Spam and the Unconscious

I have just been cleaning out my spam or junk mail files in my e-mail. I do browse through the titles to make sure a long lost girlfriend or a publisher wishing to buy the rights to my blog hasn't been trying to contact me. Doing this I have discovered something. Spam is the secret to the subconscious mind.

If you secretly are worried about going bald or are searching for something in your life or have secret health concerns you probably did a search at some point. Advertisers are notified of your searches and they are reflected in your spam. Spam is like the Freudian inchoate subconscious. Read through your spam. It is talking to the real you. The hidden you. Your private red room of pain. Spam is the secret to the unconscious. There's a doctoral thesis lurking somewhere in my discovery.

Paul Ryan

August 13: Irma is cutting hair at the beauty salon:

Obama, I don't want to hear that word. My son in law has been

out of work for a year. Obuma I call him. Give me that new guy any day. Romney is getting my vote.

August 22: I'll tell you. I need my Medicare. I have a heart condition. I hear that Ryan guy wants to cut my Medicare. I'll hold my nose but Obama is getting my vote. 

Closing ceremonies

The closing ceremonies had their moments. The Ray Davies bit, not shown on NBC, was nice. I also like Eric Idle. If he had sang "Always look on the bright side of life" hanging on a cross it would have been great but perhaps controversial. Liked the Spice Girls too. In general, though, it was too long for me. Too many people I didn't know, overproduced, singing songs I didn't know. Like most of the events, NBC should have had it on live and then shown that show they wanted to promote, followed by a "best of presentation" starting at 9.

Fifty Shades of Grey

Recently I came upon a copy of EL James, "Fifty Shades of Grey". The hot book of the decade so far, called by critics "Mommy porn" and "bondage and discipline for corporate types". So far, I've read the first two hundred pages. Not bad, it reads well. The writing style reminds me a bit of English chic lit writer Marian Keyes. Somehow the fact that the author is British seems to have influenced my reading of the book. The author sounds British to me, rather than like a writer from the West Coast. 

It is a fun book, at least so far. I like the contract. The billionaire good looking guy into domination wants the poor virginal protagonist to sign a legal contract before he begins his kinky doodlings in the "red room of pain". Writing a contract seems like a wonderful idea for people entering into a relationship. I wonder if our parents had contracts like that when we were growing up. "If it becomes too painful say yellow" for example. 

Poor Anastasia seems to alternate between loving her times with Christian (was he a Christian?) and hating herself for the whole idea. Christian is the over priviledged billionaire of the book. The thing he has that I admire most is his loyal servant Taylor. I wish I had a Taylor. Someone to bring my clothes to the cleaners. Someone to do my shopping. Someone to stay home waiting for the air conditioning repairman. Ah Taylor, so crisp and helpful.  

The book has brought a mini boom to the construction industry as men build "red rooms of pain" extensions to their garages. I can see a reality show here. The real submissives of Seattle.   

Editor's note:  A nice podcast on the book is available here. 

Eliminate August

David Plotz of the Slate Political Gabfest wrote this about the month of August. Enjoy.