Journal Interrobang's Journal: Cute. 9

Congratulations.

Your impression of the stereotypical martyred Jewish neurotic was so spot-on, you should win an Academy Award.

I'm not about to give you plaudits, though, as sending me e-mail which denigrates my friends, accuses me of enabling *your* drug habit, and blames me for everything that went wrong with our relationship isn't going to get you continuing approval from me. For someone who used to make a living capturing the public sentiment in print, you certainly have an extremely intemperate way with words.

I expect I can look forward to ringing denials, emotional appeals and other addict behaviour, and character assassination from you; I know you that well.

Please stop calling me. I will contact you in a few days regarding settling our remaining affairs.

?!

For those of you who don't know the entire back story, I dumped him in October of last year. Up until about three days ago we were on relatively good terms. The straw that broke the camel's back, I guess, was his calling me three times in one day, the first time at 11:15AM (after I'd been working all night) to ask me a stupid question he could have just as easily found out for himself, and then calling me twice more and not understanding why I was annoyed with him and blowing him off.

The stupid question in question was about the name of the band that did the background music for a Flash animation I had sent him, which was actually credited in the opening few seconds of the Flash animation. He had confused the name of the creator of the Flash animation itself with the name of the band (and had, to his credit, Googled the name of the creator looking for the band), but couldn't be bothered to watch the Flash animation again before calling me and claiming "The band that you said, American Stranger, doesn't seem to exist."

I said (as near as I can recall), "Uh, that's because 'American Stranger' isn't the name of the band, you idiot, it's the name of the guy who made the Flash animation. The name of the band is Bad Religion." (I do recall quite clearly calling him an idiot, but I'm not a person who takes well to being woken up by, well, idiots asking me stupid questions.) Then of course it was not his fault that he couldn't remember the band name from late the previous night. (Ok, fair enough, but it is your fault that you couldn't be arsed to go back and watch the Flash animation again and check, since you obviously weren't paying attention the first time, which is also your fault.)

All of which unleashed this torrent of pent-up anger and frustration, which landed in my inbox like a steaming coprolite, and has been seeping acidically down my phone lines today.

I don't want to deal with this. *mutter*

Direct Action Appeal: So, who's up for helping me with a little metaphorical show of force? It'll cost you maybe $2 in long-distance, perhaps, and maybe make my life immeasurably easier (those of you who want can do it by e-mail). I would like some people to gradually over the next week or so to just sort of "touch base" with him (as we say in the business world), in a calm, polite, rational way, and say, something to the effect of, "I understand you're having some trouble. Perhaps you'd better see about straightening yourself around," or suchlike. Perfessor Multigeek has already volunteered to spearhead the operation (it was his idea!), but only if I can get several volunteers. Safety in numbers. You can contact me at my e-mail sara at sara dash stewart dot com.