Dear Email
Dear Email,
Has it really been 13 years since we first met? I remember it so clearly. A bright summer afternoon. I was visiting my friend in Germany. “There’s someone I’d like you to meet,” she’d said, then led me down to the basement of her university, where the computers were kept. And there you were.
I cannot say it was love at first sight, but neither can I deny that I was instantly intrigued. Your demonstrable flair for the epistolary form, so romantic! So sophisticated! Yet in those revealing fluorescent lights, I could also appreciate your elegant simplicity. The balanced curves of your ASCII figures defined by a sea of pristine white space. My god, you were lovely. Unpretentious, unadorned, and above all highly practical--that was you, Email, through and through.
“Don’t be fooled. He was born of the military-industrial complex,” my friend hissed. But I didn’t listen. Instead I dreamed of you with every stamp I licked. Longing tugged at my heart each time the telephone’s shrill ring shattered my consciousness. Would it be inaccurate to say that I PINEd for you? No it would not. And was it my imagination, or did you PINE for me, too?
And then, as though fate had willed it, I moved to Seattle to attend the University of Washington and my PINEing gave way to blissful celebration. For there you were! You hadn’t changed a bit. Every morning I awoke with the expectation of turning you on, stroking you with my fingers as you lay on my laptop, clicking your delightful buttons, with a mere POP, sending you into previously unknown realms of pleasure that we naively referred to as “cyberspace.”
Those were good times, weren’t they? It was college, after all. Like so many, you’d gone PC but none-the-less allowed me to MAC on you. You claimed you couldn’t sustain attachments, yet we were inseparable soon enough. Remember? I’ll always hold fond memories of those late nights passed drinking beer with you and all your friends. Their silly nicknames and charming commands still bring a smile to my face. Oh Usenet, gopher, UNIX--where are you now? The world wide web was our oyster! We developed our own protocols! Stayed up well past our bedtimes chatting about nothing and everything! I should have known it wouldn’t last. Before I’d even gotten my degree, I’d caught you flirting with Mosaic. Yet, how could I have known what would lie ahead?
We graduated from college. I shuffled off the Doc Martin’s for higher, chunkier heels. You abandoned your minimalism for flashy emoticons, animated gifs, fancier fonts, and background images. I obtained an internship as a content provider, content to start at the bottom and work my way to the top. Your ambition, on the other hand, was astonishing. Your ascent to the top, unprecedented. While I slaved away for minimum wage, you were already hobnobbing with the CEO. Late at night, I still PINEd for you, but you had a whole new Outlook. And how could I not support you? You were an Explorer, while I was content to just Netscape on by.
Who was I to question your success? I was proud of your accomplishments. Who wouldn’t be? The way everybody seemed to know you and talk about you in such reverential terms. It wasn’t easy, sharing you with so many, the rapid decline in intimacy, the frustrating clogging of the invisible pipeline that connected you to me. But at least I could say I knew you back in the day. It meant something to me, Email. It still does.
Let’s face it. The Church of Universal Life may not have kept any record of it, but we were wed. When I gave you my password, I gave you my heart. And fool that I am, I remained faithful to you through every stage, each awkward upgrade, the endless moves from one IP address to another. I pretended not to notice when you slipped that DNS server your cookie. When you wanted to swing with the browsers, I complied even though their unabashed solicitations made me feel so exposed, so used. When you invited your pals from Madison Avenue over for drinks, I shrugged and said I didn’t mind. After all, it was nice to get the scoop on low airfares from such well-connected sources. The offers, the everyday low prices, the invitations, the coupons--how could I have known there would be no end to these people you called your friends? And my god, the truncated sentences, the misspelled words, the sudden explosions of angry back-and-forth, the long silences, your snide putdowns, RTFM--I put up with them all. Why, Email? Because you were worth it.
Oh, but you scoundrel! Did you have to go and get addicted to pills? Cialis, Viagra, Vioxx, Valium. It’s a miracle you’re able to send anymore! And the women. And the men. Barely legal, most of them are, with penises extended by mighty pumps and breasts enhanced with miracle creams. With all your philandering, your all-night partying ways, did you really believe we could keep up with a MORT($%^)GAGE? I can’t even count the number of times I’ve had to call the Spam Cops on you, you dirty little bastard And speaking of dirty, you are truly disgusting these days! Viruses, worms, even your Trojans are riddled with infectious disease. It seems every time I turn around, you’re hacking up new unpleasantness. If that weren’t enough, you took my deepest most private information and shared it with some sleazy thug in the former Soviet Republic!
Dr. Norton’s inoculated me and, thanks to therapy, I’m more AdAware than ever, but do you really expect me to put on protective gear each and every time you are near? And now, they’re even saying that you make people stupid! With all your rude intrusions, your flamboyant displays for attention at all ours, you’re worse than drugs, Email! 13 years ago, I’d never have believed it. But now, Email. But now.
Still, I can never stay mad at you for long. Is it our long history? Your unflappable charisma that keeps drawing me back into your arms? Or the fact that I need you more than I can say? All I know is that not a day goes by when I don’t long to touch you again, to hear your voice whispering in my ear, “You’ve got mail, baby. You’ve got mail.” Without you, there is such loneliness, such despair. My hands thrust about, reaching for your slender keys, but you’re not there. I listen for your lovely chimes, and hear only silence. I’m nostalgic for the good old days, Email. I can’t deny it. So what do you say? Let bygones be bygones, dispense with the cache of yesteryear. If we can no longer be lovers, can’t we at least be friends?
Yours truly,
jennfo@jennshreve.com
Has it really been 13 years since we first met? I remember it so clearly. A bright summer afternoon. I was visiting my friend in Germany. “There’s someone I’d like you to meet,” she’d said, then led me down to the basement of her university, where the computers were kept. And there you were.
I cannot say it was love at first sight, but neither can I deny that I was instantly intrigued. Your demonstrable flair for the epistolary form, so romantic! So sophisticated! Yet in those revealing fluorescent lights, I could also appreciate your elegant simplicity. The balanced curves of your ASCII figures defined by a sea of pristine white space. My god, you were lovely. Unpretentious, unadorned, and above all highly practical--that was you, Email, through and through.
“Don’t be fooled. He was born of the military-industrial complex,” my friend hissed. But I didn’t listen. Instead I dreamed of you with every stamp I licked. Longing tugged at my heart each time the telephone’s shrill ring shattered my consciousness. Would it be inaccurate to say that I PINEd for you? No it would not. And was it my imagination, or did you PINE for me, too?
And then, as though fate had willed it, I moved to Seattle to attend the University of Washington and my PINEing gave way to blissful celebration. For there you were! You hadn’t changed a bit. Every morning I awoke with the expectation of turning you on, stroking you with my fingers as you lay on my laptop, clicking your delightful buttons, with a mere POP, sending you into previously unknown realms of pleasure that we naively referred to as “cyberspace.”
Those were good times, weren’t they? It was college, after all. Like so many, you’d gone PC but none-the-less allowed me to MAC on you. You claimed you couldn’t sustain attachments, yet we were inseparable soon enough. Remember? I’ll always hold fond memories of those late nights passed drinking beer with you and all your friends. Their silly nicknames and charming commands still bring a smile to my face. Oh Usenet, gopher, UNIX--where are you now? The world wide web was our oyster! We developed our own protocols! Stayed up well past our bedtimes chatting about nothing and everything! I should have known it wouldn’t last. Before I’d even gotten my degree, I’d caught you flirting with Mosaic. Yet, how could I have known what would lie ahead?
We graduated from college. I shuffled off the Doc Martin’s for higher, chunkier heels. You abandoned your minimalism for flashy emoticons, animated gifs, fancier fonts, and background images. I obtained an internship as a content provider, content to start at the bottom and work my way to the top. Your ambition, on the other hand, was astonishing. Your ascent to the top, unprecedented. While I slaved away for minimum wage, you were already hobnobbing with the CEO. Late at night, I still PINEd for you, but you had a whole new Outlook. And how could I not support you? You were an Explorer, while I was content to just Netscape on by.
Who was I to question your success? I was proud of your accomplishments. Who wouldn’t be? The way everybody seemed to know you and talk about you in such reverential terms. It wasn’t easy, sharing you with so many, the rapid decline in intimacy, the frustrating clogging of the invisible pipeline that connected you to me. But at least I could say I knew you back in the day. It meant something to me, Email. It still does.
Let’s face it. The Church of Universal Life may not have kept any record of it, but we were wed. When I gave you my password, I gave you my heart. And fool that I am, I remained faithful to you through every stage, each awkward upgrade, the endless moves from one IP address to another. I pretended not to notice when you slipped that DNS server your cookie. When you wanted to swing with the browsers, I complied even though their unabashed solicitations made me feel so exposed, so used. When you invited your pals from Madison Avenue over for drinks, I shrugged and said I didn’t mind. After all, it was nice to get the scoop on low airfares from such well-connected sources. The offers, the everyday low prices, the invitations, the coupons--how could I have known there would be no end to these people you called your friends? And my god, the truncated sentences, the misspelled words, the sudden explosions of angry back-and-forth, the long silences, your snide putdowns, RTFM--I put up with them all. Why, Email? Because you were worth it.
Oh, but you scoundrel! Did you have to go and get addicted to pills? Cialis, Viagra, Vioxx, Valium. It’s a miracle you’re able to send anymore! And the women. And the men. Barely legal, most of them are, with penises extended by mighty pumps and breasts enhanced with miracle creams. With all your philandering, your all-night partying ways, did you really believe we could keep up with a MORT($%^)GAGE? I can’t even count the number of times I’ve had to call the Spam Cops on you, you dirty little bastard And speaking of dirty, you are truly disgusting these days! Viruses, worms, even your Trojans are riddled with infectious disease. It seems every time I turn around, you’re hacking up new unpleasantness. If that weren’t enough, you took my deepest most private information and shared it with some sleazy thug in the former Soviet Republic!
Dr. Norton’s inoculated me and, thanks to therapy, I’m more AdAware than ever, but do you really expect me to put on protective gear each and every time you are near? And now, they’re even saying that you make people stupid! With all your rude intrusions, your flamboyant displays for attention at all ours, you’re worse than drugs, Email! 13 years ago, I’d never have believed it. But now, Email. But now.
Still, I can never stay mad at you for long. Is it our long history? Your unflappable charisma that keeps drawing me back into your arms? Or the fact that I need you more than I can say? All I know is that not a day goes by when I don’t long to touch you again, to hear your voice whispering in my ear, “You’ve got mail, baby. You’ve got mail.” Without you, there is such loneliness, such despair. My hands thrust about, reaching for your slender keys, but you’re not there. I listen for your lovely chimes, and hear only silence. I’m nostalgic for the good old days, Email. I can’t deny it. So what do you say? Let bygones be bygones, dispense with the cache of yesteryear. If we can no longer be lovers, can’t we at least be friends?
Yours truly,
jennfo@jennshreve.com
3 Comments:
Hahaa. Oh, where art thou e-mail? Wonderful, wonderful. And, congratulations on "The Loudest Sound" as well. I read it, and loved it. 'S bookmarked. Wonderful idea there- I love the silence, but I do see how it could drive someone crazy.
Ahhh, but who was the first in the family to discover and embrace the wonders of the computer and email ehhhh sister? ;-)
Rob
I remember that basement.... I find it ironic that I helped introduce you to email, when I can barely bother check and respond to my own messages these days.
I just stumbled upon your blog, and wanted to say hello. I'm still in Portland, still happily living with Tony and our two cats, and working at the Children's Museum. Hope you're well!
Amy
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