I was in a rare mood just now. You know: blood sugar; all food is unattractive; you can’t find your handful of quarters for the meters; there is a DirecTV van in the parking spot you use in front of your house; you get a losing lottery ticket; you receive an email for an event and you’re, like, personally offended that you are getting spammed. The last one was particularly aggravating since today I received at least seventy five percent bad email.
The power of email has not yet been described accurately by media. Do we even know how to characterize our relationship to email? Unlike the phone, which delivers its messages less frequently and almost always to just you, personally, emails are constantly hitting you with information: general, trivial, unpleasant, funny (usually not). You get news, bills, forwards, spam, spam poetry, gossip (general), gossip (personal). Important stuff, less-important-than-dust stuff. It’s so stressful to sort through it sometimes. Often it feels like it is totally without reward. When you eliminate the spam with a spam folder, and then gradually decide that almost everything not to you personally from a human being should go in the spam folder as well, do you miss it? You still have to check it all the time. I go back and forth: sometimes I check my phone and see that there is a sale on lobster at Legal Seafoods online. I put it in spam. Then months later I look in my spam and I think, oh, how sad. I do like Legal Seafoods.
Since email is often boring, undramatic to portray in art (a person staring into a computer. When will this ever convey the drama that happens here in life? When will I watch a movie and see someone check an email and care? It has not happened yet for me, even though it has for many of my favorite critics), and constantly gettin’ at you, it doesn’t have that punch-to-the-gut as a phone call would. Information over the phone gives you the opportunity to emote right back. There is no time to think! Feelings are in real time. With email, the delay takes the buzz away from your reaction, and the feeling of always having to get back to someone about something from days ago is oppressive. It’s a numb, dreary sensation, getting back to the emails.
At the same time, I hate talking on the phone and it’s great to be able to muse on this or that, when emailing, and think “this person will read this at their leisure. If they have nothing to say right now, they’ll say something later.” It’s nice to send an email, isn’t it? Ahhh. You can take your time with it, too. You can use a complicated metaphor and go back and delete it and nobody will ever know. Best of all, you’ve had a quiet conversation with yourself, essentially. You took a monologue. Even a small email is perfectly encapsulated because it’s an entire thought surrounded by silence. It requires full attention to understand. You can also smoke, or eat a burger, or sit in your underpants as you converse via email — nobody can hear you chew, or interrupt you to say, “Are you in your underpants? I got that feeling. Like you were.”
In a perfect world, people would have no jobs other than to respond promptly and emotionally to their emails. Every single one. Spam would be sent by people who would read these responses and be affected by them. Our movies would change: every relationship would have an email component, and when people sat down at the computer, you would expect a real shitstorm, with crying. Our novels would have big chunks of email exchanges, bam-bam-bam, back and forth, and it wouldn’t be clunky and ruin the book for me, it would be well-executed and make sense and be tense and exciting. Either our whole email system has to change, or our art can never reference emails, ever again. This is the rule I’m making right now.