On Binding

First off, this lady is a Town Manager. She manages a town. I did not know this was a thing but I'm sure it entails making sure Town Employees aren't doubling up on their cigarette breaks and doing the check list at the end of every night when the town closes. It also apparently entails using HUGE amounts of whitespace in emails. Lady, you are making my blog look MESSY.

Here's the full version of that attachment, just so we all have a clear idea of what's going on here:

So this is basically a binder depicting Sonic enjoying his own biography, I guess? I think I'm going to start keeping all my writings in one of these. That way every day I will wake up with enthusiasm to write. And to go fast. Shirlyne is not on board, though:

And the full version, in all its glory:

There. Not cute at all. I listened to her criticism and fixed the issue. Now we can inspire fear and awe in the hearts of anyone interested in  for the mooring contract  . I don't know why she hasn't gotten back to me.

On Engagement (Updated)

These are always so much more fun when the recipient replies back. Here we see some truly excellent customer service, if perhaps some poor proofreading and advisory vaguery.

Can I just say right off the bat that I would hate to be the guy that sells rings by sending links to various ring websites after "getting to know" the client? I mean, to each his own, but this poor dude is probably glued to his phone in the most regrettable way, and I am not helping.

I'm honestly impressed that this guy is willing to help what is obviously a hot mess. Points for you, David. But wait, there's more! These emails were sent in 2011, and I'm kinda kicking myself that I didn't keep up the act when I actually got a bite. But it's not healthy to live with regret, and there's no time like the present, and all aphorisms are true, so I went ahead and circled the wagons after having taking more than a few "deep breathes". After three years, I surfaced:

***UPDATE!***

He got back to me:

So he's on to me, and fair enough. But just in case I'm not joking, he's still willing to help. You might call it naivete, but I call it someone who recognizes that humans are absurd and does his best to roll with it. More points for David. This does make me feel a bit bad for wasting an honest man's time, though, so I made sure to write up a positive review for him on the company website:

Dear Tesoro Team,

I would just like to nominate David ------- for some high accolade in the category of customer service. When I was looking for a ring, he was most helpful. But more importantly, when it became suddenly clear that marriage was not about to happen, he was STILL helpful. When I was down on my bones and my soul olfacted as a campsite waste-pit in high July, David was there. When my personal safety net backed away like at a risky circus where the men make bets and the women close their eyes, and I stared down at the tigers and the midgets knowing that the scaffolding was never built to code and the ring leader may have his hands in the nay-sayers pockets, David stood there with his arms wide open, without so much as a Hamilton in the pool. Here is a man, and a good one, who will bend his eyes and fingers toward an empty heart, with all the dust and shadow that includes. My biggest sadness remains the loss of my love, the only bit made to fit the custom security screws of my heart. But my second biggest sadness is that I was unable to purchase a diamond from this kind-hearted burn-balm, this king of customer service. He may consider his contribution slight, but I did not. What can we do to recognize his meaning? I cannot buy a ring, for having it would crush me and I already feel dense enough. Please award him a commission, a promotion, a hug -- anything. Mr. ------ is Good At His Job (caps intended), though he could be a better proofreader; I am willing to let language rules slide in the face of cares. 

Please heed my suggestion, as it would relieve a poor man's sorrow and show his gratitude,

--Ben ------------

I made sure to let David know about this as well:

AND WE HAVE A WINNER! Everybody can go home now. David is my new favorite stranger. 

On Avant Garde

Hylophobia is the fear of trees/forests. I was honestly surprised to find that there was only one page of google images for its opposite, and none of them were relevant. YES I GOT CURIOUS ALL THE SUDDEN.

Jennifer still hasn't gotten back to me. I don't care how talented you are -- if you can't maintain communication with those who see the promise in your work, you will not get far. I HOPE YOU'RE READING THIS JENNIFER AND I HOPE YOU'RE USING SOMEONE ELSE'S SUPERIOR BUTT PLUG WHILST DOING SO

On Distance

I have no reply for this one (it's a no-reply address anyway), but I just had to post it because I think it's delightful. What language is this even? There is a Ben ------- who speaks this? I'm all about exclusive cocktail parties, but I'm not sure how I feel about a close-up party with these two men. Am I allowed to leave room for Jesus? The relaxed one is laughing at me, while the Thai James Bond is concerned about what is right behind me -- that can't be good. There will be 500 of something and secretly 999 of something else, so that's cool. I think I will have to assume that this is moon language and they accidentally sent an email into the past advertising an event on the 15th of Nsngrau in the year 2557. Maybe by that point people actually go to parties that are about credit cards.

On Ambiguity

I guess you could define ambiguity as a subject with no positively identifiable body. Anyway, that's what this email has. They say there's no such thing as a dumb question, but maybe a dumb question is one where a simple truthful answer makes you dumber.

On Knowing What We Want

Man wants truck
Man wants to drive
Man yells his name and he feels alive
No such luck
How can man claim
To know what he wants when he doesn't know his name

On Identity

Okay I have maybe been too harsh on some of these people who don't know the email address of their friend/business partner/son/whatever. Because some people don't even know their own email address. OR as I choose to interpret it are bit by bit shedding their ego and blurring the nominal lines that separate each of us from the collective consciousness.

I'll see y'all at the singularity.

On Storytelling

I don't know who Emily is, but she was kind enough to send me her story about quiz night. I decided to repay the favor by sending her a story about carnivals. Fun!

I am glad Emily and I both have someone to share these moments with now. Oh and in case you are in suspense YES my email did eventually send.