Secretly, the internet of today terrifies me. Much like James Whitmore's character Brooks Hatlen in the Shawshank Redemption, I find myself able to navigate yet unable to understand the ever accelerating madness being pumped into my browser window at approximately 1.5 Mbps.

Years ago however, the screen scene was much different. When I first logged on as a spunky teen, the internet had already outgrown its infancy. Due to barriers-to-entry, the bulk of net users before my time were also programmers, and as such the web was mostly aimed at discussing itself. Well, that and nethack, of course.

But things changed. In the mid 1990's, around the time a giant Windows 95 banner could be seen hanging from Toronto's CN Tower, and the Empire State Building was pimping Microsoft colours, a new generation of nerds began to rise. For the first time in history, a relatively tech-naive teen could dial-up and surf the web, provided their parents weren't trying to use the phone.

And so, the landscape of the internet was free to be shaped by a surge of new tenants. Sure, the original nerds remained; and for them there was of porn, ultima, and some irresistible dot-com promises.

But for the youth, the internet was a fresh, empty canvas. An opportunity to create, produce and publish. It was a way to reach out and touch the world in a way which had been previously out of reach to anyone that wasn't a Beverly Hills 90210 cast member. The world wasn't ours, but the web would be.

But bandwidth was still at a premium, and thus the kids of the 90's were left with no choice but to fill the internet with words. Walls of text would span ill-coloured home pages. Chat rooms were ruled by speed-reading authors, and if somebody wanted to "like" something, they would have to explain why.

The internet back then was a schizophrenic novel being written chaotically and simultaneously by a committee of anonymous geeks at about 40 words per minute. Sure, it wasn't all Shakespeare. This was the time such phrases as "u r" and "lol" and even the dreaded "omgroflmao" became solidified into our unsuspecting culture. Still, there was something appetizing about the internet's new-found adolescence.

Maybe it was the fact that the web was still very empty, and with that emptiness came a natural urge to fill the void. But the audience was very niche, and still completely decentralized. What resulted was a bonanza of some of the purest and most honest forms of writing that man has ever seen.

It was unprovoked and unedited; aimless and defenseless. Not all of it was grammatical, most of it was nonsensical, and at least some of it was Klingon. Nonetheless, a generation that had relied so heavily on televisions and telephones were now barfing all their pent-up ideas in text-form, and with no other framework than some shoddy html.

For a suburban nerd like myself, this was the new wild west. The thrill of unpredictability would capture my interest for hours, for years.

But as we know, as the small niche of users expanded, the chaos slowly welcomed order. We now have an internet userbase that includes your mom, your teacher, your boss and maybe even your son or daughter. You know they have arrived; they are your friends on Facebook, a website that allows easy and instant communication within a navigate-able and predictable framework. Google will help you find the information you are looking for, and itunes will happily introduce you to your new favourite band.

Yes, the internet has continued to grow; now a teenager, it desperately craves our attention, and succeeds. Larger and faster, its ability to absorb and produce information is incredible; yet its attention span has been reduced to 140 characters or less. Trading unpredictability for organization was probably a smart move, but I can't help but feel my excitement for technology dwindle as the novelty dissipates.

Perhaps this is due to a simple change in perspective. I once saw the internet as an empowering medium, bestowing equally loud voices to basement-dwelling teens, CEO's and movie stars alike.

Now, staring at the internet feels a lot like looking up at the stars; a stunning yet frightening reminder of our personal insignificance.

Which kind of makes me want the old web back.

..did anyone keep a backup?

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