Tuesday, February 8, 2005

Give those latex gloves a loud snap, dear reader, because we’re going to finish what we started yesterday. We’ll have only our conversation and our experimental trays–they look like [this]–to ferry us to enlightenment.

I watched a safety video during chem lab once, and at a pivotal moment the narrator and actor warned to never drink out of beakers. They put a large, cautionary X through a goggled guy ingesting a container full of secret chem lab chemicals, in the vain hope of illustrating the concept of not drinking. Well, those uptight bastards failed because I started sampling every beaker in the laboratorium. It’s your right to choose whether to drink or abstain, after all, and I couldn’t care less about what you do. Lights, please.

[Thanks,]
Description: expression of gratitude. Does not mean the sender wants to have your babies, however, as indicated by the comma or by the fact that he’s a man.

Analysis: while the sender may have paused mid-coffee to genuflect and sing praises in anticipation of your invoice, the truth is he doesn’t care very much. Probably typed it because it had fewer letters than “Sincerely” or “I hope you manage to fax it correctly this time, retard.”

Sample Usage:
Could you please resend memo #C-17YTPQ?

Thanks,
Frodo

[Best regards,]
Description: expression of kind wishes. Your regards are unmatched, dominating the paltry sentiments harbored by your colleagues or even your recipient. At least that’s what the dirty vagrant on that one street corner said.

Analysis: there is no way anyone can verify the quality of your regards, and that’s the beauty of this closing. I’m guilty of using this line for my own e-mails. In the interest of sustaining polite professionalism, the addressee must concede you went to the ends of the earth and returned flush with unimaginable regards. This isn’t the shit you find at the neighborhood dollar store, my friends. Your excellent regards can buffer the harshest of news.

Sample Usage:
You can expect your money sometime after my pet dachshund founds a barbershop quartet.

Best regards,
Danielle

[Sincerely,]
Description: highly formal expression of honesty, perfect for those times when you want to inject some Victorian sensibility into your e-mail.

Analysis: nothing screams antiquity like this one. Typically reserved for shot-in-the-dark e-mails to Bestbuy.com, “sincerely” should be seldom used. Legend has it people stopped employing it shortly before paper was discovered. If you use this closing, you likely also suspect your keyboard suffers from rabies and a healthy appetite for human flesh, namely yours.

Sample Usage:
Please remove me from your promotional list.

Verily heretofore I grant thee, Duchess Lord High Brockingtonshiresfordknickerknockers XLIXX, esq., my suppliant ears,
Paige

[!]
Description: symbol of exclamation. Could be used as a closing by itself, but much more effective when deployed with actual words.

Analysis: the ultimate middle finger. Pair it with any closing and you don an air of neglectful excitement. You care this much, “this” being the space between your snot and your nostrils.

Sample Usage:
Let’s talk about repossessing your house sometime on Monday, okay?

Thanks!
Jeff
———-
Instead of mailing me your final paper next week, could you send it by 5 PM tonight?

Let me know!
Professor Poopandsuch
———-
It’s so sad to hear that Fluffy got caught in the drill press. Again.

All the best!
Abby

[See you at the next conference, babycakes,]
Description: you’ve got nothing to lose, so let fly with your creativity.

Analysis: let’s say you’re getting fired. You probably don’t care about formalities anymore, and that’s when ribaldry and unkempt shenanigans skip hand-in-hand down the street.

Sample Usage:
I bet my trash can could be a better supervisor.

Imagining you naked,
Hans
———-
Now would be a good time to mention all the office supplies I stole, right?

I will find you in a deserted alley,
Christine
———-
Despite what you think, I am not mentally unstable. Oh, but I am. No I’m not.

STOP THE LAUGHING CROWS AND THE SAD, SAD CORN. Have mercy on me, turn off the mics!

Take back the parfait, take it ALL back. Woooooo.

I am coming to stab you,
Ed

[Sincerely!]
C.

Monday, February 7, 2005

Even without formal training, without accredited classes costing upwards of $200 an hour, we know the intricacies of e-mail closings. It’s intuitive, almost instinctual, and at the rate we’re going future generations of children will leave the womb with USB 2.0 enabled. Mommy will wave over her offspring in Cancun and say, “Junior, why don’t you lift up your sleeve so I can upload the family photos?” And then she’ll slap her forehead and declare, “Ha, gotcha! We don’t use digital cameras anymore. I can take 24-bit photos with my eyes. Yup, all in my skull.”

Technically savvy as we are, gentle reader, I thought it’d be worthwhile to document some of the more common phrases we use to end our messages. I don’t know, maybe we could reach scholarly consensus or something. Shit, I mean we’re published for crying out loud, assuming I remember to hit the “Publish” button.

So, e-mail closings. We’ll explore them in depth tomorrow, but here’s an idea of where we’re headed. For personal e-mails, you can finish your missives any way you please. You could conceivably end your entire message in a comma, making the whole thing a really long signature. Ah, but what about professional e-mails? Those are the ones that require our attention. They are marked by Franciscan solemnity, a seriousness encouraged by potential litigation, and this gravity seeps into the signatures. “Thanks,” “Sincerely,” “Best regards,” What happened to “KIT4EVAHKTHX” or “XOXOXO”?

Many times you’ll see a huge postscript in the form of a legal disclaimer, a confusing paragraph with words such as “forward-looking statements” and more conditionals than you can count, which may be fewer than three. In the spirit of lawsuits, I give you my own disclaimer. The closings we’ll discuss may work to your benefit or detriment. You might secure a promotion, or you may enrage the recipient and wake up dead in a ditch the following morning. You might even earn a piece of chocolate you needn’t share with others. That’s right, you’d have the whole thing to yourself.

Happy Monday,

B.

Friday, February 4, 2005

You may have given yesterday’s link a cursory glance, gentle reader, and if that’s the case I’d suggest exploring the story fully. It’s no great American novel, yet it doesn’t seek to claim that mantle. The format isn’t mindblowingly innovative, as the author freely admits, nor is the central conceit earthshaking, but it’s an entertaining horror story, heavy-handed at times, spun with care and fun pacing.

If nothing else, it’s an interesting study of motion. Notice how the author propels the tale forward, the devices he employs, the suspense created by something as simple as sentence length. Short, clipped phrases. No time to breathe. Electric.

Speaking of clipped phrases, we’ll reconvene on Monday to discuss the inner workings of e-mail closings. Sometimes, many times, what you see isn’t what you get. Right now, I’m mentally preparing myself for a horrific cycle of tossing and re-tossing a damned bowling ball. It’s purgatory, a gaping maw of hell whose lolling tongue looks suspiciously like a stretch of waxed wooden floor. Stay sane this weekend, okay?