I went to Catholic school my entire life. The nuns at my grade school were tough but fair – the way I imagine you have to be when you’re married to someone like God. And while they loved when you asked questions, they hated when you questioned anything. For example, my fifth grade math teacher would patiently answer any question I had about the difference between a fraction and a decimal, but the one time I ask why I need to know the difference between a fraction an a decimal she would get all up in my grill with her coffee breath saying things about being an intelligent child of God and tapping into the talent that God gave me, which always confused me because at the time I thought the talent God gave me was the ability to fight crime with my devastating karate moves.
If only Sister Dorothy had told me that one day being able to do simple math would get me laid, maybe I would have listened.
To wit (and much to the chagrin of late-night sexual predators and stupid people), Google has released a new Gmail feature called Mail Goggled. Users can program the optional add-on to activate itself during the hours when they are most likely drunk, e.g. Friday thru Sunday, 10 p.m. to 4 a.m., or if you’re like me Sunday thru Friday, 11 a.m. to 2:30 p.m.
When activated, a series of simple math problems pop up on the screen when you hit the “send” button. E-mailers must solve the equations in a limited amount of time in order to send their correspondence – the goal being to prevent drunk, drugged, or just plain dumb people from sending ill-advised late night emails quitting their job, telling off their ex, or responding to that kinky girl on Craigslist who “wants it in the back seat”, and by back seat she means her ass.
In theory, I totally agree with this. Many, many, many times I could have used such a censor when I stumbled into my apartment and thought that the best thing to do while eating my pizza would be to catch up on my correspondence, and if a series of math problems had popped up on my screen I probably would have thrown the computer out the window for fear that it had come alive and was attempting to communicate with me in a language I didn’t understand.
On the other hand, though, the mistakes you make when you drunkenly check your email are all part of the natural process of maturation. Who can say what kind of man I would be today if I had never drank that twelve-pack and broken up with that Russian gymnast in college via email while she was spending the summer in
Just like Catholic school.