Listening to: Animal Collective — Brother Sport
I get the most random spam comments. But not really, if you think about it. Lots of Russian spammers. I felt my existence validated when someone named “nigeria” left me an unspecific comment. (If you’re a real person, I’m sorry, but every Nigerian knows not to trust firstname.lastname@example.org.) My mother’s trust in Nigerians was renewed when Pop’Africana sent me an address confirmation email, after I’d almost forgotten that I’d ordered the magazine.
My spam email, for that matter, is slightly more interesting. I get lots of spam from JG Wentworth and AT&T, but more interesting are those from Christian dating websites, US healthcare, Bosley — fight your hair loss! — and “depression help” centers. I don’t recall stating anywhere on the interwebs that I was a balding Christian American without healthcare, but I’m almost certain that any depression would worsen if one’s credit card number were stolen. Once I received a series of spam emails from a supposed lawyer, informing me of the details of a lawsuit I was sure I’d never started. But I’m gullible and paranoid and they kept me up at night for a while, making me wonder if I were really suing someone for the rights to my artwork and had forgotten all about it.
On Friday I lived in a dream-world and ate black-raspberry ice cream at 10pm in an ice-cream parlor with my dance team. Yesterday I watched Little Shop of Horrors and marveled at the stage lighting and harbored a deep resentment against everyone, especially my roommate and her/our loud friends who prevented me from watching Skins in my room. Late at night I ate Lucky Charms and some of the several pounds of dark chocolate chips I received in the mail, but today I am tired and worn-out and have only my spam to remind me of who and where I am not.