Comments (2)

By Rebecca, March 30, 2010 11:55 am

CC or BCC: that is the question:

Whether ’tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous ‘Reply All’s,
Or to take arms against a sea of emails,
And by BCCing end them? To die: to sleep;
No more; and by a sleep to say we end
The inane replies and the thousand “Re:re:re:re”s
That email is heir to, ’tis a communication
Devoutly to be wish’d. To die, to sleep;
To sleep: perchance to hibernate or shut down: ay, there’s the rub;
For in that shut down of death what screensavers may come
When we have shuffled off this electronic coil,
Must give us suspend of so long uptime;
For who would bear the viruses and trojans of time,
The spammers wrong, the forwarder’s contumely,
The pangs of un’friended’ love, Amazon’s shipping delay,
The insolence of bosses and the spurns
That patient merit of the unworthy tweets,
When he himself might his quietus make
With a bare mouse? who would ZIP files bear,
To blog and Digg under a weary life,
But that the dread of something after shut down,
The undiscover’d OS from whose bourn
No emailer returns, puzzles the will
And makes us rather bear those outdated computers we have
Than fly to others that we know not of?
Thus fear does make cowards of us all;
And thus the native hue of 800×600 resolution
Is sicklied o’er with the pale cast of VGA,
And enterprises of great programing and moment
With this regard their currents and volts turn awry,
And lose the name of email. – Soft you now!
The fair Steve Jobs! Nymph, in thy orisons
By all my forwarded emails remember’d.

(With apologies to Shakespeare. And anyone who read this through to the end. I’m going to literature hell for this one.)

Comments (9)

By Rebecca, March 30, 2010 12:25 am

One of my roommates, Alice, had a friend over last night, Bob. The three of us were joking about Passover and Easter, and how none of us really practice what are ostensibly our respective religions. Alice was saying that she attended church enough at her (Catholic) middle school, so doesn’t need to attend now: she’s built up a quota. Bob replied, “Nope. You’re going to hell.” (He was joking. Don’t worry.) I laughed and said, “Well, I’ll be there too: I’m Jewish.”

Bob, chuckling, gestured to me and said, “Right. He’s going to hell because he doesn’t acknowledge the big JC…” And continued talking, using the incorrect pronoun, to the point where I started to wonder if he maybe wasn’t referring to me; most people catch themselves earlier than Bob did.

But no, I finally had to correct him, “She. Not he.”

He apologized, corrected himself, and the conversation moved on. Shortly thereafter I left and went to bed.

And realized I’d never actually told Bob I was trans.

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