Ok, Computer?

Dear Internet,

How are you?

You sure have come a long way, haven't you? Did you ever expect to get so big? I mean, there's a lot of people in this world who wouldn't be able to survive without you. You've changed the way people live. Surely you wouldn't have had such high expectations for yourself? Me, on the other hand, I'm the opposite to you. I was going to make something of myself. I was going to be a football star. I had it all worked out. From age 0 to 16 you couldn't pry the ball out of my hand. I was a talented half-forward flanker and occasional on-baller, more than capable on both sides of my body, an excellent overhead mark and a dangerous goal sneak. Everything was set for me to join the professional leagues. I'd have a fast car, a hot model girlfriend, been seen at all the right nightspots around town, it was going to be a great life. But then I got into music in a big way. I'd always been fond on music, ever since as a youngster I use to listen to Barry Bissell countdown the top 40 tracks in the country on a Sunday night. However around my mid-teens my interest started to explode. I became obsessive. I'd listen to the local alternative stations and devour the music press from around the world. This was before you had grown up, you see, when we got out information from the NME and Melody Maker. It gave me a sense of individuality, I no longer wanted to be one of the pack. I wanted to be myself, and I wanted to be a rock and roll star. I'd play some bluesy riffs and wear leather jackets and have a weird hairdo, I'd sing songs about girls and cars and be seen at all the right nightspots around town, I'd be my own man. Unfortunately, it never worked out for me. I couldn't cut it in the music world. They didn't want a guy like me, said I didn't have the "spirit", whatever that meant. So I never made anything of myself. I just became a washed-up old crank, sitting around my room, re-reading the same 6 websites everyday. You see, Internet, although I spend a lot of time with you, I don't really know you. I'm yet to experience all the wonderful delights that you are apparently capable of providing me. I mean, I like the email and I like compiling the music I listen to on last.fm, I enjoy catching up on the news throughout the globe on the various websites of the reputable newspapers and I am definitely fond of illegally downloading all the latest tunes, but beyond that I don't really know what else to do with you. I'm sure there's plenty that I'm missing. I did try this whole "social networking" thing for a while, but I found it too mentally consuming and ultimately heart-breaking. I mean, why would people comment on other people's message walls and not mine? I'd like a message on my wall sometime too, you know. It was just too much of a popularity contest for me and I couldn't bear to know the results. But it's alright for you, Internet, isn't it? Everybody loves you. You're the Queen of the apple festival, aren't you? But the thing is, you know it now, you know how the people adore you and you lap it up. You love the adoration. But what about the pain, Internet? You don't care if people crash and burn on your information super-highway, do you? You're one cold motherfucker, you know that? You've changed and you're changing all the time. Getting faster and more efficient with more whizz-bang devices, but in the process you've forgotten your roots, forgotten guys like me who were there at the start. That's right, you don't remember do you? I first logged-on back in '95, I was totally OG. I helped make you what you are today. But you spat me out. That first internet girlfriend you provide for me was a dud. I followed her to the other side of the world and then ended up having to call the police on her 'cause she stole my shit! I was a little disappointed, to tell you the truth. But I never received an apology from you did I? You probably thought it was a great joke. Had a good old chuckle at my expense. But I survived, whilst difficult at the time, the experience only made me stronger. So now I sit here staring at you, wondering just when and how you're going to make it up to me? I've played your games, worked your chatrooms, ordered products from your stores and even customised my Myspace page but none of that has truly satisfied me. I feel like you haven't given me any decent returns for my online endeavours. So I'm waiting for you to give me something special, something that'll make up for all the years of disappointment I have experienced whilst associating with you. Cough up, arsehole.

Yours expectantly,
Grant.