Does anyone remember what the world was like before the internet? Back when we had to send letters written on parchment, inscribed with the blood of our inferiors, sealed with the wax made from our human discharge, and then tied to the talons of a hawk as it would fly to lands beyond our reach?

Perhaps I am being too nostalgic for those times. In my mind, the internet hit it’s true debut on Feb. 7th, 1995, on the exact day when Pog began to dwindle, Devil Sticks were at their peek, and everyone stopped caring about the loss of Kurt Cobain.

This was a milestone in today’s development in communication. Not only was this the day that the internet finally, and metaphorically, got let into the cool-kids smoke pit by the high school dumpster of popular telecommunication, but it was also the day that rotary dial phones where deemed both obsolete and a retarded idea to begin with.

I remember when if you saw a cordless phone in 1993, you immediately thought the person who owned it was so rich that they probably hired Himalayan mountain people to kill each other for their pleasure as they ate roasted lion and wore pant-suits made of gold and illegally poached ivory. At this time, the mere idea of conversing with someone on the other side of the world with a computer was as plausible as perfectly recreating a Giorgio Morandi still-life with your anus.

How far we’ve come now. Not only can we instantly send lists of our enemy’s deepest fears to hit-men, but we can comment on photos, write on walls, play Mafia Wars, poke strangers without the use of our fingers, and be obsessively spied upon by girls who harbor feelings after eight years since you last spoke to them at a house party hosted by a guy named Nolan. Personally, I miss the primitive style of stalking someone. I miss the feeling of being in the eye-sights of binoculars, finding my garbage can raided for information, and discovering locks of my own hair and creepy messages written in lipstick on my mirror when I wake up in the morning.

You can call me old fashioned, you can tell me I’m living in the past, but while you’re searching for a how-to video about pornographic latte art on vimeo, I’ll be enjoying myself with a stick and a detached penny-farthing tricycle wheel as I listen to Bessie Smith on my wind-up phonograph.