Nasty fan mail suggests shortage of Zoloft in NY

Nasty envelope
Originally uploaded by Brite light photos.

SACRAMENTO, Calif. - I had a stack of mail two-feet tall awaiting me at the Journalism Dept. this morning, the result of not going near campus for nearly a month.

God, it felt good, too, to stay away.

But, in among stacks of announcements of lectures I wouldn't attend even if paid, come-ons for new textbooks, and the occasional brochure for new computer stuff, there was a first-class letter with the handwritten envelope you see in the photo here, postmarked March 7.

Handwritten envelopes in 2006 are such a rarity. Usually such an envelope would contain a personal note from a former student who had landed a great job and wanted to tell me all about it. Thank-you notes for letters of recommendation usually come in that size envelope with handwritten addresses, too. This one had a Buffalo, N.Y. postmark, which was a tip-off it probably wasn't from a former student. A few of my students over the years have traveled east, but the ones that do, usually head to Washington D.C. or New York City.

But, well, the brief note inside certainly turned out to be personal.

Here's the entirety of what was inside the envelope, folded quite tightly:



Ouch!

If I was sensitive, that nasty-gram would send me to either the wine jug or the Prozac bottle in a heartbeat. Maybe both. Well, not Prozac, because I don't have any or have ever had any, or... Never mind. Let's move along...

But I am not really that sensitive. Too many years in the news business, I suppose. One letter to the editor some years ago suggested that I go back to college and get a degree in journalism.I didn't take that letter too seriously either, because the letter writer misspelled both journalism and college. And it was from a high school teacher. Ouch again.

But in this case, well, I have never been able to take anonymous letters very seriously. They are just so, so, so, ummmmmm, chickenshit?

Wait! I'm sorry, let me amend that. That's not fair to the patriotic poultry population of America. (I know, I know, it was an obvious joke, but sometimes obvious works best. Watch Jon Stewart on the Daily Show.)

By not signing their name, or putting a return address, the whole criticism falls pretty flat.

So, sorry Ms. or Mr. anonymous former-classmate. I suggest you simply don't read this blog if you find my musings frankly, well, not amusing. And please, please, follow through on that awful threat to boycott the 40th reunion of the Class of '66. Your presence would be missed, though, only if we knew who you were. What a conundrum!

In that vein, I'm giving the envelope and note to some of our criminal justice, CSI-type students on campus for them to do some detective work. I mean, the handwriting is distinctive and virtually every computer printer in America leaves a signature now, a signature that is invisible to the naked eye. (That signature was included as a public safety measure many years before 9-11, so don't blame The Patriot Act.)

I am just kidding about the criminal-justice students. But I do want to offer my sincere thanks to the writer of the note for reminding me that this reunion is about, well, the Class of '66 of Southwestern Central High School. All of us.

We all had our faults in 1966. We all have faults in 2006. Mine is sometimes not knowing when to stop writing and shut up.

Soooooo...

Buena suerte (or bon chance) classmates and amigos.

I hope to see everyone in July, all critics included.