Some personal homepages survive because their owners never accepted the memo that everybody was supposed to move into somebody else’s platform.
Visit Vince Weaver’s home page
Vince Weaver’s page announces that it is celebrating more than thirty years on the World Wide Web. It still behaves like a personal homepage in the older sense of the phrase: not a résumé landing page, not a social-media link tree, and not a polished personal brand.
It is a place where one person put things.
The sidebar links to what Weaver is doing now, photographs, software, previous versions of the site, academic research, an old BBS, poetry, stories, bookmarks, video games he has played, and various things that apparently failed the test for fitting anywhere else.
One photograph shows Weaver using an Apple II in 1983. That machine is not merely decoration. His VMW Software Productions archive contains a remarkable amount of work for old hardware, including Apple II games, demakes, demos, utilities, an Apple II web server written in Applesoft BASIC, filesystem tools, and experiments that deliberately push old machines far beyond what anybody needed them to do.
One of Weaver’s longer-lived projects is linux_logo, the console program that prints a Linux logo and system information. Its release history reaches back into the 1990s. The site also documents his low-level programming experiments across a ridiculous collection of architectures.
That mixture is what makes the homepage valuable.
A homepage used to be a filesystem with a personality
Modern profiles encourage people to choose a narrow identity. Programmer. Professor. Retrocomputing person. Music person. Researcher.
An old personal homepage could simply contain all of it.
Weaver’s still has a page about the Utopia BBS where he was a co-sysop, a page about memorizing digits of pi, old bookmarks intended for Lynx, academic material, software, jokes, and decades of project residue. The site even notes that its guestbook was eventually removed after a 24-year run.
That sentence alone spans most of the commercial Web’s history.
There are tiny period details everywhere. The footer says the site was written with Pico. Another line claims to be legible only on non-Windows PCs. The design does not attempt to conceal the age or lineage of the site behind a modern template.
More importantly, the old material remains connected to the newer work. This is not a museum copy of a dead homepage. It is a living directory whose earliest layers were simply never bulldozed.
That continuity matters in 2026. Personal technical history is often scattered across dead university accounts, abandoned hosting providers, deleted forum posts, social networks, and code platforms. Weaver’s site provides something increasingly unusual: decades of one person’s computing life still joined together by ordinary hyperlinks.
CacheRat’s 1,967 Ancient Web Domains research list includes pages like this because the oldest useful part of the Web was never just famous websites. It was people maintaining directories of their own obsessions for absurd lengths of time.
Thirty years later, that turns out to be excellent archival practice.