ANALOG STALKING
Published in the March 14, 2026 edition.
“You old-timers had it easy because you weren’t being bombarded with junk texts, email sales pitches and online ads in social media. Now, as soon as I click on an Instagram story about new PJs to wear in the airport the algorithm immediately bombards my phone and inbox with pajama junk. It must have been nice to just avoid all that crap in the Ancient Times before algorithms and digital pestering.”
Oh, dear child. Your yearning for an analog past is darling. Thank you for envisioning a wonderful world where we Ancient Ones roamed happy and free from annoying and unwanted ads and pitches for donations or surveys.
But you underestimate just how crafty and cagey and downright clever the Ancient Ones were when it came to ferreting out locations, addresses, and issues and groups we creaky old geezers expressed an interest in.
This came to mind during February when I took a nostalgic trip down memory lane, a lane lined with mail – yes, mail, the envelops delivered by the US Postal Service right to my door’s “inbox.” That stuff.
This saga actually started sometime last winter, probably around November or December. The Trump administration or some “sell the national parks” outfit did something that got me all wound up. In a self-righteous frenzy I dashed off a bunch of donations to a cluster of national nonprofit groups or organizations. After basking in my “don’t just sit there, do something” maneuver, I forgot all about the outrage (not the issues, which I continue to track like a rabid raccoon).
My 2026 peace and quiet was shattered one afternoon when I got a large envelop. My heart sank. There it was, evidence I was once more trapped in the web of shared mailing lists and analog stalking. The envelop from the National Parks Conservation Association was addressed to Jon Klusmile. Egad. That incorrect spelling of my last name first appeared in about 1990 when I gave $10 to National Geographic Kids. I, or at least, Mr. Klusmile was then flooded with junk mail for a cluster of similar groups.
I thought the years without a paper plea to Mr. Klusmile solved the problem.
Obviously not.
The onslaught began anew. An added feature to the numerous sales pitches was the attempt to bribe me with branded gear and merchandise in return for my cash. The parks foundation, for example, just wanted me to fill out a survey. If I, a generous lover of national parks, also went online and donated $15, I would receive three “luggage cubes” and holy moly hold my chair momma, a “FOLD OUT MAP.” Be still my beating heart. Or I could get a Bucket Hat so I would look like a total geek. Then I realized they just wanted my email so they could digitally pester me. Crafty units. I declined.
Next up was the Sierra Club. Odd. I do get some email newsletters from some chapters, but that’s all. Another guilt pitch. They sent a membership card just in case I wanted to be a member. That would also qualify me for one of three gifts: An Exploration Day Pack; A First Aid Kit (they must know I am old and shaky); and the big one, A Trail Cooler Tote (again and old folks gift – forget granola bars and powdered energy drinks, with a cooler we’re talking fried chicken, potato salad and beer).
The National Wildlife Foundation went big with its swag offer: a duffle bag that looked like it could hold two racoons.
The best bag gift was a sturdy, large reusable grocery bag from Doctors Without Borders. Impressive group, solid finances. No idea how they got my address.
The trend continued with the Nature Conservancy. Once again, take a survey, make a donation and get a branded Limited-Edition Messenger Bag. It made me wonder if there was something in my mailing list or online profile that suggests I need more luggage. They did provide a free bookmark with a photo of a bat. The flying kind.
The bookmark gifts reinforced the “let’s appeal to the old folks” pitch. The National Museum of the American Indian provides stunning bookmarks showcasing native art. This link was easy. The Smithsonian got some of my money. I was a history major. They only had to ask once. So did the Friends of the Smithsonian, which sent me a nice little note pad with a watercolor of the Smithsonian Castle. Same with the National Geographic Society. I also donated to the National Trust for Historic Preservation, which sent a very nice thank you letter. You’re welcome.
Defenders of Wildlife went cheap, I thought, and just sent a batch of peel-and-stick address labels while asking for a California-centric survey. Then they brought out the big guns. A Stylish Windbreaker and a “nylon eco tote bag – great for life on the go.”
California State Parks sent some notecards with park scenes. Again, these days, only the old folks send cards in the vain hope their kids will at least text back after getting said card. It’s a cruel game.
But as an Ancient leftover from an earlier analog era, I am determined to keep playing.
Jon Klusmire of Bishop got an invitation from the American Association of Retired People (AARP), sweetened by yet another “grab and go cooler” offer, but he doesn’t qualify as retired since Lunch works him like a red-headed stepchild.
