Email Phobia

My regular email lately has become full of nasty, unexciting STUFF. I don’t want to look at it. I have to weed through what I do and don’t want to read or deal with at the moment to get to any good morsel. It’s to the point where I am actively procrastinating when it comes to checking it.

All the potentially good, amusing, heart warming stuff is on Twitter, Facebook, etc. Email is now full of almost exclusively nasty-bits.

This is bad. I used to love checking email. It was a pleasure to hear from people I correspond with, read writing they sent to me, read news, etc. Now, it’s mostly bills, spam, customer service, or other unpleasantness.

When did email start being exactly like snail mail?

Communication Technology

So, people have a hard enough time with regular socialization skills. Now with all the tiers of communicating, it’s a wonder anyone can keep up. It’s not just technology to master, otherwise geeks would be super-pro at socialization.

First there were people communicating at social gatherings and work.

Then there was phone.

Now there is *deep breath* AIMPhoneMSNICQCellPhoneMySpaceEmailFacebookBlogRTSTextMessageForumMMORPG *another breath* -you get the idea. You figure this would ease communication. We’d be super in touch with everyone all the time. No. Because there is no way someone is going to call you to tell you something important if they can text you even if you disabled text messaging because you’re either dirt poor or got sick of getting texts of “hi :)” (or both). Even though you told them in person that you blocked texting, they forgot and they don’t like talking on the phone. They’d rather enjoy Olympic button pressing and staring at a post-it sized screen for 5x the time it would take to say what they needed to. They scoff and think that if you really cared to keep in touch with them, you would enable texting so that you’d get that one important text out of 500. And don’t dare ask them to email you, because that’s *totally* not the same thing.

I once had a boyfriend who argued with me on the phone until I downloaded an instant messaging service to talk to him. It doesn’t matter that we had cell phones, texting, and SKYPE (back when you could dial out for free). This was his most comfortable way of communicating, so I better adapt. On some level, I can understand. You can minimize the other person, don’t need to listen to their tone of voice, can play your RTS or MMORPG, have both hands to type unlike a cell phone, and they don’t know if you got up to get a bagel or pee. On the other hand, we were kind of trying to be emotionally intimate. One other advantage of online messaging is that I still have logs from these chats. That’s what I need… a record of how much I don’t stand up for myself. Hindsight is supposed to at least be softened by memory, and here I have a .txt file showing how pathetic I can be.

Sure, check your email, but make sure you have your FacebookMySpaceLinkedInRandomNetworkingThingies configured to let you know when someone sends you a message on one of these websites. But usually, you can’t read it in your email. I go into my email, see I have something on facebook, and in facebook go to my wall or my inbox… TWO separate methods of communication in ONE networking tool that tells you through email.

Woe onto you who have more than one email. I have two… one that I have had since… before it was cool. The other I got in college and has forums for jobs and places to live and alumni and dialogs on campus and stuff for sale and calls for art. It also has instant messaging built in too… so instant messaging services open and go into your email with yet another instant messaging service and texting on the cell phone in your pocket that can also ring… I’m sorry if I haven’t got around to checking my other email in awhile.

We’re not at the sad part yet. Want to know what the sad part is..? I’m part of a generation who is used to it. Sure, I set my boundaries. I’m on facebook. I’m not getting MySpace too. I’m not enabling texting for the pope- if you’re at your cell, call me!

But I’m used to it to the point where it is ingrained in me as a socializing solution to my communication shortcomings. That’s right, I sometimes look for even more alternate forms of indirect communication… Sure, I could turn around and say something to the funny and good looking guy in my IT class who I’ve thought was pretty cool since the first class (even if he does have a girlfriend but who cares it’d just be nice to communicate). Or, instead risking getting giddy and giggling like an idiot, I’d could go run, cmd, net send…

But the instructor set his boundaries. Thou shall not abuse net send or I shall disable it. Don’t make me do it.

And then people started writing batch files that sent net sends by the hundreds… and logged into other computers with remote desktop to say ‘it wasn’t me’… and flirted using poetic computer based metaphor (Oh, wait, that was just me… and him… as far as I know).

It’s ridiculous, and I realize it. I looked myself in the eye reflecting in the monitor and made a decision.

I asked for his cell number in the parking lot. *cheers* Score one for the communication revolution! At some point in the future, we will hang out and communicate outside of class- in person!

…now I just need to call it …and stop giggling at everything he says to me in person. Yes, even I- currently rated number three most confident on the compare people face book application of all my facebook friends who also have said application- can get shy. (see documentation above)

With all the additional ways to communicate and keep in touch with people, it’s true, we still don’t know how to communicate with other human beings. The opposite sex… oh, forget about that. This isn’t Star Trek you know. We don’t have the technology.

Follow up posts:
Communication Revolution: Quashed!
Wednesday Night

Dreams: Secret Agent Full Contact Bowling

I started telling Rory Blyth, the smartest man in the world, about this dream in an email. I decided just to go ahead and write out the whole thing (as much as I could remember) and post it.

I’m tired. I’ve been going through a period of intense dreaming. It goes in cycles. Like always, I’ll eventually go back to more manageable dreaming. Until then…
– – – – –

I get a video emailed to me. It’s my boyfriend (in the dream) and he’s breaking up with me. In the video he has a laundry list of reasons, one of which is that he feels like we’re not really together anyways. I’m pretty angry as most of the things he lists he’s just as, if not more guilty than me. I try not to worry about it. I’m at a social gathering, trying to have fun but failing. I’m periodically checking my laptop for emails, from the higher-ups or a follow up to the video, though I tell myself I’m not.

I get a new assignment at the top secret government agency I work for. I’m used to moving often, but this time headquarters says I’ll likely be stationed here for the long haul. It’s with one of their active locations. At first I’m very flattered, as it’s a big promotion. Then I hear where it is and I want to scream. It’s where my ex, Raymond, works.

The base is a nondescript up-scale country home outside of the city. There’s a bench swing on the porch next to a large maple tree that over-hangs the house. A small garden lines the perimeter of the house. It looks innocent and homey. My ex is outside in dark shades, his hands stuck in his jean pockets. He’s tall and skinny as a beanpole with strait, long blond hair tied back in a ponytail. He looks like his skin hasn’t seen the sun in ages, and the shades in the early morning light testify to it. He grins at me as if all in the world is right and gives me a hug. It’s a nervous gesture. He obviously just found out I was coming.

He leads me into the house. A large-eyed woman sits at a baby-grand piano in the front hall looking at sheet music. She looks up and smiles slightly, tight lipped and goes back to scanning music. Her short hair is auburn and so is her lipstick. Her nose is small and slightly turned up and her skin almost albino. Her name is Lily. Jack is the boss and he shakes my hand as I reach the end of the foyer. He’s a tightly packaged and his sentences are the same. He’s a dark fellow in contrast to the other two. All business, hetakes over the tour. I learn that us four are the field team and the rest are in house operatives. We have a mission come nightfall. I’m told to be discreet unlike most “contract-cases”, as he calls people like me who move around a lot. He says I can’t just leave if things get screwed up. I need to play my cover well and carry out each job neat and quick. I need to learn to work with a team. He says he knows I’ve worked mainly solo, but HQ thinks I can make the adjustment. I agree with him, but internally I groan.

After the mission and cover debriefing, there’s a lot of time to kill. I wish I had stuff to move in to keep me busy, but all I have a two bags: clothes, hygienic implements, a few personal items, and my laptop. My new room is like a closet. All it has is a bed and a window. I can’t stay in there long. I start to get claustrophobic. So I have to venture out.

I meet some of the in house operatives- techs mostly. One of them in particular is eager to introduce himself to me. He’s short and squat, but that’s where the stereotypical computer geek ends. He’s got a black cap on backwards and a well kept goatee, clear, friendly face. He’s obviously the social type. His name is Ryan, and he’s heard a bunch about my through my ex. I can’t keep the groan internal. He gives me a summary of everyone that works in what everyone refers to as ‘the house’ (it’s easier to cover that way). I politely nod, but it’s too much information to store on top of all the important mission stuff. I’m almost not listening by the time he gets to describing Lily. Ryan tells me not to be jealous of her and I blink at him. He wisely moves on as quickly (as quickly as my ex had apparently).

Everyone starts letting loose by midday. Since work happens at night, daytime before a mission allows a bit of recreation time.

I venture outside and sit in the field in the back of the house, by a car. Sure enough, my ex follows me out. I expect things to be awkward, but we talk easy and start catching up. He’s talking fast and animatedly about anything and everything. Before I know it he’s got his arm around me and a combination of habits and hormones start to take hold. We get into the back of the parked car, but I realize it’s a bad idea as soon as I’m in there. I get up to leave but he tells me to wait and just sit with him. So, we do. I drift off to sleep leaning on him.

We are woken up by Lily and Jack coming out to the car to start the mission. Jack thinks we beat everyone, getting ready and to the car quickly. He congratulates us. I smirk at Ray who shrugs and puts his shades on.

We track the tagged in the car with what looks like an innocent GPS, but is much more. I’ve tracked down and subdued many of them in my career, but in my own way and with far less people. Jack follows the signal until it stops at an apartment building. He tells us all to get out in the parking lot. It’s then that the trouble starts.

I’m walking with Ray, Jack and Lily bringing up the rear, and next thing I know, fire is coming at us from the front. Ray drops to the ground too close to the flames and I drag him away. We get to the car, but we can’t go back to the house. If we’re followed, we can’t compromise anything. We go down a bunch of side streets and drive around the back of an elementary school. We go in an empty auditorium to regroup. The adrenaline starts to wear off and my face stings really bad. I reach up to touch it and a piece of my face cracks and is rubbed off onto my finger in a bloody mess. I feel my face ooze where I touch it. I go to the bathroom and do what I can with a medkit, but the whole lower right side of my face is cooked meat and there is a big gash on my forehead. I know it will be an easy fix at HQ, but for now it hurts like hell and I’m having a hard time doing it myself. I decide to go to the elementary school’s nurses office for some pain killers.

I open up the office and a man is in a stretcher minus two legs. Two nurses are hovered above him. They ask me what I want. I see the severity of this poor guy’s situation, but I am a bit taken aback that they don’t seem as concerned about my face as I. One of them gets really snotty, the other takes me into another room and pretends to care. She is trying to be sympathetic but asks what I expect her to do. She says she’s not allowed to give me any pain killers because I’m on duty. She says she can’t graft my face because they don’t have the time. Go figure.

Ray finds me and helps dress it a little better. He tries to be gentle but makes it hurt quite a bit. I try not to show it and joke by saying, “That’s what I get for not wearing any sunblock, huh?”

The operation is compromised, so we’re done for the night. The tagged one is probably half way to Mexico by now. I have to tend to my cover.

My cover is that I’m part of all women extreme bowling team. The city just happens to be the capital of this sport and its home team the best. As an expert player, I just got bought by the team. In this version of bowling, a person actually stands in front of the pins and uses their body to block the ball. There are rules for how one can and can’t do this. One woman I faced was really mean and cheating. She was a petite blonde, fair chick that had a bowling ball sized chest. She blocking bowling balls coming at her by doing splits and staying that way for too long. This is called holding in the game and is illegal. Before me my team mate, Steph, faced her. Steph is an immigrant from Paraguay and in the top of her game. She got all of her balls by the other team’s blocker, but there were still three pins standing. Considering how good the other team’s blocker was at cheating, this was impressive. The blocker continued to play dirty when I got up. I botched the first two balls, and she finally got a penalty called on her. I got pissed and threw a ball at her head and she caught it and threw it at me- I caught it. This too is illegal and we both had penalties called on us. The rest of the game was uneventful. Afterwards Ray and Ryan came over. Apparently they’d watched the whole game from the stands and think the sport is great. The other team’s blocker came over to congratulate us. I was surprised. I started talking to her and found her name was Chiran out she was an immigrant from Korea and winning meant a lot to her. I stood my ground and told her it was no excuse for being a bitch. She told me I was right and asked me if I wanted to hang out. So we made up and hugged. Ray made some suggestions on what we should be doing while hugging for his entertainment- especially with each other’s ‘bowling balls’. Ryan thought it was hilarious. I rolled my eyes.

Back at the house, Ray told me he was really thankful for what I did for him out in the field and he was sorry for the video. He said he’s been going through a rough spot and was very drunk. I tell him not to worry about it and that we were friends. He looks disappointed, and then kisses me before I can react. I look over and see Lily hovering nearby. I’m pissed and go off on him about how it’s not right.

“But she’s my sister…”

Confused.

“I thought she was your new girlfriend.”

Ray looked a bit sheepish, “Ryan kind of planted that idea to see if you would get jealous. It was his idea, but I wanted to see if you still had feelings for me.”

I shook my head, “You dumbass. You would have known the answer to that sooner if you didn’t make me think you had a girlfriend.”