anal og

I used to write letters with paper, and ink and I’d draw a doodle at the bottom. I’d never see it again once it slid into the metal mail slot.

I made phone calls standing next to the refrigerator, sometimes taking advantage of my proximity to the milk carton, making the best of a long-standing phone conversation, while tethered to a coiled cord on the wall.

I grew up without remote controls. I was the remote control of the family! “David, click the knob back to Hee Haw right now, and wiggle that tin foil … it’s still fuzzy!” 

I read 20-cent comic books which I held in my hand, and I far exceeded the budget of any block buster movie with the special effects of my mind as I read, filling in all the blanks between each text bubble.

Spielberg would likely agree that Hollywood could never equal the power of one’s imagination. Unless we fail to use that grey glob of Industrial Light and Magic between our ears. Unless we get tangled, mixed up, trapped in what we’ve come to call the …


Despite this truth, I’m still glad you’re here. I’m happy for this technology. I think we’re all stuck with it. But I do miss much of the analog universe I used to live in.