Hey, guess what? I have a new email subscription thingy on my blog.
I didn’t really think I needed one, because I personally never subscribe to blog subscription lists myself. I get WAY too much email already as it is. But my friend Shelly posted a blog the other day called Your Tumblr Blog: Why I Hate It — and because I’m apparently pretty paranoid, I immediately assumed she was referring to mine.
Okay, just so you know — she really wasn’t.
Anyway Shelly’s main complaint about Tumblr blogs was that you couldn’t subscribe to them by email. And true enough, when I checked I realized this was true. (Well, for my theme and most others, at least. And I really don’t want to have to go and change.)
Shelly had a point. I kind of assumed that everyone was like me — I use Flipboard or Twitter to keep up with the blogs I like — but different people do have different preferences when it comes to their blog reading. And if you can accommodate them, why not, right?
So HA! A challenge! I couldn’t resist. So that’s where my morning went. DONE. Try hatin’ on my Tumblr now, Shelly. :)
I could go into the whole process of how I set it up and blahblahblah, but I’m sure most of you don’t really need this info. (If you do, just ask me. I used Mailchimp - because it’s all sorts of awesome). And please don’t take this as a request to sign up if you really don’t have to. If you already have access to my posts via another channel ( Twitter, or my Facebook page, or a reader or whatever) - don’t bother.
But if you’re like Shelly and prefer the Inbox route — or if you just want to check out my mad email skillz, go for it. Let’s be email buds. :)
Have a happy weekend, everyone!
I was reading this article on Mashable today about email habits that annoy your co-workers, and I was all “Haha, yeah, but those really aren’t that annoying…” And then 2 minutes later I received a bunch of reply-all emails that really drove me bananas.
I HATE those “Noted.” reply-all emails. With a PASSION.
Don’t get me wrong. I have no real issue with group email threads in general. The Reply-All button can be really useful at times. But I honestly do think some people should just be BANNED from using it. Forever.
Here are my nominations:
1. The Overzealous Acknowledgers
Tip to the guilty: No one gives a flying fuck that you received and “Noted” a group message. We are not likely to be impressed by your functioning email account or your reading comprehension skills. So really, just leave us out of it.
It’s always a good practice to confirm receipt of an email, but you need only acknowledge to the original message sender. The rest of us really don’t care. And every time you include us, we hate you a little more.
2. The Indiscriminate Adders
Also on my list of Reply-All Rogues are those people who always have to ADD other people to an email thread that they don’t have to be in. Why they do this, I REALLY DON’T KNOW.
People seem to do it for different reasons. Some like to cc the boss, either to keep them in the loop and/or score brownie points, or to go all tattletale on everyone else’s ass. Some people just seem to think “The more, the merrier.”
Whatever. It’s annoying. Just stop.
If you want to let someone else know about what’s going on in a particular email thread, forward it to them in them a separate message. Don’t loop people into the whole Reply-All chain if they aren’t likely to have something to contribute to the matter at hand.
3. The Gargantuan Group Messagers on Facebook
I actually think the Facebook inbox group messagers are worse than the ones on regular email — because when you send a group message on Facebook, you force EVERYONE to be a Reply-All Rogue. Every single person on the superlong list of recipients gets notified about every single reply!!
If you’re savvy, you’ll know to reply (if you have to) in a separate message. But sadly, most people can’t be bothered. The whole “OMG I’m getting hundreds of stupid notifications!” annoyance can be avoided by just leaving the conversation, of course, but then EVERYONE sees that you left, and you kind of feel like an a-hole for doing it.
So yeah, thanks for that, Gargantuan Group Messager. You suck.
Well, okay, so those are my top 3 — do you have any other email peeves? Feel free to compare notes in the comments section!
And if you are an email rogue of any kind, it’s always good to keep in mind that an Inbox is a person’s private space. Think of it as a little home on the Internet range. Before you step in - or even worse, invite a whole gang to barge in with you - take a moment to think about whether you’ll be welcome. :)
Have a great week, everyone!
I started downloading all my work email pretty early this morning, because the post-weekend inbox flood is always a bit overwhelming.
I hate to say this — and probably shouldn’t since my livelihood kind of depends on it — but email is really starting to get me down. I mean, fine, it’s fast and convenient — but I’m starting to miss ACTUAL LETTERS, and the old pre-Internet days, when my physical mailbox was more than just a repository for bills and promo flyers.
I’d be happy just to get a postcard… despite the delay in delivery… and the fact that I’ll have seen all my friends’ trip photos online already by the time it arrives.
Sluggish as it is, snail mail (especially when handwritten) has a certain charm that instant online communication just can’t replicate. It’s just so personal.
Don’t get me wrong — I wouldn’t give up instant communication for ANYTHING (I’d tear all my hair out!), but I’d hate it if good old snail mail died out altogether. So I think I’m going to start writing actual handwritten letters that you actually have to buy stamps to send out.
Hmmm. I don’t even know how much stamps cost… and my handwriting is terrible. But I don’t care. I’m considering it my own little effort to keep snail mail alive.
Feel free to join me if you like! :)
The other day when I was feeling kind of SAD, my friend Michelle sent me an email to cheer me up, and I swear it was the funniest thing I’d ever read. Her sister Marta told me to rewrite it with illustrations, but really, it was too good — I couldn’t possibly top it, so I decided just to illustrate instead and post the original text here.
And so I present… The Adventures of the Anonymous Swimsuit Shopper (with illustrations by yours truly). Enjoy! :)
When I was a child in the 1950’s, the bathing suit for the mature figure was-boned, trussed and reinforced, not so much sewn as engineered They were built to hold back and uplift, and they did a good job.
Today’s stretch fabrics are designed for the prepubescent girl with a figure carved from a potato chip.
The mature woman has a choice: she can either go up front to the maternity department and try on a floral suit with a skirt, coming away looking like a hippopotamus that escaped from Disney’s Fantasia…
…or she can wander around every run-of-the-mill department store trying to make a sensible choice from what amounts to a designer range of fluorescent rubber bands.
What choice did I have? I wandered around, made my sensible choice and entered the chamber of horrors known as the fitting room. The first thing I noticed was the extraordinary tensile strength of the stretch material.
The Lycra used in bathing costumes was developed, I believe, by NASA to launch small rockets from a slingshot, which gives the added bonus that if you manage to actually lever yourself into one, you would be protected from shark attacks. Any shark taking a swipe at your passing midriff would immediately suffer whiplash.
I fought my way into the bathing suit, but as I twanged the shoulder strap in place I gasped in horror… my boobs had disappeared!
Eventually, I found one boob cowering under my left armpit. It took a while to find the other. At last I located it flattened beside my seventh rib.
The problem is that modern bathing suits have no bra cups. The mature woman is now meant to wear her boobs spread across her chest like a speed bump. I realigned my speed bump and lurched toward the mirror to take a full view assessment.
The bathing suit fit all right, but unfortunately it only fitted those bits of me willing to stay inside it. The rest of me oozed out rebelliously from top, bottom and sides. I looked like a lump of Playdoh wearing undersized cling wrap.
As I tried to work out where all those extra bits had come from, the prepubescent sales girl popped her head through the curtain, “Oh, there you are,” she said, admiring the bathing suit.
I replied that I wasn’t so sure and asked what else she had to show me. I tried on a cream crinkled one that made me look like a lump of masking tape, and a floral two-piece that gave the appearance of an oversized napkin in a serving ring.
I struggled into a pair of leopard-skin bathers with ragged frills and came out looking like Tarzan’s Jane, pregnant with triplets and having a rough day.
I tried on a black number with a midriff fringe and looked like a jellyfish in mourning.
I tried on a bright pink pair with such a high cut leg I thought I would have to wax my eyebrows to wear them.
Finally, I found a suit that fit, it was a two-piece affair with a shorts-style bottom and a loose blouse-type top. It was cheap, comfortable, and bulge-friendly, so I bought it. My ridiculous search had a successful outcome, I figured.
When I got it home, I found a label that read, "Material might become transparent in water."
So, if you happen to be on the beach or near any other body of water this year and I’m there too, I’ll be the one in cut-off jeans and a T-shirt!