Scott Bremner

Yes, I remember typewriters with manual keys.

I remember rotary phones that went click click click click click.

And I remember way back to when Spam used to be for breakfast.

Not that I really enjoyed my fried morning meat of indeterminable origins. But when you said “Spam” that was what you got.

These days my “spam” is an e-mailbox full of junk.

There are the herds of young women just waiting to meet me.

There are the missives lamenting my physical shortcomings and offering heaven in a little blue pill.

There are the promises of a Rolex watch for the price of a cup of coffee.

There is the moral outrage from political parties asking me to join them in decloaking the other guys as shameless power grabbers.

Then there are all the ways I can become a millionaire (or perhaps already am).

I have strangers in Nigeria promising me money from some recently deceased client.

I have agents from the IRS offering me refunds from my credit card accounts.

I have lottery officials in Canada trying to find me for the winning ticket I never bought.

And who knew I had so many friends?

There are the ones who are telling me the secret company stock that’s about ready to soar to new financial heights.

And then there are the ones telling me about the little known government auctions where all kinds of valuables are going for ridiculously low prices.

Those are just the ones getting through the company’s spam filters. Imagine how many friends I would really have if I got to see all of my electronic mail?

It kind of makes me wish for the good old days, and a big plate of fried morning meat of indeterminable origins.