I got an email yesterday from a Deadly Sins reader who was so full of vitriol and sanctimonious pity that I found myself going into a psychological fetal position, curling up in reflexive anger and depression. It's very rare that such critical messages from total strangers affect me like that: I've received enough ugly email from John Grisham fans and other morons that I've developed a formidable set of mental calluses. The last time I got all vulnerable in the face of unprompted critique was when Don, the best friend of my girlfriend's soon-to-be-ex-husband, said the old Seven Deadly Sins site looked like it was designed at Kinko's. Regardless of his ulterior destructive motives, that one comment sent me into a frenzy of redesign that completely changed the look of the site. And while I acknowledged that it was silly to take one shoulder-chipped individual's nasty remark so seriously, I found myself returning to the computer incessantly for the time it took to complete the task.

This message's single lengthy paragraph zealously dissected my essay on the Deadly Sins' metaphysical connection to that TV laff staple, Gilligan's Island. So unrelenting was its stream of insults that I could feel the winds of my mood begin to shift in ominous directions. Then, oddly, I began to suspect a fake. The anger seemed contrived, as if the author was overacting his role. I wondered if the author had read past Tales in which I published the most ridiculous and clueless critical emails for the amusement of all, along with the authors' email addresses, for the retribution of anyone who cared to follow up. It felt increasingly likely that he penned this letter in hopes of grabbing a few nanoseconds of fame through my largely unknown website.

This was suspiciously like something I would do, yet I found myself resoundingly unsympathetic to this plaintive attempt to be noticed. I frequently espouse the idea that I write the Tales in a shameless appeal for attention, baring myself to the online public in a persistent quest for celebrity. Late at night, I like to think the real reasons are more complicated. But that anonymous writer's artless appeal for airtime exposed the unattractive cloth from which part of me is also cut.

To make myself feel better, I reached for the "Extra-terrestrial Life" theory. You may have heard Carl Sagan or Leonard Nimoy speculate on the possibility of life elsewhere in the universe by citing the sheer number of solar systems and habitable planets all around us. Given all those potential planetary environments, the theory goes, it's almost certain that somewhere out there other forms of life have poked their little heads up from the muck. I employ this same theory when I receive email messages that are so ludicrous that I cannot believe the author could effectively wield a stone club, much less a keyboard. Rereading the letter, I try to wrap my mind around the concept that given the sheer numbers of crazy people who now have access to powerful computing devices, it is theoretically possible that someone could be that fucked up.

Speaking of craziness, I never heard back from friend-of-friend and digerato Tara after she expressed interest in having me write something for her upcoming online zine about obsession. I'm concerned because shortly after talking to her about it, I posted a Tale about how she looked almost exactly my ex-girlfriend Heather, and how unnaturally comfortable that has made me in her presence. It seemed like a provocatively honest thing to do at the time, but thoughtful consideration suggests that the revelation might not have upped her comfort level with me. Too bad; I was rather looking forward to watching a familiar face acquire new meaning.

In other news, my friends' response to the New Years Eve bash was so encouraging that I'm becoming concerned that too many people will show up. The bar we rented is not particularly large, and having people playing pool sucks up a big chunk of square footage. An odd and volatile mix of people will be jammed into this tiny space, and I still intend to facilitate additional randomness by inviting two readers of this site. (If you'd like to come, go check out the invitation.) I'm feverishly looking forward to it. I'm hungry for the definitive moments and little addled epiphanies of a truly great party.