Oh, Mr. Postman. Bring Me a...

 

Maybe I'm alone here, but I enjoy the act of sending and receiving mail. Don't get me wrong, I have no issues with email and in fact, I use it all the time. But there's something nostalgic about gathering letters from a mailbox, off the floor after sliding through a slot in the door or from a lock-and-key box from the post office, that isn't comparable to the electronic version.

Perhaps it's a direct result of Americans using email so frequently that this nostalgia has even developed. We've started to look into our cyber-mailboxes multiple times a day instead of savoring the anticipation and enjoyment of collecting scattered envelopes after work. We've become mail-spoiled. Shame on us.

I'm not going to lie, I like getting Publisher's Clearing House prize patrol warnings — it makes me feel alive. There's nothing like seeing that pale yellow envelope to know you arrived. It's so grown up, so here and now, so trash chic. I feel validated as a human being. Yes, I'm here! Heck, they even know where here is, they know where I live! Send me the latest newsletter from some obscure organization I signed up for during my empowered college years, I still may want to save a starving child in Uganda and I love getting those little return address stick-'ems and matching stickers — keep them coming I say!

Sure, "going paperless" may be the hip save-the-environment way to go, but what's the fun in that? Instead of the satisfaction of ripping useless reminders to renew your magazine subscription, you have a full inbox. Hitting delete just doesn't do it. I actually like to stand with the trash can nearby, tearing apart useless information and chucking it into the bin until I'm left with a slim pile of credible mail. That way I know I've accomplished something. And it feels good.

And if not for the sense of accomplishment it gives you, then at least for the mail men and women. I like to think of them as a Norman Rockwell character from his paintings, trudging through knee-high snow in frigid temps just to bring you the daily telegraph. That's dedication. Come rain, come snow, come hail and sweltering heat they suffer so that you can stay communicated to your love ones... or prize patrols. Are we just going to ignore their century-long sacrifice?

Sometimes I even romanticize about the days of the Pony Express and how exciting mail used to be. (*Sigh*) If only we still had that allure: Racing through the mountains atop heated steeds, saddle bags bulging with love letters and prize announcements from Ed McMahon, constantly racing against the clock and the elements to make sure the mail arrived on time. Classy. That's what that is. It's classy. Where's the class in the electronic chiming of "You've got mail"?

The other day I was surprised to see that a job I was applying for requested I send my resume by post. Was it a fluke? I thought it strange at first and was even tempted to ignore the request and shoot my info off lightning-quick via email, but realized that this was a perfect opportunity to do my part in keeping the mail system alive.

I went to my friendly neighborhood post office to purchase a manila envelope for my mailings (you know the ones, they are brownish-yellow 9 x 12 folders with a flap and small clasp.), but I was surprised to find that there were none for purchase. They've all been replaced by flashy white cardboard sleeves, puffed bubble-wrap filled envelopes and origami-inspired boxes. Whatever happened to the discreet manila envelope?

"You can use one of those white jobbies there," said the woman behind the counter, "or you can jazz it up with that there Mickey Mouse or confetti colored one."

Uh, what? Seriously? Mickey Mouse? Yeah lady, that's right. I'm going to send my resume via Mickey Mouse envelope. That should really give me a leg up on the competition.

After much searching and some swearing under my breath I found the damned folders for $4.49 at Office Depot. I then returned to the post office to mail my documents. God forbid the post offices have ordinary envelopes in stock.

Why am I telling you this? Because it made me realize how the mail system is going downhill. Not only is it becoming obsolete, but Disney has taken it over as well and turned it into some sort of circus. I began thinking about paperless alternatives, postmen and women losing their jobs and the utter delight I get in receiving mail, no matter what it is.

Here's to mail!

A Pregnant Pause

 

Is it just me, or did you hear it too? The silence. The awe of billions as they watched America's newest president take his oath at the Capital Building.

Everywhere people fell silent, hunching forward in anticipation of The Change promised to come with Barack Obama's inauguration. Restaurants brimming with lunchtime patrons went quiet. Phones sat unanswered as office workers crowded around televisions or computers transmitting the historic event. Deserted four-square balls rolled through abandoned playgrounds as students huddled together in auditoriums to watch the momentous happening. The knitting needles of the elderly stopped clacking and chainsaws of lumber workers seized to growl as all ears were pricked to listen. Cash registers took a break from transactions as attention was drawn elsewhere. Gas pumps sat idle as people leaned through open doors of their cars to hear each word over NPR. College campuses held no lectures, as one of the biggest lessons of our lives was being broadcast.

Americans with tears in our eyes and hope swelling within our hearts, we watched in united silence. Smiles broke across chapped lips and pride surged through our crippled egos as his hand graced the velvet top of the Lincoln bible. We held our breath, all of us, the entire world, during those 35 words.

Holding Out... Just... a Little... Longer...

So what? I DON'T have a cell phone. Call me prehistoric. Call me technologically deficient. Call me lame and give me a funny sideward glance. But what you can't do is call me when I'm away from home.

It's one part defiance, two parts financial. It's become more of a snub to society and its need to be constantly contactable then me really giving a damn. Sure, I'd like to whip out my slim Motorola RAZR from the back pocket of my skinny jeans as much as the next girl, but why weigh myself down with the burden? Other people have phones; they can call. Is it for social status? To show how hip and techno savvy we are? Does owning a Blackberry put you into a higher social rung?

If so, damn.

Okay. So maybe it isn't as noble as I would have one think. Do I feel a little left out? Fine, yes. I'll admit it. I'm one of the few who still looks out the window at the passing buildings on the subway, rather than watching the latest episode of Heroes or texting my friend Tamika about the great chili recipe I just found. I'm forced to wait until my friends have finished texting to continue our conversation. I listen intently to others' cell conversations and ask "What'd they say?" annoyingly until I get the scoop. It's a little bit like being left out of a conversation, standing gawkily behind the inner circle of a great convo.

I will admit that getting stuck on the side of the road in a snow storm - sans celly - would blow a big one. And you got me at the cool factor and the ability to fill awkward voids. Another point gained for falsified excuses from lame dates and proving yourself immediately on bets. Admittedly it is pretty cool how you can find out what song is playing just by holding up your iPhone to the speaker, and I wish I could text someone with a one-word answer instead of wasting all that time in making a phone call.

On the other hand, I have my own (little as it may be) posse of non-cell phone users as well. We be crazy sons-a-bitches! We do wild things like use PAY PHONES! Oh, snap! That's right we use PAY PHONES. Unfortunately they aren't always easy to find because apparently they aren't being used anymore, but when we find them we USE THEM. Even though they cost us almost a dollar to place a local call, we look super retro standing in a booth. Beat that Samsung Propel user with your crazy text fingers.

I also have gained back incredible abilities – yes, that is right, incredible — one being the knack of numeric memorization, the other being the art of small talk. Oh, don’t doubt yourself. You once had these abilities as well. Remember when you were young and you picked up the receiver and dialed your best friend’s number from memory? Can't do that anymore can you? Lose the phone, you lose all the numbers. What about the crazy cycle of self-absorption this era of technology has got you in? Human connection is diminishing, but not for me, boy! I smile at the person sitting across from me. Perhaps we speak about the weather, bond over how grotesque the fat man in the back picking his nose is, share a chuckle over foreign policy — the norm.

See, we're playing hard to get, us non-cell phone users. You can't just call us up any time of the day and have us answer. There's no GPS navigation here. No widgets or simulated click of a computer mouse. We can't blog while on the pooper and we're sure as heck are not going to know what time The Curious Case of Benjamin Button is playing at the local cinema while driving home from work. Inconvenience? Perhaps slightly. But not to someone that is used to having to check the paper, use the phone book and wait a little while instead of getting instant feedback. It could be said that I am practicing the art of patience; becoming Zen-like in this era of go, go, go.

But In all my martyring, have I missed the cultural bus? According to a Gartner report from Cnet News’s website, "Sales of cell phones are on pace to reach a billion annually by the end of the decade, when nearly 40 percent of the world's population will own a mobile handset.” Forty percent? That’s it? I am NOT in the slow lane! Asia may be the biggest buyers of these handheld devices, but until all of China is chirping on their cellies, I’ll still remain one of the masses. Take that social pressure!

And what’s the deal with Bluetooth? Have we boarded the Starship? Talk about cancer in the brain caused by radio waves, that’s going right in the ol’ canal — direct route! How do you expect to be taken seriously? I understand the need for “hands free” as a non cell phone use, I use both hands regularly. Frankly I couldn’t imagine not. But really? Alien growth headset? I will give it points for being the perfect illusion of having an actually conversation. Sometimes I even think Bluetooth wearers are talking to me; I light up, I shoot back a witty answer, only to be met with rolling eyes and embarrassment. If every Schizophrenic in America was given a Bluetooth headset, we’d never know who the crazies were. And I’d stop being let down by fake conversations.

Bring back the Bat signal. Bring back smoke signals, but don’t force me to get a cell phone. Don’t make me feel inadequate for my lack of ownership just because I’m not getting free incoming calls and Verizon’s free nights and weekends. I get nights and weekends too, and guess what? They’re free anyway. Saturday always comes and Wednesday night is a regular occurrence. Even if I’m not making phone calls from the sidewalk.

Next Step: Sandwich Boards

I saw a news story about a man who had resorted to 1920's-style self advertising trying to find a job: sandwich boards. Now, this may not be the most original idea, but it shows just how desperate people are becoming in this era of unemployment.

Not that negative news is uncommon by any means, but every news story is about companies laying off employees or cutting back. The paper bombards me with stories of unemployment rates skyrocketing and food stamp applications increasing. Everywhere I look I'm confronted by the bleak and dreary outlook of this recession.

What a wonderful time to move back to America. eh?

So here I am, looking for employment in one of the driest employment pools in recent history. Nice one. I thought that going door to door searching for jobs was something I would only need to do once in life. Slinging my portfolio and asking to see the hiring director in Thailand was a humiliating - although normal and expected - experience. But to do it on American soil and as a writer? Ugh!

So here's to the good ol' America, land of opportunity.

Ring it In!

 

Subway, 9pm, New York City. The air is ripe with high expectations for the night and the promise of a clean slate for all come midnight. The end of 2008 is here.

It was a year that had taken me from one side of the world to the other,  from the tropical home I knew and loved in Thailand back to my childhood home in Maine. A year where I made an incredible pack of friends, all dynamic and unique in their own way and forced me to separate from them. It was a year in which I became a married woman, a dedicated daughter and a new family member. It was a time where I found out what the word "stressed" really meant, what an importance positive thinking is and that crying is sometimes necessary and unplanned.

I'm looking ahead towards 2009 with an open mind and a foggy future plan. But foggy is good, it leaves way for the ebb and flow of life to lead me wherever it is I am supposed to go. Sometimes it all feels too overwhelming like I need a plan, a list, a goal. Sometimes I feel my direction is lost, but have my family and friends to reassure that I am right on target. I see travel cropping up again because honestly, how can I not travel? It's in my blood and drives me. I look forward to cultivating a loving and deep relationship with my husband and facing any challenges we may face as a united front.

5am, subway grate, NYC. Eating pizza with a group of friends, I realize what this year will hold. Pure Joy.