Memo Morte?

When I was six months old, Elvis Presley received his U.S. Army draft notice. That same year Wham-O introduced a cool new toy called the Pluto Platter, later renamed the Frisbee. A guy in Massachusetts began selling lawn flamingoes. Ford introduced the Edsel. The preferred written business communication was called the “memorandum.” I know these things because that’s what it said on the birthday card my 16-year-old daughter gave me. Except the part about the memorandum. On that score I am making a thoughtless assumption in order to write a compelling opening statement. This is a blog, after all. Aren’t I allowed to be loose with the facts? (See upcoming blog entry: “This is a Blog. Aren’t I Allowed to be Loose with the Facts?”)

Of the things listed above only the Frisbee and flamingoes survive today. We all know what happened to Elvis: he faked his death and started a random tour of convenience stores and gas stations, then cloned himself by the thousands. And the Edsel: it was horribly unpopular and discontinued after two years and we have been reminiscing about it ever since. This is similar to how we treat presidents. And now, the memorandum, while not dead, is at least on life support, replaced by PowerPoints and what can only be characterized as an incessant spewing of every typo-ridden, half-baked, knee-jerk, caffeine fueled, BlackBerry or laptop manufactured “document” we have come to know as “e-mail.”

“Eek! mail” would be a more appropriate name for the fear it all strikes in me. For some reason I even object to putting an “e” for electronic ahead of “mail.” Do we have to now call mailbox mail p-mail? If carried out to other inventions, it would mean we’d be finding our way in the dark with e-candles, typing on e-writers, computing on e-thinkers, and talking to each other through e-cups and e-strings. But there I go, getting up on my high e-horse. Because of the ease with which we can spout off and share our brilliance, I now have 786 emails in my in-box. And very few of those could be characterized as thought-through. Rather, they are bits and pieces sent to me like a 786-piece toy that requires assembly. And don’t think I am not part of the madness. I am. But I’d like to do something about it.

I propose an international moment of silence before hitting send on any e-mail. During this meditative moment ask yourself: Should I just call? Have I thought this through? Do I even know what I am saying? Should I take more time and more fully develop my thought in, say, a memorandum? More importantly, what’s that on my nose? Why do I know so much about Lindsay Lohan and Paris Hilton? Have I ever seen the Queen Mother dance? Why is it that skunks are associated with severe intoxication?

More later. Can’t I stop mid-stream and complete this thought later? This is a blog after all. (See upcoming post: Can’t I Stop Mid-