Something Universal

In books, I'm always searching for moments that reveal truths I've intuitively felt but have never understood clearly enough to attempt expressing. Sometimes you discover an author's more successful attempt to describe exactly that feeling you've always had but could never understand, and in hearing this thing from someone else, you realize it's something we all share.

I came across one last week in F. Scott Fitzgerald's short story, "The Rich Boy." The protagonist Anson, who has spent most of the story successful, drunk, enjoying wild nights out, and making out with hot girls, has reached his late twenties and finds himself alone in a New York hotel phone booth on a Saturday evening, reaching out to people from his old life [italics mine]:

Later he said that he tried to get me three times that afternoon, that he tried every one who might be in New York — men and girls he had not seen for years, an artist's model of his college days whose faded number was still in his address book — Central told him that even the exchange existed no longer. At length his quest roved into the country, and he held brief, disappointing conversations with emphatic butlers and maids. So-and-so was out, riding, swimming, playing golf, sailed to Europe last week. Who shall I say phoned?

It was intolerable that he should pass the evening alone — the private reckonings which one plans for a moment of leisure lose every charm when the solitude is enforced.

I've experienced this a thousand times, and I'm sure you have too. How often have you been overwhelmed with work projects, overtime, studying, classwork, family gatherings, or housework, dwelling first idly then intensely on all the fun or productive things you could do if only you had the chance: the novels you want to write, e-mails to answer, foods to cook, shops to check out, music to listen to, hobbies to spend more time with, or whatever else you'd like to be doing that you just don't have time for.

Now, how often have you been surprised with a free evening, a day off, a work vacation, or unemployment seemingly without end? You had a plan, but now it's gone.  The initial respite from stress turns into an excess of free time that becomes impossible to fill. What happens to our imagined projects then? They go from alarmingly real to frustratingly unfocused, or maybe we realize that we never wanted them that much at all. (Maybe we should have written them down.)

Fitzgerald knew this back in 1926, and little has changed since then. One could easily imagine Anson in polo shirt and Crocs sending text messages to everyone on his contact list and getting terse, negative responses, then reaching only voicemail as he became desperate enough to call. Fitzgerald describes this feeling using far fewer words than I've done here. We know what he's talking about; we've all been there. He's touched on something universal.

These are the things I think about when I'm stuck at home on a Friday playing Tetris instead of at the sold-out showing of The Room with Q&A by Tommy Wiseau. Damn you, UNH.

In Defense of Zelda 2

Zelda 2: The Adventure of Link on the NES gets a lot of flak, and arguably so. It’s the black sheep of the series, the maladjusted but convivial cousin who still lives with his parents and never got his driver’s license. The game consistently ranks as the worst non-CD-i Zelda game ever on forums and gaming blogs due to its difficulty (flying one-eyed blobs everywhere), arcane puzzles (items found by entering random squares on the overworld), frustrating repetition (players start from the beginning at every game over and must traverse the entirety of Hyrule all over again), lack of story (Zelda’s asleep – now wake her up!), and distance from other games in the series. Zelda 2’s gameplay includes features not found in any other Zelda game: an experience-based leveling system, side-scrolling battles, random enemy encounters, and prostitutes that refill your life (see below). It’s a disorienting transition for players that started with A Link to the Past or Link’s Awakening, and frustratingly outdated for players whose Zelda experience began on the N64 or later.

In every town, Link meets a woman of the oldest profession eager to invite him inside...

Even though I would rank Zelda 2 at the bottom of the series, I would never call it a bad game. I’d rather play Zelda 2 than most of the other titles released on the NES, and find it deserving of its #58 spot on Nintendo Power’s final all-time favorite games list. Why, then, do people view Zelda 2 with such indifference and downright hate?

...and leaves with his life refilled.

Since the Zelda series has become tantamount to gaming perfection in players’ minds, they’ve grown used to a certain type of gameplay and are reluctant to accept a title that doesn’t dazzle in the same way. They hold other series titles to the same standard, and enter into them with expectations that leave them disoriented when they go unfulfilled. Being above-average just doesn’t cut it for a Zelda game, but if Zelda 2 were a non-franchised entity featuring another hero, another princess, and another land, and players viewed it without the expectations garnered from other games in the series, they would have to view it on its own. After all, a game can’t be the worst in the series if there is no series.

Players who give Zelda 2 an honest playthrough without enjoying it are most often exhibiting a distaste for the platform battle genre in which it holds a place. While the overhead view and item-based gameplay of the original Legend of Zelda would reappear in later titles, Zelda 2’s stand-and-crouch swordfighting battle system is more easily relegated alongside 8-bit staples like Contra, Castlevania, and Journey to Silius. Zelda 2 is meant for those desiring this kind of action experience that relies heavily on skill, though I rank it above these other games for its complexity and focus on exploration. These skill-based action-adventures haven’t fared well in the 3-D era, and players are often shocked to find this style of gameplay counted as canon with Link’s Awakening and Ocarina of Time, whose gameplay has had more longevity for present-day players.

Too bad you can't throw some holy water at him.

Zelda 2’s status as franchise misfit can be better understood when viewed as a product of its time. In 1988 there was no Zelda formula, and no expectation of item-based exploration, overhead perspective, or multiple quests that layer the storyline, as these features of a Zelda game had not yet been concretely defined. Rather, Zelda 2 is Shigeru Miyamoto’s attempt to try something that hadn’t already been done, to give the gamer an entirely new experience, and to expand on the original game. They did not want to start a Mega Man franchise where games sprung from the same formula and used the same sprites as their predecessors—they wanted to surprise players with something new.

The idea of a sequel radically transforming the original game was prevalent in other early NES franchises before they became franchises. Castlevania 2: Simon’s Quest notoriously took its side-scrolling predecessor and added an enormous world-map, weapon selection, non-player characters, and infuriatingly obscure puzzles, transforming a linear action game into an open-ended adventure. Super Mario Bros. 2 (originally released as the non-Mario Doki Doki Panic in Japan) eschewed Goombas and fire flowers in favor of Shyguys and vegetables, while the original Super Mario 2 (The Lost Levels on the SNES) was condemned in Japan for using the same graphics and being too similar to its predecessor. In both cases, the third game retained the formula of the original and helped cement that formula in the gaming consciousness, but no one could have predicted this at the time. How different would our view of Mario be if Nintendo had continued to produce games where POWs clear a screen of enemies, potions create doors to shadow worlds, and jumping on enemies produces no effect? These principles would have become associated with the Mario series, making the original Super Mario Bros. the anomaly.

Imagine if Super Mario World looked more like this.

Without the gaming community hungering for something familiar, designers in the late ‘80s were freer to take games in new directions, and these pioneers were unafraid to turn an overhead Zelda game into a side-scroller, to have Simon Belmont’s world go from day to night, or to let Mario hurl one enemy at another. When these ideas didn’t catch on, the spirit of experimentation gave way to consistency within the franchise, and players came to expect these reoccurring standards as the norm, leaving designers to try their new ideas on unknown titles.

Instead of viewing Zelda 2 as a series mismatch or an outdated curiosity, players should enjoy it for what it does well. The leveling system is neither too easy, nor does it require a lot of farming, and it encourages players to master the battle system in preparation for later challenges. Link’s spells are fun, useful in battle, and take the place of the item-based challenges found in later games. Completing the dungeons requires solving puzzles unique to the game’s design (for example, falling into a pit and transforming into a fairy to reach a higher path). Maze Island and Death Mountain push the limits of the overhead scenes by making it difficult simply to get from one place to another. And that last boss is still damned hard.

Don’t judge Zelda 2 for being different than what you expect; judge it as its own unique experience. Those who don’t will miss out on something that can't be counted as spectacular, but is still very good.

Or you can be like this reviewer, who calls it the best Zelda game ever.

Officespeak Dissected: On Use vs. Utilize

In his groundbreaking work, Talk Around the Watercooler: The Syntax of Officespeak (2003), Chicago linguist Bertrand Hillworth describes the twelve syntactical and dialectical patterns that differentiate Officespeak from regular English. In chapter seven (“Throwing Out the Phrasal Verbs”) Hillworth documents the tendency among Officespeakers to choose longer, more complex Latinate verbs where casual English speakers would use shorter, Anglo-Saxon ones:

Officespeak	Casual English
purchase	buy
initiate	start
identify	find
disseminate	let (someone) know
utilize	use

Hillworth, however, understates both the overwhelming predominance of the utilize substitution in Officespeak and the discord between utilize and the more casual use. Consider the dictionary definition of the former:

utilize vt [F utiliser, fr. Utile] (1807): to make use of : turn to practical use or account 

A synonym study of use reveals that

UTILIZE may suggest the discovery of a new, profitable, or practical use for something 

These definitions imply that utilize, in the strictest sense, means to use something that is otherwise not being used, or to use something for a purpose other than its intended one. Thus, one can say:

Having accidentally brought the backpack full of office supplies on the camping trip, I utilized a letter opener to clean and gut the salmon.

I utilized my brother’s toothbrush to clean the inside of my hubcaps.

In the Macgyver pilot, the title character utilizes chocolate bars to plug a leak in the reactor. 

Consider situations where use would be more appropriate for these same items:

Rather than risk a papercut, I used a letter opener to open the morning mail.

I always use the same toothbrush for longer than I should.

Don’t eat the chocolate! Let’s use it for smores instead. 

However, as Farnsworth (2005) and Creyton (2008) document, Officespeakers are more likely to use utilize as a synonym for use in their everyday work speech:

Our organization can utilize the technology grant to purchase new computers.

You can utilize either the main entrance or the side door in the morning.

I suggest utilizing your time productively. 

In each example, (all taken from Creyton), the speaker uses utilize as a synonym for use while ignoring utilize’s definition of using something for a purpose other than its intended one. So widespread is utilize’s appearance in American offices that the literal definition has become all but lost, with the majority of Officespeakers expressing disbelief when confronted with the difference.

Creyton offers further proof of utilize’s ubiquity in the administrative world by noting that utilize is the most common dialectical trait for casual English speakers to copy when attempting conversation with Officespeakers. Simply put, if a non-Officespeaker meets an Officespeaker, he’s more likely to slip a stray utilize into his speech than to pick up on any other aspect of the dialect.

Why is utilize so common? Linguists differ widely on this question, but Farnsworth’s theory holds that because utilize is such an easily copied way of giving a matter the illusion of importance, those who aspire to pomposity in their professional lives subconsciously emulate it as a way of sounding more important, though they’ve not yet mastered the other Latinate verbs on Hillworth’s list or learned to alter their verbs into nouns (i.e. say be a recipient instead of the simpler receive). Thus, an overuse of utilize implies that not only does the speaker harbor dreams of advancement, he or she may be an apprentice Officespeaker not yet comfortable with the dialect.

The Economist recently gave a nod to my coining of the term Officespeak in an article on reflexive pronouns. Click here for the full article.

Five Books Every Twentysomething Should Read

Several years back, during one of my online rants about the lack of reading in America, an old Bennington classmate called bullshit and offered some advice: Don’t chastise people for not reading enough, because they probably don’t know where to begin.

He’s right, of course. Bookstores and libraries are intimidating places that make it difficult to know whether a particular book will be an awe-inspiring epiphany or a waste of your time. If you’re at the same point in your life as I am, or have found any of this blog’s ramblings and reflections relatable, I recommend these five books as ones that expose the delights and perils of being a twentysomething in a way I wish I was capable of.

Starting with the most highly recommended, here’s the list:


#1. High Fidelity, by Nick Hornby (1995)

The movie version is amazing (beating both Say Anything and Better Off Dead as my favorite John Cusack movie of all time), and the book is better. I recommend High Fidelity to everyone for four reasons:

1. It’s a quick read
2. It’s funny 
3. It’s relatable
4. It has enough pop culture references that you’ll feel clever for getting at least a few of them

But it’s more than this that make this book stand out. Hornby speaks to our insecurities, our curiosities, and to those thoughts we all have but can’t quite explain. His protagonist, Rob*, fucks up with women and wonders what went wrong, is mean to his friends without knowing why, and is disconcertingly aware of his unsettled state. He runs his own record store, revels in the music he loves, yet he’s unhappy and can’t seem to grow up. We spend the entire book in Rob’s head as he wonders about himself and the world around him, including those mysterious first discoveries of sex:

This is the sort of sex education I never had—the one that deals with G-spots and the like. No one ever told me about anything that mattered, about how to take your trousers off with dignity or what to say to someone when you can’t get an erection or what “good in bed” meant in 1975 or 1985, never mind 1955. Get this: no one ever told me about semen even, just sperm, and there’s a crucial difference. As far as I could tell, these microscopic tadpole things just leaped invisibly out of the end of your whatsit, and so when, on the occasion of my first. . .well, never you mind.

The entire book is full of these observational gems, most of which never made their way into the movie. It’s those moments when an author reflects on something you’ve always known, or been thinking about, or maybe just thought about in a different way, that make me love the medium. A good book will show you things about the world around you, and High Fidelity is no exception.

* Author’s Note: At the risk of being fact-checked in the comments section, I’ll note that Rob is actually a thirtysomething in the book, though his plights speak to anyone above college age who isn’t happily married with kids.


#2. Rabbit, Run by John Updike (1960)

Harry “Rabbit” Angstrom was a basketball star in high school, but now demonstrates the MagiPeel vegetable peeler to housewives at department stores. His own wife drinks too much and watches television all day, and together they live in the same suburb they lived in when they were young and life was more exciting. One day, Rabbit gets in the car and starts driving, searching for something he can never quite describe to anyone and desperate to separate himself from his life’s confines. This is how the book begins.

Harry’s nameless dissatisfaction is still relevant today for college graduates who now lack the structured environment to pursue the things they used to. Readers are unsure whether to encourage Rabbit on his journey for self-discovery or to chastise him for abandoning his family. Is he a bad person for leaving his son and his pregnant wife? Or is he bettering himself by striving to break free of his bleak suburban existence? The novel never tells us for sure, and this dichotomy makes it all the more interesting.

Rabbit, Run also isn’t as dense as Updike’s later work, and is a far easier read than anything he wrote in his later years. His novels are full of great descriptions of things (for example, the dot on a tube television that lingers after you turn it off, or the way a stack of chairs gradually leans forward if you pile it high enough*), and contain a gracefulness of prose that perfectly captures these moments in time.

Finally, this one deserves a place on the top five books that changed my life because it (arguably) prompted me to break up with my own girlfriend. Who can argue that such a call to action isn’t indicative of the book’s power?

* Images from Rabbit Redux and Couples, respectively.


#3. The Sun Also Rises, by Ernest Hemingway (1926)

A lot of people read this book in high school and hate it; I probably would have too if I’d been forced to read it when I was sixteen and still living out the comforting routines of adolescence. The Sun Also Rises is a book for people whose lives lack definition and purpose: its expatriate characters wander Europe, drink themselves stupid on absinthe and champagne, avoid their families, work uninspiring jobs, and never get any girls. Its narrator, Jake, was left impotent after World War I, and can’t consummate his relationship with Brett, the woman of the group, who’s content to live up the night life with the rest of them instead of settling down and having a mess of children like a good housewife.

The book lacks a clear plot, and is basically just the main characters moving from one alcohol-fueled romp to another for two hundred and forty pages. While this frustrates a lot of people, I find it to be a more accurate representation of real life (which, in most cases, also lacks a clear plot). Behind the nights out and the exotic trips, Hemingway’s brief, understated prose hides a distinct sadness as readers become aware that nothing will come of the characters’ lives. This should make The Sun Also Rises more relatable to unmarried twentysomethings who lack concrete goals and whose jobs offer few opportunities for advancement, but it’s jarring for readers to see this emptiness captured in novel form when they’re accustomed to a three-act structure. Though more happens closer to the end (I won’t ruin it), the novel is best enjoyed as a look at the highs and lows of what life shouldn’t be.


#4. Afternoon Men, by Anthony Powell (1931)

This book is the British version of The Sun Also Rises, but with more plot. There’s more to it than that, but the situation is the same: a bunch of unmarried twentysomethings get drunk, have sex, nurse their hangovers, have witty conversations, and do very little that can be considered productive. The main character, Richard Atwater, spends the book in pursuit of a girl, Susan Nunnery, he really likes but who just isn’t interested in him. Let me clarify: no jealous boyfriends, no hidden psychological trauma, no climactic confrontations, Susan Nunnery just isn’t interested. The very banality of Atwater’s courtship makes it relatable because we’ve all experienced infatuation with someone we have no chance of getting with.

Like The Sun Also Rises, this is a novel of understatement, where we have to read between the lines to understand the characters’ feelings. In this dialogue between Atwater and Susan Nunnery before she leaves for America, we see both Atwater’s desperation and Susan Nunnery’s flippant replies:

“Anyway, I shall see you when you come back.”
“Yes,” she said, “whenever that is.”
“But you said it would be soon?”
“It will be soon. I don’t know why I said that.”
“Do you mean you’re going away for ages?”
“No. Only a little time.”
“We shall meet when you come back, shan’t we?”
“I don’t know. It always seems rather a business. Our meetings.”
“Perhaps we’d better not then?”
“I think we’d better not.”
“You won’t be away long, will you?”
“No,” she said. “Not long.” 

Aside from their unfulfilling relationship, Afternoon Men is notable for being one of the books to best portray a character slacking off at his job: Atwater works as a museum clerk, where he spends his workdays writing letters to friends and trying to convince visitors that their time would better be spent else elsewhere. Office Space, eat your heart out.


#5. Murphy, by Samuel Beckett (1938)

The most difficult book on the list (though easily the most approachable of Beckett’s novels), I’m including this one because, unlike the first four, Murphy features a protagonist who cannot fit in with society and has no desire to. Murphy is an Irishman living in London who wants nothing more than to sit in his rocking chair and be with his girlfriend Celia, a former prostitute who thinks Murphy should get a real job like everyone else. The thought of gainful employment makes Murphy ill, but rather than lose Celia he leaves his apartment in search of work, where he’s set adrift in a world that’s strange to him. The novel’s other characters, driven by money, sex, and greed, pursue and take advantage of Murphy to satisfy their own ends, though all he really wants is to be left alone.

Though Murphy speaks to the more misanthropic reader, the novel is essentially about a young person looking to make his way in the world and not having an easy time. Substitute Murphy’s chair for the comfort of living with one’s parents, and the novel becomes a story about growing up and becoming independent. (It’s not surprising that even in the 1930s Murphy is provoked by a woman to leave his nest.) Beckett, however, is never critical of his main character, and Murphy’s discomforts and misfortunes are unceasingly real.

I love this book, and in thinking about it recently, realize how relevant it really is.  Ours is a generation of Murphys: unwilling to face adult responsibilities, cynical of what the outside world can offer us, and eager to retreat into solitude (again, substitute Murphy’s self-reflection for, say, the Internet). How many people do you know who are stuck at home, spend too much time online, and are cynical about their chances on the outside? Could this be because the outside world is as twisted as Beckett makes it out to be?

I might be stretching this a bit, but if you can decipher its nonlinear plot and arcane dialogue, this one might offer you some perspective on your own existence, as I hope the other books on this list will as well.

Manchester in January

People in my neighborhood often leave large objects on the sidewalk on the chance that the garbage men will pick them up. This tree was one of three I found in the span of as many blocks. The house next to ours is continuously disposing of old television sets (they got rid of the biggest flatscreen one first, then a set more appropriate for a living room entertainment center, and now there is a bedroom-sized one sitting on the curb). Another house discards printers and VCRs from twenty years ago, and I estimate that if they continue this trend they will one day be throwing out old 1080p monitors and iPod Touches for their neighbors to make fun of.

A Very Short Story About Job Searching

At work I occasionally receive unsolicited e-mails inquiring whether my school has any job openings. My usual course of action is to print them out, give them to my boss, and then place them unread in a large filing cabinet full of overloaded hanging folders.

Usually the resumes are from people well-established in their teaching careers, but one came from a recent college graduate. She was interested in counseling and social work, and currently working an unpaid internship at another school far away from where she lived. She was looking for a two-day-a-week counseling job to supplement her internship, and wanted to be paid for doing what she loved.

I read her cover letter several times and decided it would be worthwhile to ask the principal whether we had a place for this girl, even an unpaid one, for there was no money in the budget to compensate her. I rehearsed the manner of introduction that would portray her in the most positive way possible. She has solid experience. She’s good with kids. She’d be willing to work for free.

I was very busy that week (with kids needing to go home sick, forgotten musical instruments to be delivered, announcements to be read, substitute teachers to call, and report cards to file), so I did not find the time to explain these things to the principal, who was also busy. The girl’s e-mail fell behind others of more immediate importance, and after two weeks it seemed silly to follow up on something so late.

I felt bad for neglecting her, and thought back to all the resumes I’d sent out during my job-searching days. Nothing hurt more than not getting a response back, and facing the agony of waiting. In a faceless world indifferent to the sufferings of young people, this girl deserved to know that someone had been thinking about her. I was overstepping my bounds here, because only the principal can decide who gets hired and who doesn’t. This would be my act of subversion—to restore humanity to the job-searching process. I would write her a genuine response, and maybe even allude to my own difficulties finding a job that suited me. But keep at it, I would say, because the only real failure is submitting to less than your ideal. That thought might give her hope in a difficult world.

But I was very busy the next week too, and didn’t write the e-mail. Instead I threw her message away.

Plagiarism is Not Cool

If you’ve ever had something you’ve cared about stolen from you unexpectedly (because all stealing is unexpected, really), maybe this story will make more sense.

Three months ago someone posted an anonymous tip to my blog linking to another blogger who’d taken text from one of my entries, Fuck Your Impractical Hipster Room Decorations.  Her entry copied, nearly verbatim, the paragraph I’d worked the hardest on: a summation of why I despise the artificiality of curated rooms and would rather live in a space that has personal meaning rather than one I can show off.  Ironically, the plagiarist seemed to have missed the point of my discussion, as she’d posted the text in question beneath photos of her new bedroom, which included such hipster staples as a derivative of the Keep Calm and Carry On poster, women’s shoes placed on a shelf for decorative purposes, china dolls proudly labeled as vintage, and a notebook with a bird on it.  She had moved into a new apartment and wanted to show it off.  She also wanted everyone to know that her decorations were genuine, not fake.

I sat at the computer for some time, thinking at first that it may have been a coincidence (it wasn’t) or a mistake (no), and, when denial had run its course, trying to decide what to do.  I searched her blog, finding photo-filled trips to island resorts, demonstrations of make-up application equipment, endlessly narcissistic pictures of herself in slim-fitting vintage clothes, and pictures of food from trendy restaurants.  I became distraught, hating this hipster fashion model who had stolen from me and from others (English was not her first language, and the quality of her prose changed drastically from entry to entry) and was now making money through blog advertising and paid entries about the make-up products and restaurants she praised just a little too highly.

This was my mistake.  Looking back, there were three reasons why it was easy for me to become as emotionally unhinged as I did:

1. She came from a different country
2. Her blog had a higher readership than mine
3. She was a hipster

When we’ve been wronged by people we don’t know very well, it’s easy to choose a focal point like gender, race, social status, level of affluence, career path, or level of success to get angry at rather than confront the injustice directly.  When we know people better, we see past all of those things and can hate them for who they are, rather than the superficial qualities they embody. 

After my mania cooled, I set to work.  I wrote her an e-mail requesting nicely that she take my words down or give me credit.  When she didn’t reply I wrote more e-mails, sent her Facebook messages, and posted comments to her blog that never made it past the Awaiting Moderation stage.  My messages started out firm, then escalated to twistedly sarcastic and mocking prose of the sort I unleash on others in moments of frustration.  The girl never replied to my comments, a reminder that we live in a world that finds it acceptable for such correspondence to go unacknowledged (an infuriating reality for anyone who has ever had to look for a job).

Taking some advice from Stu, I contacted the plagiarist’s web host, since they would be legally prohibited from hosting content that violates copyright law.  Through the magic of social media, the plagiarized article was actually posted on two different sites: Blogger and a Wordpress-template domain.  Blogger is, of course, hosted under the Google umbrella, and a few quick links lead me to an amazingly user-friendly form showing applicants how to report a violation.  I filled out the form and within two days Google deleted the post.

I celebrated, cheered, and rejoiced that there was justice in the world.  I sent the plagiarist a gloating Facebook message pointing out that her Blogger entry was gone and requesting that she remove its twin.  In retrospect, I did this more to assert my moral superiority than to produce a tangible result, but it felt good.  I needed her to know that I was better than her.

When no tangible result was produced, I hunted down the second blog’s host using Site Trail, which tracks webhosting and other, less relevant information for websites.  I researched online plagiarism, how to find it, and how to report it.  I wrote an e-mail to the host’s abuse department.  When nothing happened, I did more research and found, buried deep within the cavernlike Terms of Service, a law office that handled copyright complaints and compliance with the Digital Millennium Copyright Act, the American ratification of an international treaty protecting copyrighted material.  In densely-worded legalese, they cited six items required to report a copyright violation. 

1. Your signature (or your lawyer’s)
2. A link to the work that was stolen
3. A link to the site that stole your work
4. Your contact information (e-mail address, regular address, and phone number)
5. An honest statement saying that you believe your work was stolen
6. Another honest statement saying that you didn’t lie about items 1-6

To see the official, difficult to read versions of these items, click here and scroll down to section (c)-(3).

This time I wrote both an e-mail and an actual letter.  Two days later, the second entry was gone too.  I’d done it; something bad had happened, and I’d fixed it.  My work was safe again. 

What have I learned from all this?  Proper procedure for reporting copyright violations, for one thing.  (I hope that my experience, along with the Digital Millennium Act guidelines above, can be of help to someone.)  The foolishness of stereotyping people, rather than simply hating the things they’ve done, for another.  I’ve also seen, once again, the futility of attempting to contact someone who, as Kyle Reese says in the first Terminator movie, can’t be bargained with or reasoned with.  But most importantly, I’ve seen that there exist in this world many laws—voluminous, overly specific, and written in language that defies comprehension—that will yield results provided we follow the instructions carefully.  This is best done without emotion, as if the action were as routine a process as stamping a letter or signing the back of a check.  There is no use getting vehement or lashing out.  The solution might just involve filling out the right form.