I enjoy Nigerian scam e-mails. Some people may think that they are awkwardly worded, overly formal, or just plain unbelievable. I, on the other hand, think that writing a good, formulaic Nigerian-style scam e-mail requires creativity, an aptitude for thesaurus use, and a hunger for success (err… maybe not). This one was quite special. I don’t know if it was the correct spelling of “esophageal” (disregard the improper capitalization), the discussion of the Internet in paragraph 1, or the bizarre religiosity that can be found in a proper Nigerian-style scam e-mail. Also, best typo ever: “defiled” in place of “defied”. Or is it a typo?

Read for yourself! I only wish I could be so creative at times.

The potential for structural analyses is infinite!

“Dear Friend.

Good day and God bless you. I feel quite safe and satisfy dealing with you
in his charity project.Though, this medium (Internet) has been greatly abused, I choose to reach you through it because it still remains the fastest, surest and most secured medium of communication. However, this correspondence is
purely private, and it should be treated as such.

As you read this, I don’t want you to feel sorry for me, because, I believe
everyone will die someday. My name is MRS.LILIAN JONES, a merchant in Dubai,
in the U.A.E. I have been diagnosed with Esophageal cancer . It has defiled all
forms of medical treatment, and right now I have only about a few months to
live, according to medical experts.

I have not particularly lived my life so well, as I never really cared for anyone(not even myself)but my business. Though I am very rich, I was never generous, I was always hostile to people and only focused on my business as that was the only thing I cared for. But now I regret all this as I now know that there is more to life than just wanting to have
or make all the money in the world.

I believe when God gives me a second chance to come to this world I would
live my life a different way from how I have lived it. Now that God has
called me, I have willed and given most of my property and assets to my immediate and
extended family members as well as a few close friends.

I want God to be merciful to me and accept my soul so, I have decided to
give aims to charity organizations, as I want this to be one of the last
good deeds I do on earth. So far, I have distributed money to some charity organizations
in the U.A.E, Algeria and Malaysia. Now that my health has deteriorated so badly, I cannot do this myself anymore. I once asked members of my family to close one of my accounts and distribute the money which I have there to charity organization in Bulgaria and Pakistan, they
refused and kept the money to themselves. Hence, I do not trust them anymore, as
they seem not to be contended with what I have left for them.

The last of my money which no one knows of is the huge cash deposit of
TWELVE MILLION DOLLARS $12,000,000,that I have with a finance/Security
Company abroad. I will want you to help me collect this deposit and dispatched it to charity
organizations.

I have set aside 25% for you and for your time if you want to help me to collect this Funds and also invest this money.

N.B-PLEASE I WILL ADVICE YOU TO CONTACT THE LAWYER IN NETHERLANDS
IMMEDIATELY, HE DOES EVERYTHING ON MY BEHALF AND HE’S VERY
UNDERSTANDING AND I BELIEVE HE WILL LEAD YOU TO YOUR SUCCESS IN JESUS NAME
AMEN.

Name: BARRISTER.JOE BENSON

Email: joebenson88@aol.com

Remain blessed in the name of the Lord.

Yours in Christ,

Mrs.Lilian Jones “

Or maybe it is.  Cliche preamble: “Oh my; I sure have gone a long time without updating this blog”.

See, I have been working full-time while attending UBC full time.  All work and more work = no time for leisurely blogging about extracurricular, non-academically focused topics.

I have started another blog, Really Awesome Blog Comments, which is sporadically updated as I come across real gems in the comment sections of the blogs or news story that I read regularly.

Otherwise, maybe I should write in this more.

Oh yeah.  You know what’s great about being a sociology major who feels like she no longer has a family (though does have individual associations with people of whom she is biologically related)?  Well, sociological theories are a great source of enlightenment, and almost cheer me up when I am on the verge of being awash with angsty emotions.   For example,  re-framing “family” as merely a social construct makes the realization that I am less a part of what I thought was my family than I ever was, while non-biological people I have never met have replaced me, seem much less painful.  That statement may seem harsh, but I’d rather feel enlightened making sense of changes in family structures than feel bitter about those changes.

Complimenting family as a social construct is the observation of how relationships exist amongst people with independent (as opposed to interdependent) self concepts. At 4:09 am, I am a bit too tired to go into detail, and risk plagiarizing a really great paper, so you can read it here, courtesy of the good old University of British Columbia.

Raymond Carver, an author whose work I am not too fond of, does a nice job at illustrating the emotional strain between wanting to believe that love is real and eternal, while facing the reality of knowing how transactional relationships really are:

“You’ve both been married before, just like us. And you probably loved other people before that too, even. Terri and I have been together five years, been married for four. And the terrible thing, the terrible thing is, but the good thing too, the saving grace, you might say, is that if something happened to one of us—excuse me for saying this—but if something happened to one of us tomorrow, I think the other one, the other person, would grieve for a while, you know, but then the surviving party would go out and love again, and have someone else soon enough. All this, all of this love, we’re talking about, it would be just a memory.” (Carver, 1981 — “What we talk about when we talk about love”)

The above passage is referring to romantic relationships, but it can be applied to any type of relationship. I love my brothers; I love my mom; I love my late father, but we are not a family anymore.  Once we were a family, but we no longer are (unless you want to get all Slaughterhouse Five on the linearity of our lifetimes).  Yeah, it’s painful to think about sometimes, but at least I have silly abstract theories to comfort myself with, right?

Goodnight. Good morning.

I was sitting in class, staring at an elderly man who had enrolled in the course, when I became full of fear and anxiety.

All I could think about was the idea that, unless I die young, I won’t always be the person who I recognize myself as.

There was a time in my life when almost everything that mattered, or defined me positively, was lost or taken away, through no choice of my own. I was young, and it was not a happy time.

And so, I started my life over, when virtually nothing was left; I was reborn at 21. (By reborn I absolutely do not mean in a religious manner.)

Some days I feel like I’m 10 years old, but also middle aged, but I look like a teenager.

I remember how when I was a kid, I couldn’t imagine being 18 — 20. I knew I would grow up, but the future was so far away. I would lie in bed, trying to stay as still as possible, hoping that I would actually get frozen in limbo, and not have to experience the terrifying ordeal of being old and become the face of imminent death. I think of how I’m 25 now, and 40 is still 15 years away. The time it took to reach 25 will have to pass all over again — my whole life span, until I reach 50. Terrifying?

And reading historical texts, in that class, where the elderly man sat, from over a thousand years ago reinforces how insignificant and useless angst is, when one day I will turn to dust and cease to be, whether or not I was momentarily pained over the notion of one day no longer being a hip, young thing.

“And I do not see how I can get out of asking this question: Does it matter to anyone or anything that all these peepholes were closed so suddenly? Since all the property is undamaged, has the world lost anything it loved?” – Kurt Vonnegut, Jr, Deadeye Dick

Qualities found ?)

-a need to justify opening a bottle of cheap wine when your co-conspirator has to bail due to a hangover

-watching 50 horror and sci-fi movies in chronological order, with the goal of aggregating some (as yet) unknown data related to… horror and sci-fi movies. (quasi-academics don’t do things for fun)

oh! in keeping on the subject of quasi-academics, such as myself, somebody needs to write a book titled something like “Relationship Advice for Academics: love lessons for those who are not as socially inept as pure-bred geeks, but still lack the proper social skills to form a loving relationship with something other than an abstract idea”

A person is not an abstract idea, technically.. But don’t let me go there.

Tip 1:

I don’t know what tip #1 is.

Which is why someone needs to be commissioned to write this.  The person should either be a refugee of academia, or a hack who is really, really good at pursuading overly-critical minded, individualistic, self-obsessed douche bag knowitalls that their words and advice will actually work.

Perhaps the description of characteristics possessed by said “douche bag”, who needs to be convinced by the latter hack, are the negative qualities that keep “overly-critical minded, individualistic, self-obsessed douche bag knowitalls” from being able to have a relationship.
OH SNAP.  My qualities which have disbarred me from ever having a real boyfriend have allowed me to determine the problem! The difference between myself, and the hack, is that the hack would most likely have some sort of practical suggestions; whereas, I am still waiting for the hack to give me a simple answer that I have made too complex to find.

OH SNAP.  I just wroke the geekery version of what, I guess, is the lame-ass Shakespearean/Kieregarard-y bullcrap rhetorical question of what the poet, Haddaway once asked: “WHAT IS LOVE”?

Jesus didn’t want to say goodbye, but he threw the torch atop the dipstick

Salem roundup, motherfucker get your glocks and your stakes .

Gangsta Jesus vs. The Gangsta Witches

he adjusted his lipstick?

fucking rollbacks, fucking jesus, wetback witch rollbacks

Setbacks

Backpacks

Pack rats

Pacman

Man purse

Murse

Murse

Murse

Walrus

Moose

Manatee

Man Purse

Pursed lips

Lips stick

Dipshit

And I’m still broke all the time,

but Jesus loves me, yes he do.

Put a pretty smile on a burlap sack.

It’s sure a pretty smile, but it’s still a burlap sack.

Put the burlap sack with some other burlap sacks; put a pretty smile on the burlap sack.

It’s still a burlap sack, but it’s better than the other ones.

Put a smiling burlap sack in a room full of nothing.

Nothing is better than a smiling burlap sack.

I understand that this is just a “fun”, shot-in-the-dark game, requiring little mental intelligence or dedication in order to win, but there is another side to it. (Also, I don’t want to get stupid Facebook messages every day telling me to get more of my completely uninterested friends to join your damn group.)

First off, what this type of “contest” results in is people trying to recruit their acquaintances to Facebook in order to help them win: You’re so preoccupied with your hoop dream chance of winning 7000$ that you forgot that what you are actually doing is PROMOTIONS FOR TWO ALREADY WELL-ESTABLISHED AND PROFITABLE BUSINESSES. You are doing this for free. By having a contest of this nature, Edge 102.1 and Facebook save a lot of money that they could be spending to market themselves in other ways. Is consumer marketing ethical anyway? That is not the issue which I am addressing, so I don’t care to discuss it right now. Regardless, you are performing tasks at no charge which companies would normally spend money on. It’s like paying to buy a Nike shirt. You are paying to advertise for Nike; you are donating your time to promote the Edge and Facebook via your plea to others in helping you win 7000$

From the contest info at edge.ca:

“Invite as many people as possible to join your group. Close friends, friends of friends, family, old school buddies, neighbors you don’t even speak to, ANYONE!!! You won’t qualify to win $7,000 unless you are near the top of the leaderboard when it comes to how large your group is, so friends are EXTREMELY IMPORTANT!”

As a result of you promoting The Edge or Facebook for free, there is a chance that a few, several, or a great many people who would normally not use Facebook, or the Facebook groups feature, will be logging in and checking the page regularly due to their enthusiasm towards helping you win. How does the commercial media, whether it be the traditional mass media, or the new media, earn profits? Pat yourself on the back if you guessed “from selling space to advertisers.” Just as commercial TV shows are developed in order to attract the highest paying advertisers, quasi-commercial websites are developed in order to attract the highest paying advertisers. How do you get a client to pay more to advertise on your space? By guaranteeing a high amount of viewers or users, of course.

As outlined in the following passage from Facebook’s privacy policy, Facebook has the right to collect information about its members in order to help achieve the maximum effectiveness of its advertisements. What this means is that if I have 3000 people in my group, and 80% list themselves as enjoying Jack Johnson or some shit, and 75% love to watch Survivor, this is information obtained which would normally require the less cost-efficient method of market research in order to develop such a profile of Edge 102 listeners and Facebook users. This means average ages, educational statuses, locations, political affiliations and many other demographics are so easily obtained. Then the Edge and Facebook can go laughing to the bank upon learning which companies are surefire choices to attract as future clients:

Advertisements that appear on Facebook are sometimes delivered (or “served”) directly to users by third party advertisers. They automatically receive your IP address when this happens. These third party advertisers may also download cookies to your computer, or use other technologies such as JavaScript and “web beacons” (also known as “1×1 gifs”) to measure the effectiveness of their ads and to personalize advertising content. Doing this allows the advertising network to recognize your computer each time they send you an advertisement in order to measure the effectiveness of their ads and to personalize advertising content. In this way, they may compile information about where individuals using your computer or browser saw their advertisements and determine which advertisements are clicked.

I hope I am not the only person who realizes how painfully obvious this is. 7000$ is no skin off of either company’s back. I will not join your stupid group.

Almost 23 years and still no cows, so I will not shut up yet.

I have decided to change my name.  See, people spell their names in cool ways like instead of “Linda”, it is “Lynndeah”.  So I am changing my name to Qeora Brooke Qourtney-Qolfman.  It will still be pronounced the same.  My initials are about to be legally changed to QBQ-Q.   You may now call me Qeora.

Walrus

Walrus

Walrus

Walrus

Walrus

Walrus

Walrus

Not a walrus:

Walrus

Walrus

Walrus

That is actually a ring-tailed lemur.  Not a walrus.

Zoology 101.

I’ve sat in an airport, waiting hours for my plane to take off. I’ve sat on stools at airport bars, as a teenager, hunched over my double vodka soda; my double black Russian; my glass of red wine: surrounded by lonely, broken businessmen who were drinking $7.45 pints of Molson Draft, while drunkenly chatting up the bartender about absolutely nothing.

I always seemed to be able to join in on the conversation about absolutely nothing. Relate. I don’t know why. In those airports, everyone becomes everyone else. Not zombies or drones. Just everybody else. Uniform in an overpriced limbo full of little uncertainty, but maximum apprehension.

You can talk about absolutely nothing, because you enter into this strange little world. I can remember thinking of painful thoughts; emotional baggage waiting for me at my destination, to replace the emotional baggage I had left behind. But somehow it couldn’t plague me at an airport.

That cliche of being surrounded by thousands of people, while simultaneously so alone, can’t ever be applied to an international airport. Maybe you are alone. Maybe I was emotionally alone, but that aloneness is the most amazing thing ever. I don’t know why.

How is it peaceful — relaxing, to be rushing from gate to gate? To be sighing over 3$ coffees and 8$ garden salads in the departure terminals? To be bumping into obnoxious people; listening to screaming, crying children; being sandwiched between frat boys on the bar-plane (red eye) home, all the while knowing you have something waiting for you and something you’re trying to shake off?

Are those romantic ideas? Is it more romantic to brood over the inconveniences, the detachment associated with flying from city to city? Is that more romantic than hoping that the love of your life will surprise you by standing in the arrivals terminal, much to your surprise?

I expected to be greeted by a cab driver, not the man of my dreams. He brought me cigarettes and a toothbrush. He told me how much he missed me, and loved me, and how he was waiting for the day I would return.

That is not romance, that is self-indulgence.

You don’t even know it.

Blah blah blah blah blah feelings.

Emo? No.

My brain is going on vacation soon…

What? feelings? Why? Who? Huh……

Moooooooore than a feeeeeeling!111 When I hear that old sooon plaaaaaaay?!?!?!&*@#*&$^*&@#$

Good old AABA compound form songs, eh.

Boston…. Massachussetts … New Hampshire…..West Chesterfield.

Couches…… chairs….. chairman of the bored. Iggy Pop……

Tangents.

Tangerines.

Mighty morphine power rangers.

Drinking J.D. straight from the bottle does not make one a bum.
It makes them a minimalist.

I’m giving up red wine. I am post-post-modern. So I am rejecting red wine, because it makes me seem post modern, tortured artist.

No really.

And I’m going to ride a pet hippo to and from work because 1) people don’t rid hippos and 2) animal rights are soooo postmodern.

uh what.