DOES NOT COMPUTE

On a blustery winter day in December of 1995, we Boomers slid onto The Information Highway, and the world has never been the same. Thanks to newly affordable PCs and the arrival of Windows 95, the home computer was the must-have holiday gift of the decade. The WWW changed the way we socialize, politicize, monetize, exercise and stigmatize. We use the internet to earn, learn, yearn, and churn out enough content to fill one million Libraries of Congress. It's possible that the world will end, not with a bang or a whimper, but a Tweet. That's why I am prepared for the day when a grandchild asks of me, "What was it like, GrandDiva, when the internet invaded Planet Earth?" I shall reply, "As soon as Alexa has my robo-butler fetch me a gluten-free gin and tonic, I shall tell you the tale of the beginning of the end of life as we knew it!"

For starters, the World Wide Web led to the financial ruin of many a family of good standing in the late 90's. Like a savvy drug dealer, AOL and MSN offered a flat rate for a handful of monthly hours - just enough to give us a taste. When we'd used up our supply and were jonesing for a fix, they'd taunt us, "You can have more, but it's going to cost you. You want this? You'll pay BY THE MINUTE!" As telephone bills over $4k arrived in households across the globe, we had no choice but to sell our possessions (thus the birth of eBay) and our dignity (hello home-grown porn!) It's little wonder millennials became mired in student loan debt. Their parents used their college fund to pay off the bills accrued from their time on AIM.

"Will work for AOL minutes!"

If that weren't stressful enough, we had to log on via our land-line telephones. Once you'd typed in the user name and password, it was anyone's guess when your browser would see the light of day.  Meanwhile, you were treated to tooth-ache inducing shrieks and hisses while you watched a progress line make its way slowly, oh so slowly to completion. Then, it happened! You were on-line! At least until the internet crashed or some fool in your household picked up the phone. Which brought you right back to this:

This is why we all took Prozac                                  

The true beginning of the end of life as we knew it commenced on  the day we all signed up for email. There were Nigerian Princes courting our mothers and great aunts. There were relationships destroyed and jobs lost due to people accidentally hitting "Reply All." Our parents spent our inheritances on printer ink so they could create and pass along physical copies of the jokes sent to them. Worse still, this was the death of the time-worn excuse, "I never received the invite."  

Oopsie!

Our new email accounts were the perfect way to share news with family and friends, run ideas by coworkers, and, also, spread some of the most inane misinformation known to man. Facebook and Twitter take a lot of heat for their role in the proliferation of fake news, but they are nothing compared to the granddaddy of them all: The Chain Email. It was  all too common for our inboxes to be filled with missives entitled: "The Clintons: Cold Blooded Killers? You Decide," or "9/11 Was An Inside Job: Here's Proof." These were forwarded to you by dear friends, family, neighbors, former classmates, and your Schwan's man. Each would contain a send-to address list the size of a piece of Russian literature. 

"Everyone in my rolodex needs to know the truth!"

As if those weren't intolerable enough, we spent a lot of time wading through curses and charms. On any given day, we could become millionaires, have our deepest wish come true, or face a certain death. The only way for these events to occur or be prevented was to forward the email to fifteen of our contacts within 24 hours. Failure to do so meant a lifetime of ruing, "But, what if I HAD forwarded it? Maybe I really would be Mrs. George Clooney," or "If only I'd sent the email out to 15 of my friends. I wouldn't be some miserable ghost haunting my old elementary school. I had plans!!!"

To be fair, we were, wisely, much more protective of our privacy. We were warned that the information highway was the wrong place to pick up a hitch-hiker. Anyone, from a nun you might meet in the Poets For Peace chat room to the librarian in the Alphabetical Order For All forum, was potentially an axe-murderer.  There were rules: 1. Never use your real name  2. Never post a picture of yourself 3. Never even hint about your location 4.  Do NOT post pictures of your children or grandchildren.  5. If you are desperate to break those rules, please be patient. In the near future, you will have the opportunity to spew every bit of minutia about yourself, your loved ones, and your pets for the viewing pleasures of criminals, governments, and marketers on every continent.

The most terrifying thing about the internet back then were the "Cookies." I'm not talking about your granny's Crisco-infused chocolate chip. These cookies are itty bitty digital spies that collect information via our surfing habits. This surfing had nothing to do with The Beach Boys or hanging ten. Long before we googled, we surfed the web. While surfing, the cookies took down our names, addresses, and entire search history, then reported it all back to their master: The Child Prince Mark Zuckenberg. (I kid.) Back then, we were more afraid of cookies than an enemy government abusing our sweet American naïveté by spreading false information for nefarious purposes. We were more concerned with SPAM emails than being brainwashed via the use of algorithms. Our priorities were clear!

You know the rest, Grandchild. Ask Jeeves led to Yahoo and Google. Forums led to social media. Social media led to self-taught advance degrees in everything for everyone! Doctors, lawyers, nurses, teachers, scientists etc. were no longer necessary in a Do Your Own Research society. Empty buildings crumbled as former tenants worked from home or quit their jobs to start a podcast. Cities banished the police, fire, and EMT services as there were YouTube videos available that trained the average citizen in criminal deescalation techniques and fire-fighting skills. Having a heart attack? There's an app for that. Hospitals shut down as everyone was Reiki-certified by age 6. Soon, all former national holidays were banished by the President of the Global & Intraplanetary Federation (GIF - pronounced JIF,) Elon Musk. These were replaced with holidays to celebrate the true heroes of the civilized world - Uber Eats Drivers. (Thank you for your service.) 

The few. The proud. The feeders of a planet.

Now, off you go, Grandchild. I've got to catch the Bezos Express for a quick jaunt to The Moon.