In this alternate 1996 reality, life is very similar to life today. There's food, and people, and cars, and furniture, and all sorts of terribly familiar stuff. And there's electricity, and newspapers, and television, and telephones, and computers too. Scratch the surface of life in 1996 and it all looks very normal.
Except that in 1996 communication is retarded. Completely and utterly backward. There may be electricity, but two sockets in every room is all I need. There may be newspapers, but they only appear once a day. There may be television, but I can only access a fistful of terrestrial channels. There may be telephones, but I can't walk very far away from the wall without pulling out the plug. And there may be computers, but they just sit in the corner and print letters or run spreadsheets or play games.
In 1996 communication is slow and indirect. If I want to speak to someone then I have to ring their landline and hope I don't get the engaged signal, or maybe write them a letter and wait a couple of days for a response. If I want to watch television then I'd better be in front of the TV when it's on, or else make sure I've set my video recorder properly. If I want to find out what's just happened in the news then I have to be listening to the radio on the hour, or else type 101 into Ceefax and wait ages for the page to come round. If I want to pay my gas bill then my only options are to write a cheque and go outside and post it, or to troop down to my bank and wait in line until they can be bothered to serve me. And if I want to publish my thoughts and make friends online then sorry, I can't, because the internet isn't ready for me yet.
I came home from work last night and worried that it was 1996. My computer was working, but my web connection appeared to be wholly and utterly dead. No emails would download and no webpages would refresh. I couldn't read the latest headlines, nor chat away merrily to online acquaintances. I couldn't check my bank balance, nor poke the RSS feeds of the most recently-published blogs, nor anything else I currently think of as normal. I sat down in front of my blank screen and tried to remember what I used to do on my computer in 1996 that kept me so occupied and entertained. I gave up.
I then attempted to watch TV, but atmospheric conditions were poor and my Freeview channels kept pixellating. I reached for my mobile, but it was low on power and needed recharging. Erm, what else did I do to keep myself busy back in 1996? I fingered my video collection and hunted for, perhaps, a book to read. But I ended up opting for a magazine and settling down on the sofa with a sandwich instead. Suddenly 12 years seemed a very very long time ago. At least until I thought to reboot my wifi router, and 2008 came flooding back.
In 1996, 1996 felt utterly normal. In 2008, however, the normality of 1996 feels very distant, very isolating and very dull. In 2008 we take connectivity and communication totally for granted, and we're often completely lost when systems fail. But it's all an illusion anyway. By 2020 even 2008 will feel as detached as 1996 does now, in ways we can't possibly yet imagine. Bring it on?
