxy Mophandle Mama, That’s Me. It’s weird, real weird. But in the moment, “Stupid Mop” felt right.
StupidMop was taken.
So I became StupidMop02.
Becoming Mop
I dabbled in the Pearl Jam and Star Wars chatrooms, but what really caught me was The Red Dragon Inn—a D&D-style tavern where you could roleplay in text. That’s where Mop started to take shape.
Back then, I was playing a lot of female D&D characters—usually chaotic-good rogues. So Mop became a girl. At first she was just a shadowy thief with a heart of gold. Then I found the Stars End Bar, a sci-fi roleplay space station, and everything clicked.
To avoid romance roleplay (not my thing), I made Mop ten years old. Inspired by Marvel’s Rachel Summers, she got red hair. From Magik, she got teleportation powers. I built my own version of Limbo straight from there: a strange, dangerous, and magical realm.
By 1995, I had my own computer and my own AOL account. That’s where I met Brandy—both the player and the character—who “adopted” Mop in-game and would later inspire Josephine in Chronicles of Limbo.
A Digital Addiction
I flunked my first semester of community college because of AOL. I once racked up $300 on my dad’s Discover Card from hourly charges. Eventually, I learned the hacks—like AOHeLL, which let you make endless free-trial accounts. That’s how StupidMop02 became StupidMop03, MopDeSalle, MopnGlo (yes, Mop got a dog), and on and on.
I lived on AOL. I grew up there. I learned how to tell stories there. I built friendships there. And I created Mop.
Signing Off
Now, as AOL’s dial-up fades into history, I’m reminded of that god-awful connection sound followed by: Welcome and You’ve got mail.
AOL gave me my first world outside of my own. It gave me the tools to create the characters and the universe I’m still exploring today.
So thank you, AOL dial-up. You opened the door to Limbo and let Mop walk through.
The rest of the world might hear static and think of wasted minutes.
I hear it and think—
That was the sound of my life beginning.
Read Mop and Josephine’s adventures next month in ‘Chronicles of Limbo: The Key’ Right here on Substack. Always free to read!