Thursday, June 23, 2005

Those of you who use Hotmail know what treasures await, the instant you dip in and out of your account. I may speak only for myself, but donating emergency money to more than 65 deposed Nigerian presidents, sometimes deposed on the same day, gives me ample license to feel warm and philanthropic.

“Even though I’m the savior of Nigeria,” I reverently say to myself, “I still have enough time to verify my social security number and other sensitive information with Citibank, LaSalle Bank, Key Bank, Real Internet Bank, Bank of Swaziland, eBay.ru, and– Glory be, a sparkly banner ad.”

Microsoft doesn’t stop the magic there, however, and they continue to shower undeserved gifts on you long after you leave. There is a box filled with beguiling headlines on MSN.com, whose author I genuinely admire. I almost always find at least one headline interesting enough to warrant a click, and there’s a definite craft to inciting curiosity with naught but three or four words. Where these links go is an entirely different matter, a matter that requires your immediate attention.

“Did Tom propose right?” asked the box slyly.

“You’ve catered to my innermost thoughts!” I replied in awe. “I was under the impression he proposed left.”

I clicked and found only disappointment.co.uk. In place of a definitive answer about Tom–or even pictures of Tom eating his hands in shame–were general links about marriage proposals, one of them an authoritative list of 50 examples. I clicked.

And went straight to the eleventh circle of mortal wretchedness. I’m exaggerating a bit, of course, because I’m sure not all 50 were bad and some, dare I use that loathsome word, were probably “cute.” I guess I’ll never know for certain, what with the overwhelming possibility of never skimming it again. These two struck me as slightly disturbing:

“Freeze the ring in a homemade Popsicle, and give your sweet two treats in one!“

I’m no love doctor, let me be upfront about this, nor am I a statistician, but the odds of your “sweet” swallowing the million-dollar ring are just too good. The exclamation mark bookending the example suggests a kind of energy, which makes sense because digging through a goddamn toilet is a certifiable study in verve. Flush me some alimony payments, honey.

“Play Hangman and have the phrase be ‘Marry Me.’“

There is no imagery in human history more romantic than a stick person dangling from the gallows, piece by piece, limb by limb. Hot. I’d propose ditching Hangman in favor of Monopoly, though, mainly because nothing intimates passion and commitment like forcing your fiancée to trade her little metal dog for Baltic Avenue.

“You lose, babycakes. Now stop by my hotel party on Boardwalk. I left your ring in j_il, so don’t pass Go.”