I yearn for a simpler time. Life in this modern age can be frustrating and scary, what with the global warming and the bad cholesterol and the high-definition reruns of 'The Nanny'. I long for a more peaceful existence, free from the complications of the twenty-first century lifestyle. I'm ready to re-adopt a few of our long-forgotten traditions, to recapture the halcyon days of yore. Yesteryore, even. I'm not screwing around here.



First, I'd like to go back to using surnames to describe peoples' professions. So, if I meet a Shoemaker, I'll know he can help me patch the holes in my sneakers. If I run into a Baker, I can ask for a 'doughnut hole', without worrying how exactly he'll interpret the request. And if a Parker happens to be around -- well, maybe he can finally get my car into my garage spot. Plus, he might be turn out to be Spider-Man. That would be sweet.

While we're at it, how about if we go back to riding horses to get around? Gas prices are high, pollution is terrible, and I for one am fed up with that creepy, big-eared 'zoom zoom' brat. Much better that we should saunter around the natural way, atop large domesticated hairy animals. We can ride twelve wide down the highway, trotting and cantering our way to the office. Sure, we'll all need stables -- and salt licks, and hay bales, and the level of poop in the streets would escalate, just a touch, unless you live in Paramus -- but it's a small price to pay to be rid of our mobile metal monsters. And just think of all the glue and Big Macs we'll be able to make with the 'leftovers'.

It doesn't end there, though. I think we should settle all of our differences the old-fashioned way, too, with a nice pistol duel. If it was good enough for the founding fathers, then why not us? Put away the fancy Glocks and rifles -- those things won't help you much, anyway, once we convert back to horseback travel. Have you ever heard of a 'gallop-by shooting'? Me, neither. We'll nip an awful lot of violence in the bud, if the would-be perps were forced to use ancient flint-lock pieces to do their dirty deeds. Those things are more likely to blow off your fingers than to take out your enemy. I'd think twice before stepping off ten paces against the guy who dissed my baby's mama, that's for sure.

I suppose the Internet is out, too -- if there's anything that screams 'modern technology', it's the internet. So we'll have to get our porn somewhere else, obviously. But also our communications -- email goes out the window, too. Maybe we can Pony Express parchments to each other, or learn to send 'leetspeak' instant messages via smoke signal. Of course, if the spammers get their grubby paws on that technology, they'll fill the skies with soot, selling their snake oil and combination butter churns/penis enlargers. And you thought pop-up ads were bad; at least nobody ever got black lung from one of those.

Finally, let's start talking like the old-timers -- sorry, I mean, 'olde-timers'. All the fancy new lingo and technical jargon around today -- let's throw it all away, and replace it with words like 'forsooth' and 'verily'. Sure, nobody knows what the hell those things mean any more, but is that really any different than technoweenie talk like 'phishing' or 'emoticon'? If we're going to be unintelligible, at least we can sound Shakespearean. That's my attitude.

Would any of these measures make our lives easier? Perhaps. Maybe we should ask the Amish, before we go to all the trouble. They certainly seem happy, raising barns and riding in buggies and not smoking or drinking or dancing or... wow. If we're really serious about going 'retro', I suppose we have to fall in line with all of that uber-observant religious mumbo-jumbo, too. I never thought about that. And there's no way I'm getting up before noon on Sundays, or giving up my three-margarita breakfasts. So, never mind. Maybe the modern life isn't quite so bad, after all. Verily.