ROANOKE TIMES
Copyright (c) 1996, Roanoke Times
DATE: Tuesday, June 4, 1996 TAG: 9606040023
SECTION: EXTRA PAGE: 1 EDITION: METRO
COLUMN: BETH MACY
SOURCE: BETH MACY
``WARNING,'' my friend Evelyn's e-mail began. ``THIS IS A LONG E-MAIL. IF YOU HAVE TO GO TO THE BATHROOM, PLEASE DO SO NOW. OR GET A COLD DRINK.''
Four pages later, I had sifted through: A birthday party invitation, an account of a recent trip, the tale of a sagging courtship, advice from her therapist, the schedule of an upcoming vacation and an outline for a movie she wants to make.
``She meets a somewhat well-known singer, a local celebrity. Very sexy,'' Evelyn wrote, describing one of her characters. ``Along the lines of a Sam Shepherd or Lou Reed.''
It took half an hour to read the whole message.
I was interested, I was perplexed. I was - more urgently - wondering where I'd find the two hours it would take to write an appropriate, reciprocal response.
Paging Judith Martin: Have you signed up for an account with America On-Line? Because, Gentle Readers, somebody needs to start policing etiquette on the Internet.
One of my computer-savvy co-workers likewise bemoans the lack of personal-computer politesse, relating the following faux pas:
* E-mails from in-laws that begin, ``We have some bad news. Dad is in the hospital with a heart problem ... '' (BAD NEWS ALWAYS SOUNDS WORSE IN WRITING. PICK UP THE PHONE INSTEAD.)
* E-mail from a close friend announcing his recent elopement. (SAVE THE BIG THINGS FOR FACE-TO-FACE.)
* Daily e-mails from a friend who sends David Letterman's TOP 10 list, and various other unsolicited blurbs from the Internet. (THE COMPUTER EQUIVALENT OF JUNK MAIL - CAN IT!)
* And group mail galore. (WORSE THAN A FORM CHRISTMAS LETTER.)
E-mails for wedding invitations and birth announcements also are tacky substitutions for the real thing, she says.
My friend Lucy - the epitome of the genteel Southerner - insists that the instantaneous quality of e-mail can be a huge benefit, even at touchy times.
A case in point: Lucy wanted to console her New Jersey cousin recently after the woman's mother died. "My cousin and I are major e-mail correspondents, and I knew she wasn't at home when I heard. So I figured the quickest way I could get in touch with her was through e-mail,'' Lucy says.
Lucy worried she was being being crass and inappropriate, but she nonetheless sent her electronic sympathies, acknowledging that ``Emily Post would probably turn over in her grave.''
Her cousin, also a proper person, e-mailed her response immediately: ``Let Emily roll over. It made me feel so good to hear from you right away.''
``It's interesting because there aren't a lot of rules,'' Lucy says. ``I knew my mother wouldn't approve, but I used common sense and decided it would work.''
On the new computer at our house, we've already received our share of electronic drivel. A semi-retired uncle with too much time - and too many megabytes - likes to send memos with lengthy attachments, such as a Dr. Seuss-like diatribe on Murphy's Law of Computers he found while 'Net-surfing.
And, one night when I couldn't sleep, I logged on to e-mail and committed the ultimate sin: Not only did I offer unsolicited advice to a relative (comments that would have sounded better face-to-face or over the phone - or best, left unsaid), I sent it with the quick click of a mouse. That night.
The next morning, I bolted upright and cringed.
Remembering what I'd written, I pined away for the old days of envelopes. Of cluttered desk drawers with nary a stamp when you needed it most. Of last-minute trips to the post office in the rain. Of a sympathetic mailman who'd rifle through his bag and give you back the envelope - if you begged just right.
Of, more than anything, the perspective of a new day.
Beth Macy's column runs in Tuesday and Thursday Extra. Call her at 981-3435, e-mail bmacy@roanoke.infi.net, or write her at P.O. Box 2491, Roanoke, Va. 24010-2491.|
LENGTH: Medium: 80 lines ILLUSTRATION: GRAPHIC: Robert Lunsford staffby CNB