With 171,000 results in 0.23 seconds after plugging my name into a Google search, I consider myself famous enough to start my own project and share with Miranda July and my readers the emails I’ve received on the tantalizing topics of sex, money, and friendship.
- LinkedIn sends me frequent updates on people, many of whom are unknown to me, but nevertheless reach out to let me know about their professional development. I’m so touched, whoever you are. And good luck getting a job.
- The Facebook people recently sent me a friend-request from someone I usually meet at the corner café, but they are anxious to wean me from that 19th century mode of communication. They just know that my friend and I would have more fun looking at the same newsfeed than looking at each other’s same old/same old faces.
- A friend sent me an email with the subject heading “Oh, dear”. What’s it about? Don’t know. Was afraid to open it.
- Angelina Jolie, Natalie Portman, Anne Hathaway, and Britney Spears all appear in subject headings in my inbox, but disappointingly none of them want to “like” me. They just want me to go to a weight clinic they “like”.
- I had two notifications recently with the subject heading: Returned Mail. See transcript for details. Sounds like missed opportunities to me. That’s so sad, don’t you think?
- The chair of the Writers’ Union wished me a “howlin’ good Canada Weekend”. Sounds painful. But could be M&S sexy, no?
- I get frequent offers to have my penis enlarged – I forward them to the husbands of friends, who might benefit from an improved performance. This should really go under the heading of “friendship”, but I’m short on “sex” entries. I know: I'm disappointed too.
- Klingne Takacs and other people with unpronounceable names invite me to become their mystery shopper. Where? In unpronounceable places like Nyiregyhaza or Cwmbran?
- Antiaging Central offers me a discount on intelligence boosters and an even deeper discount on stuff that guarantees energy, longevity, and weight loss. I suspect this has something to do with my on-line pics, which make me look old, stupid, and fat.
- The World Bank Payment Director is angry with me for not replying to his earlier email, in which he offered me millions of dollars.
- The Bank of Montreal, meanwhile, wants my account information – I don’t think I want to do business with people that can’t keep track of my account number.
- Streamyx has only a brief message for me: “Urgent Finance needed?” Not sure I do. What’s an “urgent finance” anyway? Will it boost my intelligence? Or is it just a typo for “urgent fiancé”? In which case: No, thanks. I’ve never liked urgent men.
Anyway: move over, Miranda July. I have a better project than WE THINK ALONE. It’s called WE DELETE ALONE.
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