this was to a guy i had seen around over the course of a year at various shows and around campus. after discovering we had a mutual friend, i took the opportunity to try and get to know him. we had a lot of awkward conversations, mostly over email (my doing), but eventually my social anxiety kept us from ever successfully going on a date. i stood him up at least four times, but the little trooper kept on trucking. i guess it's for the best.
fredericksburg, virginia
---
XXXX,
ew, I'm TOTALLY drunk. so this is really embarrassing. i think i'd be spilling embarassing secrets if i could type straight...long story short...eep, you're adorable! i'm glad i saw you tonight! are you seeing caribou? sorry i ditched you at whole foods! i'd like to hang out but i'm so awkward. does it help if i tell you i've had a rough year?
Saturday, February 23, 2008
Thursday, February 14, 2008
this is one of my great shameful emails, mostly because it is an emotional outpouring to someone that i didn't know, and wouldn't know. XXXX is a writer that a friend and i both became kind of enamored with when we saw him give a reading. portland being the town that it is, i later saw him around and we got coffee.
this writer had a mfa in creative writing and name-dropped russian authors and obscure beat poets and art films and lit movements during our conversation. intellectual snobbery isn't my bag, but both despite this and because of this, i walked home home feeling like a philistine. i stewed a bit and wrote a long, defensive, expository email to this stranger.
the note is overwritten, which is annoying, and too personal, which is also bothersome, but what shames me most about this email is that i even felt a need to write it. i'm not interested in russian lit and poetry. what of it?
portland, oregon
---
Hi. Hello. Hey.
I have been eating lavender-laced chocolate and doing spurts of work and thinking about books and writers and writing. You mentioned works by a lot of writers I have never heard of. This had me feeling very un-literary and poorly read, and I have been thinking about why that is.
I have always been wary of the literary scene, personified for me by all those people I knew at university who majored in lit and sucked hard. I read because I seek words that speak to me, move me, break my heart and make it sing, and I always felt that lit classes and discussions of great works muddied that experience. I was never really interested in historical context or the movement to which it belonged; to me reading is very personal. I resented having to listen to pretentious lit students who domineered discussions with speeches peppered with GRE vocab words and literary theories, who spoke lots but said very little. And so I became an anth major (encountering a vanity of a whole different sort), turning my back on the lit department but also on authors and writers that might qualify as "literature" because I associated their works with the masturbatory speeches of obnoxious coeds. Acknowledging this makes me feel very young.
I am slowing realizing what should have been obvious: scoffing at the big names has left me shunning some very good writers. I won't say important, because I'm not sure that I care about important. But there is even some hypocrisy in that.
Have you seen The Devil Wears Prada? It is a movie, not a film, one outfitted with pretty people and pretty clothes, a Cinderella story with a flash of the self-made woman thrown in. At one point the main character – a very unfashionable girl who gets a gig as the assistant to an Anna Wintour-esque fashion mag editor – says she doesn't care about high fashion, it's all so ridiculous and pointless. And the editor looks at her and says that even the sweater that she is wearing, the one she plucked from the sales rack or a thrift store for its color or texture or practicality or whatever, the sweater she chose for totally personal reasons, that sweater– and probably even her subconscious draw to it – exists because however many years ago, the people in that room, the eds of this fashion magazine, plucked a similar style from the samples from an up and coming designer, and the rest is history. I think about this often. Not necessarily with regard to clothes, but with regard to philosophy, to literature, to music. I can feign disinterest in literary history and great writers, but that history percolates throughout my subconscious and the subconscious of writers I love, so that disinterest is pretty juvenile.
I took your list and picked a few poets and short story writers to start with – plus Peeling the Onion and To The Wedding - and put some books on hold at the library. The resulting stack may last me into the winter, but I'm hoping to find at least a few that move me immediately, so I can buy my own copies and mark them up with a number two pencil.
I said that I am unfamiliar with poetry. I rescind this statement. Bob Dylan, Joanna Newsom, Joni Mitchell - these people are my great loves and yet I disregard their words as poetry because they are set to music. Perhaps in the writing community there is something impure about songwriters as poets - I don't know. Are you familiar with Joanna? If not I'll burn her for you. The first time I listened to YS, her latest album, it was in San Diego. My brother had seen her in concert and sent me the CD. I listened the first song – it's like, eight minutes long – in the car while driving to meet a man I was just starting to date, and then I listened to it again. I think I had been nervous about this date; maybe we were still in that nebulous phase. I don't remember. But I do know that I got to the bar where we were meeting and didn't want to get out of the car. I had been looking forward to this moment all day, anticipating his face and his smile. Now all I wanted was to stay and listen to Joanna, over and over. I reluctantly got out of the car and tried to snap out of this trance I was in from her music and words and couldn't, really, so I said, hi, I just listened to this album, and I think it's going to change my life, and I need a drink and a few minutes of not talking to you. He said he understood, it was cool; I think in reality it was probably the beginning of the end with him, a flash of my crazy flag. I didn't care and still don't. Because who is he? Some guy a few thousand miles away with whom I shared several weeks of seemingly deep conversations with. We no longer speak. And she? Well, she's forever, and she's tops.
this writer had a mfa in creative writing and name-dropped russian authors and obscure beat poets and art films and lit movements during our conversation. intellectual snobbery isn't my bag, but both despite this and because of this, i walked home home feeling like a philistine. i stewed a bit and wrote a long, defensive, expository email to this stranger.
the note is overwritten, which is annoying, and too personal, which is also bothersome, but what shames me most about this email is that i even felt a need to write it. i'm not interested in russian lit and poetry. what of it?
portland, oregon
---
Hi. Hello. Hey.
I have been eating lavender-laced chocolate and doing spurts of work and thinking about books and writers and writing. You mentioned works by a lot of writers I have never heard of. This had me feeling very un-literary and poorly read, and I have been thinking about why that is.
I have always been wary of the literary scene, personified for me by all those people I knew at university who majored in lit and sucked hard. I read because I seek words that speak to me, move me, break my heart and make it sing, and I always felt that lit classes and discussions of great works muddied that experience. I was never really interested in historical context or the movement to which it belonged; to me reading is very personal. I resented having to listen to pretentious lit students who domineered discussions with speeches peppered with GRE vocab words and literary theories, who spoke lots but said very little. And so I became an anth major (encountering a vanity of a whole different sort), turning my back on the lit department but also on authors and writers that might qualify as "literature" because I associated their works with the masturbatory speeches of obnoxious coeds. Acknowledging this makes me feel very young.
I am slowing realizing what should have been obvious: scoffing at the big names has left me shunning some very good writers. I won't say important, because I'm not sure that I care about important. But there is even some hypocrisy in that.
Have you seen The Devil Wears Prada? It is a movie, not a film, one outfitted with pretty people and pretty clothes, a Cinderella story with a flash of the self-made woman thrown in. At one point the main character – a very unfashionable girl who gets a gig as the assistant to an Anna Wintour-esque fashion mag editor – says she doesn't care about high fashion, it's all so ridiculous and pointless. And the editor looks at her and says that even the sweater that she is wearing, the one she plucked from the sales rack or a thrift store for its color or texture or practicality or whatever, the sweater she chose for totally personal reasons, that sweater– and probably even her subconscious draw to it – exists because however many years ago, the people in that room, the eds of this fashion magazine, plucked a similar style from the samples from an up and coming designer, and the rest is history. I think about this often. Not necessarily with regard to clothes, but with regard to philosophy, to literature, to music. I can feign disinterest in literary history and great writers, but that history percolates throughout my subconscious and the subconscious of writers I love, so that disinterest is pretty juvenile.
I took your list and picked a few poets and short story writers to start with – plus Peeling the Onion and To The Wedding - and put some books on hold at the library. The resulting stack may last me into the winter, but I'm hoping to find at least a few that move me immediately, so I can buy my own copies and mark them up with a number two pencil.
I said that I am unfamiliar with poetry. I rescind this statement. Bob Dylan, Joanna Newsom, Joni Mitchell - these people are my great loves and yet I disregard their words as poetry because they are set to music. Perhaps in the writing community there is something impure about songwriters as poets - I don't know. Are you familiar with Joanna? If not I'll burn her for you. The first time I listened to YS, her latest album, it was in San Diego. My brother had seen her in concert and sent me the CD. I listened the first song – it's like, eight minutes long – in the car while driving to meet a man I was just starting to date, and then I listened to it again. I think I had been nervous about this date; maybe we were still in that nebulous phase. I don't remember. But I do know that I got to the bar where we were meeting and didn't want to get out of the car. I had been looking forward to this moment all day, anticipating his face and his smile. Now all I wanted was to stay and listen to Joanna, over and over. I reluctantly got out of the car and tried to snap out of this trance I was in from her music and words and couldn't, really, so I said, hi, I just listened to this album, and I think it's going to change my life, and I need a drink and a few minutes of not talking to you. He said he understood, it was cool; I think in reality it was probably the beginning of the end with him, a flash of my crazy flag. I didn't care and still don't. Because who is he? Some guy a few thousand miles away with whom I shared several weeks of seemingly deep conversations with. We no longer speak. And she? Well, she's forever, and she's tops.
sent to an old boss from when i was an intern. he's 12 years older and was certainly just taking advantage of a younger more naive me. we "dated" for 2 years. god. what a mess.
los angeles, california
---
I wanted to thank you again for last night, I had a really good time. And also just give you an update on the trials and tribulations of my quarter-life-crisis-filled girl heart.
I know you told me very early on that you are not interested in any kind of anything relationship-wise and I respect that and appreciate that you were honest with me, but after about 2 years I ought to be honest with you too. I got attached. Pretty early on, and pretty quickly and it only gets worse every time I see you. I really like who you are and I like being around you and I guess that's about all it takes for me. I've done a pretty good job of ignoring it for a while but I don't know how much longer that will last - just to give you fair warning.
I hope your pitch goes well today. Let me know if you want to celebrate or commiserate the outcome sometime.
los angeles, california
---
I wanted to thank you again for last night, I had a really good time. And also just give you an update on the trials and tribulations of my quarter-life-crisis-filled girl heart.
I know you told me very early on that you are not interested in any kind of anything relationship-wise and I respect that and appreciate that you were honest with me, but after about 2 years I ought to be honest with you too. I got attached. Pretty early on, and pretty quickly and it only gets worse every time I see you. I really like who you are and I like being around you and I guess that's about all it takes for me. I've done a pretty good job of ignoring it for a while but I don't know how much longer that will last - just to give you fair warning.
I hope your pitch goes well today. Let me know if you want to celebrate or commiserate the outcome sometime.
a week after i sent this email to a coworker, we found out that all communications, personal or otherwise, were being monitored by our bosses. we were both let go.
los angeles, california
---
Dear XXXX,
I'm starting to think our bosses are the most incapable people I've ever seen. If they aren't gorging in the kitchen, they are drinking in the bar. Don't worry though, at least we're here to pick up the slack that they can't deal with. In fact, I bet this company wouldn't survive without us. I mean, a high functioning alcoholic is still an alcoholic. Am I right or am I right? Regardless of their terrible judgment in business and personal lives, I'm glad I have you as a co-worker. See you on Monday!
XXXX
los angeles, california
---
Dear XXXX,
I'm starting to think our bosses are the most incapable people I've ever seen. If they aren't gorging in the kitchen, they are drinking in the bar. Don't worry though, at least we're here to pick up the slack that they can't deal with. In fact, I bet this company wouldn't survive without us. I mean, a high functioning alcoholic is still an alcoholic. Am I right or am I right? Regardless of their terrible judgment in business and personal lives, I'm glad I have you as a co-worker. See you on Monday!
XXXX
a tragic moment in my career as an almost groupie. luckily i came to my senses about randomly crushing on guys i dont know just because they've been in rolling stone and stopped the email exchange before i lost too much self respect.
washington, dc
---
So I've been attempting to edit a paper all day and thought I'd take a much needed break and google you since, although you gave off the impression of being a very dorky and non-sociopathic person last night, I know nothing about you except you like computers, play in a band, and went to school with xxxxx. so far this is what i've discovered: 1. some random guy says that your voice makes him want to break eggs (this was meant as a compliment) 2. you like fun dip (according to wikipedia) and well, actually that's all i know so far. i got distracted looking at pictures of britney spears in hot pants.
ok. i'm going to stop pondering why i'm writing you an email and get back to work.
washington, dc
---
So I've been attempting to edit a paper all day and thought I'd take a much needed break and google you since, although you gave off the impression of being a very dorky and non-sociopathic person last night, I know nothing about you except you like computers, play in a band, and went to school with xxxxx. so far this is what i've discovered: 1. some random guy says that your voice makes him want to break eggs (this was meant as a compliment) 2. you like fun dip (according to wikipedia) and well, actually that's all i know so far. i got distracted looking at pictures of britney spears in hot pants.
ok. i'm going to stop pondering why i'm writing you an email and get back to work.
having odd flirtations over email at work with famous, married writers whose work you're editing ... great idea, right?
no city, no state
---
him:
why is YYYY listed as the author before me on my last column?
xox
XXXX
me:
not sure. i didn't post. we can change. i'm sure it was just a mistake.
has our relationship progressed to xs and os?
him:
you don't think?
me:
My mother always warned me not to be too affectionate with men I've only met on the Internet. But your columns have been particularly good lately, so i suppose I can make an exception.
him:
Got a photo?
no city, no state
---
him:
why is YYYY listed as the author before me on my last column?
xox
XXXX
me:
not sure. i didn't post. we can change. i'm sure it was just a mistake.
has our relationship progressed to xs and os?
him:
you don't think?
me:
My mother always warned me not to be too affectionate with men I've only met on the Internet. But your columns have been particularly good lately, so i suppose I can make an exception.
him:
Got a photo?
los angeles, california
---
i chose to end this relationship in january. i have trust issues, i can't stop imagining you with another girl, etc. aside from many other reasons that we just don't get along when we're not in the same place - i'm jealous of your lifestyle, job, social life, etc. I have my own infidelity/self esteem problems. I enjoy the attention of other men and have very little will power to keep myself from falling for any guy who seems even partially interested. For all these reasons, I chose that this was not what I wanted in my life at that point.
---
i chose to end this relationship in january. i have trust issues, i can't stop imagining you with another girl, etc. aside from many other reasons that we just don't get along when we're not in the same place - i'm jealous of your lifestyle, job, social life, etc. I have my own infidelity/self esteem problems. I enjoy the attention of other men and have very little will power to keep myself from falling for any guy who seems even partially interested. For all these reasons, I chose that this was not what I wanted in my life at that point.
In February you came back, very loving, very romantic, very persistant and amazing and I fell into that. I thought it was exactly what I wanted and I knew how completely and passionately I could fall back in love with you and I asked you to promise me no more pain. Maybe it's the passion, or the low self esteem, or whatever, but a week ago I made a mistake (a mistake I've made MANY times - maybe it's not a mistake, maybe it's a perminant flaw) and I got jealous and stupid and you realized that you didnt' want to be apart of it and you left. for a full week. you didn't talk to me. there was no, "let's work on this" no, "i'm upset, give me time to think this out". You just left. And I was hurt. And I don't want that. Sure, I take FULL blame - it was my fault to begin with - everything is. I don't care. I accept all of it. But no matter what it is, this relationship is NOT healthy. For either of us. I don't ever want to cry because of you ever again.
No matter whose fault it is.
No matter whose fault it is.
The end.
Now leave.
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