I’ve been haunting the digital wilds since about ’94, back when the web crackled, hummed, and occasionally threatened to set your modem on fire just for looking at it funny. A personal website here, a blog there, sometimes both held together with duct tape, HTML guesswork, and sheer optimism. Realising that I’ve been online for more than three decades is… equal parts impressive and mildly horrifying. At this point I’m basically qualified for a seat on the Internet Druids’ Council.

So yes, by the ancient laws of cyberspace, I am fully authorised to shake my metaphorical walking stick at the TikTok generation. All you hyper‑edited, dance‑looping, algorithm‑summoned sprites may kindly vacate my virtual lawn with your chaotic jingles masquerading as music. I was here when “You’ve Got Mail” was a cultural event, when websites proudly displayed hit counters, when we all wanted to FREE KEVIN, and when animated GIFs were considered the height of sophistication. (That last bit is, of course, a filthy lie. Animated GIFs have never been acceptable. And it’s Gif, not Jif. Do not make me fetch my stick.)

And yet here I remain, still typing, still tinkering, still refusing to log off, and now deeply amused to discover that the Internet Archive has been quietly preserving my online ramblings since the late ’90s. Which means there are, quite literally, thousands upon thousands of historical documents chronicling the last thirty‑ish years of my life, preserved for all eternity. Or at least until World War Three wipes out all technology.

I always assumed I was hysterical. I never expected to be historical.