Most people stopped sending such forwards in 1997. But a few have hung on--they're retro. (In a super-annoying way.) To wit: In 2003 I was the President of the Board of Directors for a small international development non-governmental/nonprofit organization that was building schools for girls in Afghanistan (pompousity check: yes.). One of my co-Directors had a nasty little habit of sending out life-affirming/look-on-the-positive-side/the sun-will-come-out-tomorrow/ unicorns-are-beautiful/look how cute all of these gerbils are/aren't these pictures of kids dressed as adults a riot? e-mail forwards. 
The joke among the rest of the Board was, "Did she just get email?" Even better was that her cousin was a high ranking state official, so she had all sorts of e-mail addresses in her contacts list: her forwards would always go out to the creme de la creme of the state's then-in-charge political party as well as to everyone else she ever knew and met (also, she hadn't yet read the memo on the bcc, either). Eventually I had to ask her to stop forwarding messages to me (always an awkward conversation). I vaguely mentioend something about a full inbox, not enough space (this was pre-6 GB gmail accounts). She ceased...for about a month. Then the forwards were back on in Full Force and with greater frequency. I eventually had to block her email address. I decided that on balance, not getting the forwards outweighed whatever she had to e-mail me about, Board of Directors-wise.
Still, I can't escape. Even in 2008, two forwarders remain in my life. One is family, so I'm stuck, the other is a former client who (fortunately) only has my work e-mail address and is quite fond of messages with animated cats in the signature line.
Speaking of the early '90s, my uncle is trapped there. Can someone help him? He refuses to learn how to use e-mail or the Internet (which is a shame, because I think he would like the Internet. Especially the porn.). He cuts articles that I "might find interesting" out of the newspaper and mails them to me. In the mail. Not as an e-mail attachment, not a link to the article online. A piece of newspaper. In the U.S. Mail. I appreciate that he thinks of me, and I like getting mail, but still, it's time to get with the program. I'm going to tell him that I got the recent article on Eritrea he sent me, but that I had already read it because I have a Google News account set up to email me all of the articles published about Eritrea every week. He is going to have no idea what I'm talking about.
Finally, while we're on the subject of the internets, our little SuperDelegate video (link located in the previous post) has been seen by 1,500 people in just 24 hrs (and that's not counting the time that our views counter was frozen--kind of like being in YouTube detention--because we all kept refreshing the video to watch it over and over (and listen to the music, which I still can't get out of my head) and YT likes to discourage illegitimate puffing-up of it's viewer statistics) and posted on a bunch of political sites. That's a lot of people that have now seen me stuffing my face with a stack of donuts, dismantling a stack of oranges, and floating around in a pool.
 Freshman year at Rutgers University, 1993: I had never heard of email before. But then suddenly I was firstname.lastname@example.org. Your address name was 8 letters--first letter of your first name and then up to 7 letters of your last. It caused a big scandal when my good friend Michelle Mandelbaum got the kind-of-cool "michmand" instead of the regulation "mmandelb." She really lucked out, because she stayed there for grad school too. 6 years would have been a long time to go as mmandelb. We used some sort of computer-like machine that had a black screen and green text. I could send and receive messages and download song lyrics from the U of Minnesota's Gopher system. Sometimes I could even check my e-mail from michmand's room in her women's-only dorm (but only until 10 pm), and only if the dial up modem could connect and only if we had an hour and a half to wait for it to connect. Those were also the days were we didn't check it every day and it was permissible to wait a few days or even a week to respond to an email (though at various times, i.e., both times that year that my high school girlfriend who was at the U of Michigan was breaking up with me, I would check it frequently and reply immediately. Big mistake, in retrospect.). Now, if someone goes more than ten minutes w/o responding it's like, "What the fuck?"
 I took a web publishing class during my senior year of college (1997). One assignment was that I had to write an article for the journalism school's brand-spanking-new online student newspaper-ish thing, the OU Webreporter. I wrote about the problem of waiting on line (that is, physically standing in line) to get online (on a computer--get it? Yes, the wit was evident even back then.). Amazingly, the article is still online (on the Internets). It is painful to read, but these were my concluding thoughts:
About 47 minutes have passed, and I'm still waiting. It's frustrating, but the university still is trying to get used to this Cyberspace thing. The Internet is still in its embryonic stage. We are the guinea pigs. In a few years Internet access probably will be available in every dorm room on this campus. A few years after that, in every classroom. Granted, tuition may increase, but in ten, 15 years, access may be in the bathrooms.Oh, young B-Dice. How you couldn't even conceive of WiFi. And how you could use a word like "Cyberspace" in a published article without gagging. And I wasn't too far off: It only took eight years before I started taking my laptop into the bathroom. Just kidding. Sort of.
 In her defense, she did have some serious health problems she was struggling with (diabetes, lost a toe or a foot through some work-related incident (I can't really remember), botched boob job), perhaps the healing powers of new-agey spiritual email forwards helped her. Also, she was really into angels--she had like angel posters in her house and statues and candle holders shaped like, and possibly made out of, angels.