Mail

Don't you like getting stuff in the mail?

There's something about getting something in the mail. You know when you get home and you kind of relax a little bit and maybe eat dinner? Then you check your email for the ten-thousandth time that day and there's nothin new or interesting. Then maybe you go check up on some of your favorite blogs. Maybe you check out Facebook to see if you got anything significant. Then you remember, "Hey, the mailbox! Good ol' mail! There'll be somethin' cool there waiting for me!" But how often is any of that really all that thrilling? It's always such a let-down. We're always chasing that feeling. We're such attention addicts.

With email you get mostly spam. Even if the obvious spam is filtered out pretty well, you still get newsletters, or order updates, or bill reminders, or whatever other impersonal messages.

It's not unlike snail mail, where you get newsletters, catalogs, solicitations, or bills. What sucks about opening real mail as opposed to email, though, is that you're in no mood to act on anything. You just want to get something cool and be done with it. You're not going to look at that bill right now. It'll get lost in the pending pile along with those 1099 forms you'll wish you could find later in April.

With blogs, well, the central ego of those isn't you... it's the writer. No thrill there.

From time to time on Facebook you get a wall post, or a message, or a funny BFF Toaster review of you. But usually it's just impersonal crap like, "So-and-so was duped into sending you a notification using our spammy app! Click here to be forced to install it before you and your friend know what you've done!"

Remember the old days when it was just the mailbox and the landline?

There was no caller-ID. You'd answer every call hoping it was the girl from your class who told you she liked your shirt. It was always someone asking for your mom. The worst was when they thought you were her! My mom's friend Barbara did that to me all the time. What a demasculating thing to do to a 12-year-old.

You'd get off the school bus, or walk home from school, and go to the mailbox hoping that neato toy you spent your paper route money on finally came. Or your Nintendo Power magazine. Or a letter from your remote friend. Or a postcard from your grandma. Hell, at that age, you were excited about anything that came addressed to your name! Even if it was crap!

Sometimes you'd be expecting something special or just hoping for something out of the blue, so you'd check the mail. Then check again. Then again. Then just sit on the porch waiting for the postman. You'd try to figure out when it is that he usually comes, and you worry that maybe your residence didn't get any mail that day! You'd wish that every car sound you heard was the mail truck.

The worst was when you'd be waiting for something on a Saturday. No school to keep you busy all day. You just gotta distract yourself and check the mail later. But maybe he'll come early today! How many strolls to the mailbox have you taken on a single Saturday? The worst is that if it doesn't come.... you have to wait until Monday! Or worse, Tuesday if there's a holiday.

Have you ever had someone get the mail and put it in a drawer somewhere and not tell you! Grrrr....

What about when you get home from a long vacation and you go pick up the mail at the post office that's been piling up... What an orgy of torn envelopes and papercuts that always is!

Sometimes you'd be waiting for a package. The UPS man would come like Santa dressed in brown. You'd hear the big truck coming around the corner all the way from the basement. How disappointing was it when he stopped at a neighbor's house instead? Bastards!

Anyway, today I got something pretty awesome delivered to me. UPS brought my new Wii. It had all the stuff that gets ya so excited: the eye-less Amazon smirk on the box, the smell of new plastic and electronics, earlier-than-expected delivery. And all the nostalgia that comes from the words "Nintendo", "Mario", and "Press Start".

I also got a post card. Now this one was particularly creepy because the handwriting on it looked way too familiar. It was my name, that's for sure. And my address. It was handwritten, that's always cool. But something was off. Who wrote this? Let's see... Who's it from? This should be exciting!

Ah damn it. It's from the dentist. And it's MY HANDWRITING! Argh. I feel so violated. I guess I should make my appointment. Thanks a lot.

The rest of the mail was junk, bills, and prospectuses. To the pending pile and the recycling bin.