Author: jeff matthews

I had four emails in my Hotmail junk mailbox this morning. That may not sound like many, but the morning is still young–plus it’s Sunday.

I like to review the emails in my “junk” mailbox, rather than have Hotmail delete them automatically, because I sometimes get mail from legitimate people I’ve met who are sending me an email for the first time, and these get shunted to the “junk” box along with the real junk by the ever-vigilant Microsoft security patrol–try to imagine an electronic version of Barney Fife, eyes a-goggle, gun waving wildly in the night– lest they be some kind of threat to my system.

You would think a large and wealthy Monopoly such as Microsoft could figure out most “junk” emails for what they are, and wipe them out entirely before they reach my Hotmail account. The electronic version of Sheriff Taylor: wise, confident, ever-alert to subtle clues in the sender’s name, for example, or in the subject line of the email that would tip him off.

But no. Nearly all the emails that Microsoft Hotmail lets through are not even close to being anything I want to see.

So why does Barney let them in? Does Bill Gates get legitimate emails with the subject matter containing the word “V*agra” more frequently than I might suspect? Does he like to open random “Dil@do” offers? Let’s take a look at this morning’s junk emails, courtesy of Barney–er, Hotmail, and you be the judge as to whether they might be something I want to open.

1. The first is from a fellow named “Eric” with no last name. I do not know any Erics with no last name, but Barney appears sure he is very kindly attempting to help me out. Barney can see it plainly in the subject line of the email:

2. The second is from “Skinny Mini.” I do not know anyone named Skinny Mini, either, but once again Barney is sure this person is also looking out for my best interests, because the subject line states:

3. The third is from somebody named “Printer Ink 85% Off.” I am not familiar with this person, nor do I know anybody–except possibly one of Frank Zappa’s children–who contain the term “85%” in their names. Nevertheless, Barney seems to think the subject matter is promising, and worth letting through:

What do you think? Would you open any of these emails? Would Bill Gates?

Meanwhile, on my Network Solutions mailbox, which I keep for the frequent occassions when Hotmail mysteriously–perhaps Microsoft is not paying its vendors on time–goes radio silent, I have precisely zero junk emails of the type promising X-rated pleasures or diet pills at reduced prices.

Microsoft generates $1 billion of cash per month. Part of the charm of having a monopoly, I suppose, is that you can create lousy products such as Hotmail, do so little to help your customers that they sometimes daydream about leaving, and yet go home secure in the knowledge that they will not be going anywhere, because there is nowhere to go.

Meanwhile, I have to get busy emptying Hotmail. But I have to be careful–I don’t want to scare Ol’ Barn.

The New York Times, in its relentless effort to create the impression that it still contains “all the news that’s fit to print,” as opposed to the reality of the matter, which is that it contains “all the news that a bunch of old, liberal, white men decide is fit to read,” contains a wonderful piece in today’s issue about Americans fleeing to Canada. (‘Some Bush Foes Vote Yet Again, With Their Feet: Canada or Bust’, Page A16 in the New York edition.)

These are Americans disaffected with President Bush’s reelection, and their decision to seek permanent resident status in Canada apparently qualifies for a half-page article, complete with two photographs of said Angry White Liberal Americans. This is in stark contrast to the single photograph accompanying the front page article on the historic and quite groundbreaking Israel-Palestinian cease-fire, the main fault of which may be that an African-American Bush administration official had something to do with it.

Regarding the movement to Canada, the article rehashes the disaffecteds’ concern about the general decline in America as it shifts rightward. However, “we’re still not talking about a huge movement of people,” a Montreal immigration lawyer warns the reporter. “We’re only talking about 18,000 people.”

Still, the Times reporter comments, that is more than double the population of Gettysburg, Pa. As if this somehow makes the numbers matter.

One wonders how many Americans have fled the high-tax boundaries of California to more friendly states, and whether the Times has considered devoting so much ink to that particular diaspora, which is certainly far greater than the angry-white-liberal-flight to Canada. Probably two or three Las Vegases, one might suspect.

John Mayer was interviewed last night by New York Times so-called Pop Critic John Pareles, in a benefit at the Al Hirshfeld Theater in New York City.

You’d think the New York Times would have a writer capable of keeping up with the inchoate but interesting ramblings of a twenty-something Pop Star whose public persona is a lightweight, breathy kid wishing he could show those guys back in High School how he’s turned out–when in fact he is an enormously talented guitarist, singer and songwriter who wants desperately to shed his current skin and take on a more sober, mature blues coloration to his music.

But no. Pareles sat there like a deer caught in headlights, mouth agape, barely able to mutter a “well, you know…” and make some trite observation, leaving Mayer to fill in the gap with his own bursting-at-the-seams-with-talent-and-conflict riffs on fame, his old stuff (“that’s not where I am”) and his new stuff, of which he performed one song that was worth the entire evening if merely to grasp how he approaches his craft.

The most obvious comparison here is Eric Clapton, who worshiped the blues and felt guilty enough of his success in the three-chord world of rock to dither away a decade or two on drugs as strong as heroin, before he matured into a strong, confident songwriter and guitarist who could easily swap one world for the other–and go back again, as it pleased him.

Did Pareles see the parallel? Nope–not until Mayer himself said “Well, Eric Clapton’s the template” for what John Mayer has in mind about moving from pop stardom to a musical career. Towards the end of the evening Pareles entirely lost control of the event, letting one impatient audience member interrupt Mayer by shouting “Play something!” To which Mayer responded “What, am I a monkey?” before a smattering of encouraging handclaps and screams from the half-teeny bopper/half adult audience, and Pareles’ ineffectual attempt to restore the dialogue, forced Mayer to pick up his guitar and deliver a stunning version of “Daughters.”

Ironically, “Daughters” is the very type of John Mayer song Mayer wants to leave behind. But he sang it, knowing the audience expected it.

Our observer went to the evening with his 16 year old daughter expecting very little of John Mayer except to be disappointed by the dialogue between a mature adult music critic and a talented, spoiled, unbearable, famous-before-he’s-ready kid. He came away disappointed with the adult–Pareles was completely overmatched–and impressed with the kid.

As he whispered to his daughter during one of Mayer’s interludes with the guitar, “this guy has outrageous talent.”