Spam monkeys on the existential typewriter of my mind

I decided to do some long overdue cleaning of my spam folder (which is teeming with 11,000 messages — need to set up the auto-delete on old spam) and I was quickly scanning the names of senders to make sure no one I cared about got caught in the trap, when the name of my 4th grade teacher jumped to my attention — a name that isn’t common in the least, but there she was among “Alphonse Barnes” offering me discount pharmaceuticals, “Alvin Gardner” offering a hot stock tip, and “Andrea Parham” offering me help for. . . well, let’s just put it under the umbrella of “man problems.”

So what was my 4th-grade-teacher-turned-spam-robot trying to say to me? Don’t think youth can’t be returned. Freaky — I don’t think I’ve ever hit the delete key so hard.

Don’t think youth can’t be returned. Spam, in its sheer randomness and volume, has moved from easy plays on broadly-shared insecurities to messages that resonate with my own specific memories.

The spam monkeys are typing on the existential typewriter of my mind.

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One thought on “Spam monkeys on the existential typewriter of my mind

  1. Spam sender names are the most fascinating things — I would suspect they would make a wonderful dissertation topic. Their anthropological business value alone is wonderful. In ’87 when I was writing my dissertation it was very difficult to get email messsages to study, or even to write on the subject from a social-communications point of view. Now, with the web, the social space has exploded the areas of exploration. And when I was studying had I thought that SPAM would have been the big money maker, I would have changed topics to something more profitable — for email it’s spam and security that pop to the top. The rest is all settled in the middle.

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