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This sounds even more romantic than Kafka's "Letter to His Father:"

"It is also true that you hardly ever gave me a whipping. But the shouting, the way your face got red, the hasty undoing of the braces and laying them ready over the back of the chair...."

Stop it. You're turning me on.

It does seem that love letters have become dinosaurs, where old ones are marvelled over and no new ones are ever seen. Maybe we're too insecure now, afraid to have that out there in case of a split.

You win this round of begging for a love letter: Buck, I know "Rocky" originally wrote this, but it's just so accurate about my feelings for you that I couldn't help repeating it,

I have, hidden in a box somewhere, four months of correspondence between my not-yet-husband and me when I was living out of the country. I hope that someone has the good sense to burn them when we're dead, because it's all too private, too honest, too embarrassing to think of other people reading them.

Maybe also because it's hard not to run these sort of things through the - which is, by the way, the best application ever developed for the web.

Shit. And now I see that the Sarcasterizer appears to be broken. Maybe it's just my browser.

Oh, whew! I was desperately trying to use it, because that is really wonderful, but it wouldn't work for me. Maybe later.

I used to go there and read the NYTimes through the Sarcasterizer - man, that almost killed the pain of current events. The application would just randomly distribute scare quotes throughout the body of the text, so that the headlines would read:

Kofi "Annan" to Address U.N. "Today"

or whatever. I never got tired of that.

Now that's "romantic."

People need to get back in the habit of falling in love with people who live far away.... who don't have the Internet. I myself could never be involved in such correspondence, because my handwriting's so dreadful that no one else can read it. Maybe if I ever find someone who can decipher my love letters, that'll be when I'll "know." And then after my amorous penpal and I pass away and they find all the bundles stuffed in an old trunk, they'll only be able to anthologize the other half of our epistolary affair.

I haven't written any kind of (non-business) letter in years, which is sad. My friend Cecily and I kept a respectable letter-writing thing up until about 2005 or so, but the combination of my immense laziness and illegible handwriting, and the rise of gmail -- then gchat -- killed it off, and now we're not really in contact at all. The thing about letters versus email is that you need to take time apart to do it, and there's added pressure there to have actual content that's not boring. Plus there's this creepy factor of not knowing where your letter will end up, which I think we've tricked ourselves into ignoring with online media. But letters are so cool and romantic because they're really physical, and because handwriting is such an intimate and intrinsic aspect of a person, almost like a body part that you rarely get to see anymore. It's really freaked me out, over the past few years when I've seen the handwriting of people I feel I know really well, and when it doesn't seem familiar I realize I've never seen their writing before. I mean like close friends and guys I've been involved with over the past few years whose handwriting I wouldn't be able to recognize. But then a couple weeks ago, an old childhood friend of mine was in town, and wrote down the name of a school in the back of my calendar -- one word -- and later when I looked at it I had this jolt of recognition, because her writing's exactly the same as it was in fourth grade. I guess I'm a total luddite, but doesn't it seem like we miss this whole dimension of people now? There's so much more written communication these days, which I like, but it's mediated in a way that's very unromantic.

Thinking about this is making me really depressed, actually. No wonder the quality of love affairs seems to have decreased markedly since the last century. We totally suck now, especially me.

Also, I know no one asked for my enormous treatise on the lack of letters in my life, but my sister's decision to stop being a letterpress printer did not help matters much. Not that I'm one to blame others (especially not beloved family members) for my problems, but if Rachel'd held onto her windmill and were still supplying me with personal stationary, I'm sure my letterwriting would be flourishing today.

Jessica wrote: "...there's added pressure there to have actual content that's not boring...."

I had a regular penpal and I think it ended because of this reason. She would never answer any of my questions so I didn't know what she was up to, interested in, or involved with. Since I had this compulsion to write with 1/4" or smaller letters and completely fill the blank card surface (it looked pretty cool), I ended up having to repeat myself for material (not on the same card, but card after card). Less than fascinating. She, on the other hand, had huge loopy handwriting and would barely finish the opening platitudes before reaching the end of available space.

I know what you mean about seeing handwriting. I miss it.

The Sarcasterizer is broken? At first I thought the empty white screen was the point, the sarcastic paragraph about how great it is and then nothing, hah.

Meredith, I think you "know" how I "feel" about you. Hey, my Sarcasterizer's still working!

Wait. Let me make some coffee. Then I'll come back and write something relevant.

Eh! put her finger on part of the problem: fear. Relationships being so fleeting nowadays, we’re afraid of getting burned, so we try to limit our exposure, as the brokers like to say.

But I’d argue that the whole romantic paradigm has shifted, so that the idea of writing a long, emotionally naked love letter strikes many people as faintly embarrassing—while some of these same people would not be put off by the idea of, say, posting their homemade porn on the internet (and good on them; I’m not judging). I’m afraid the love letter might be an outmoded genre, like the serenade or the sonnet. It’s not only technologically obsolete—since nobody uses snail mail anymore—but aesthetically obsolete as well. And that depresses me, too, Jessica, but what’re you gonna do?

Which came first, the demise of penmanship or the death of the love letter?

I used to be a big letter-writer, too. I'll have to start that up again. It's good to be reminded about how fun real letters are. It's more depressing not to get a letter in return, though, than not to get an email in return. I guess that's the fear thing.

Nooo! Does scarcity make something obsolete? I'd prefer to think the handwritten letter is even more valuable for being rare, especially the handwritten love letter.

People who receive letters and don't reply in kind are greedy bastards who don't deserve the bounty. Of course, sometimes there's good reason, like their writing hand was mangled in a tragic garbage disposal accident.

Wait, sonnets are outmoded? Shit, how embarrassing. I guess that's what he meant when he sent that curt text....

I guess the now-people-are-afraid-to-write-emotionally-naked-love-letters argument is really more about the death of the art of falling in love, and that love letters are, by this theory, just a quietly tragic collateral consequence. Because isn't that the point of love letters? To say all those things you wouldn't be able to say to the person face to face, because they're too corny or deranged or emotional or terrifying? So maybe the decline of love really is a consequence of the death of love letters, and not the other way around. Maybe not having access to those thoughts and that scrawl is what’s caused this rumored shift in the romantic paradigm��.?

I agree with Eh! that the scarcity makes these things so much more appealing and valuable. Sitting down and turning off the computer and writing a love letter really means something today, precisely because it’s not expected. I only check my mailbox about once a week because I don't ever get anything in the mail except bills. If someone sent me an actual letter, I'd probably have a heart attack.

The thing is that writing letters is hard work, and we're all out of practice. One of the problems I remember is that letters are often kind of boring. My brain has been so damaged by new media that I somehow find babbling on endlessly here about this topic wildly diverting, but that's because I know it's a pretty quick turnaround in terms of response and continuation. My attention span is such that I can't really imagine myself maintaining interest in an idea or subject (or romantic relationship?) for the time it would take to carry on a discussion via old-fashioned mail.

Of course this is all making me really want to sit down and write some letters. Have you guys noticed that good stamps have gotten really hard to find? Also, I really do wish that I had some nice stationary. I think I would have been better off living in days when people knew how to fall in love and there was such thing as stationary stores, and penmanship lessons. I keep reminding myself that people were a lot more racist back then, and the food probably sucked.

Eh!, the first time I read your #17 post, I thought you referred to "handwriting" being mangled in a garbage disposal, and I thought it was sweet that you were giving me a pass. I’m terrible at responding to letters. If I don’t do it immediately upon receipt, I just procrastinate endlessly and torture myself with guilt. That totally makes me want to get into letters again. I love having things to beat myself up for not doing.

"The death of the art of falling in love�� is a fine phrase, and—again—a depressing subject to think about. Obviously some people still have the knack, but there seem to be more and more of us emotional cripples stumbling around out there, propping each other up for a while before falling down and crawling on to the next partner. Jesus, I’m getting too old for this. Count your blessings, Ceridwen: you’re out of the game.

But enough moping. I just had a kooky idea��

I can totally see myself living to regret this, but if anyone here wants to give an old-fashioned pen-and-paper correspondence a whirl, send me a PM and I’ll reply with my mailing address. Your letter gets you mine. Just don’t expect emotional nakedness--or elegant penmanship, for that matter. (Um, dudes are welcome, too, I guess, though I must say the thought kind of creeps me out). Commemorative stamps and fancy stationary optional.

My God! What have I done? Worlds colliding...

As the resident Safety Officer here, I plan to run everyone on this thread through the Internet Psycho Database to see which of you has a record of going to people's addresses and chopping hapless strangers into pieces. I know for a fact that you'd all be terrific correspondents, but you can't be too careful in this day and age....

I will get back to you all with the results of this background check. Actually the site's broken today -- just a white screen -- but hopefully it'll be up and running later on, then we all can exchange addresses and begin our love letter ring. In the meantime we should all begin practicing our cursive.

It's safe to assume that most people around here are, if not psycho, then deeply disturbed. But I figure, hey, I live in a different country from most of you weirdoes, so I should be safe. Plus, my building has a buzzer, and a strongly-worded notice advising against opening the door for strangers. What could go wrong?

It's sad that both the Internet Psycho Database and the Sarcasterizer are down. What has the world come to?

What HAS the world come to? Clearly it's time to go back to paper. The Internet is too unreliable these days.

I would be thrilled and honored to swap love letters with any and all of you. An initial search suggests "Buck Mulligan" is actually a fourteen-year-old FBI agent, but if everyone keeps it clean then we should be okay. One of our gang seems to have a notable number of harassment and criminal contempt arrests for violating standing orders of protection, but it looks like those charges were all eventually dismissed due to mental incapacity or defect, so... Write away! Yeah! Oh, this is going to be fun.

I hate to say it, but . . . I think Jessica's using the Sarcasterizer as the Internet Psycho Database. Rut Roh.

I thought I had those records expunged after I broke that one judge's left kneecap! Looks like the right one needs to go.

Faux love letter exchange (the more florid the better) of '09?

Count me in.

(And phew! I'm glad Eh!'s record showed up and not mine. Er...you know.)

I wasn't able to retrieve my ancient stationery set from the parents' house so I tried to purchase some - even the specialty store had limited selection. I considered the sealing wax but all the seal designs were lame. No wax or flowery border for this round.

I want very badly to participate in this, but I am failing at both life and school right now, and I think I'll get pretty bleak if I start failing at something else. Best to quit before I've started.

Fine. I'm tearing up your Christmas card and cancelling the fruit basket. But if you change your mind, let me know (assuming I haven't been rubbed out by some crazed Internet stalker by then).

Geeky as it is, this experiment is the best thing that's ever happened to me as a result of NOT reading a book. I'm planning to not read way more books in the future.

Meredith wrote: "I want very badly to participate in this, but I am failing at both life and school right now, and I think I'll get pretty bleak if I start failing at something else. Best to quit before I've started."

The good thing about failing at life now is that it's reclassified as life experience later on; unless this is a literal statement and I can send you my blood type to see if there's a match...I have a spare kidney and very healthy marrow.

Buck wrote: "Fine. I'm tearing up your Christmas card and cancelling the fruit basket. But if you change your mind, let me know (assuming I haven't been rubbed out by some crazed Internet stalker by then)."

Did the Christmas basket have moose tracks in it? Because if so I might have to give up on school and become a professional letter-writer. Actually, crap. I think that's what a lawyer is.

Eh! wrote: "unless this is a literal statement and I can send you my blood type to see if there's a match...I have a spare kidney and very healthy marrow."

That's a good thought - and it looks like you live close enough to me that we could just head over to OHSU. No, I should probably say I'm failing at people and school. Sometimes it's fun to want to do every possible thing, and other times it just means I do every possible thing badly. Like you say, though, it's worth it if it's a good story later.

When I was slogging through 19th-century archival material in my university library I found a postcard a young woman had received from her sort-of-fiance (he had been sent overseas for several years by his family in hopes that one of them would marry someone else) that said:

"For God's sake, write, or I am undone."

See, now that’s what I’m talking about. Why can’t I be that guy? Why is it that the best I can manage is: “For God’s sake, somebody post a comment on my review or I’m totally unfriending you losers.��

I could really use some closure on that story, though. Do you know how it turned out? Did they get married and settle down on a chicken farm outside Topeka? Or did she marry some insensitive jerk instead? On second thought, maybe not knowing is better.

Shit. Now my postcards look lame in comparison.

*shakes fist at historical letter writers*

They did get married, after being apart for 5 years or so.

I think Miriam made that up.

I hate to continue to be the wet blanket on this whole romantic business, but the last time I got a "write, or I am undone" message it was from someone who had just been released from the lock-down ward of a mental institution. All I'm saying is I think there's a fine line between romantic and danger to society. I appreciate whatever is pedestrian about all these bookface conversations.

Meredith wrote: "...the last time I got a "write, or I am undone" message it was from someone who had just been released from the lock-down ward of a mental institution."

Yeah, but was he cute?

And who you callin' pedestrian, pedestrian? This thread is pure gold, I tell ya. The laughter, the tears, the Sarcasterization: I'll cherish these moments forever.

Buck wrote: "Yeah, but was he cute?"

Definitely.

"And who you callin' pedestrian, pedestrian? This thread is pure gold, I tell ya. The laughter, the tears, the Sarcasterization: I'll cherish these moments forever."

Exactly what I'm saying.

It does seem pre-crazy romance is the goal. Once romance crosses the yikes line then it's literature, to be read but probably not fun to be lived.

I love postcards - they make me wonder if there's a hidden meaning in the front illustration.

Good point, Eh! I mean, look at how many romance novels/films feature protagonists behaving in ways that in real life would get you a restraining order.

Hey letter cats, did you see this about letters? Annoyingly short, and frankly nowhere near and interesting as some of the stuff laid out here, like Jessica's heart-rending observation that the sense of a friend's hand-writing, once so integral to friendship, simply fades. I'm signing off this Internet thing right this second and putting some pen to paper.

(Or probably not, but it sounds really dramatic, right?)

We are the champions!

I don't quite agree that emails are so inferior...most of them are, like the "yo"s and "where are we going to eat tonight?"s but I put some thought into some of my emails.

There was a Google April Fool's joke a couple years back, where they offered printing services for your Gmail account. I was confused and leaning towards ordering before I realized what day it was. That kind of service would help future biographers.

I somehow missed these last few posts��

Now that I’m in correspondence with some of you lovely people, what’s struck me is that I’m suddenly forced to think of you as actually existing human beings—which is a trip, because before it was safe to dismiss you as simulacra floating around in the disembodied world of cyberspace (no offense). Handwriting is a big part of it. Also, the tactile dimension, and even the olfactory one (you know who you are).

The stakes are so much lower in cyberspace, aren’t they? It’s eerie how a letter can represent and stand in for a person, making email seem pretty feeble in comparison. Wilfred Owen’s comment to his mother, quoted in the Salon article, was spot-on, and terribly sad, considering.

Great. I’ve now violated my one sacrosanct rule: don’t drink and post. I just spent the evening at a rockabilly bar, where I met a guy who introduced himself as Scotty B. Goode and a woman named Darlene. Where do these people come from? Well, that’s neither here nor there. Keep the letters coming, is all I’m saying: they’ve enriched my life in ways I don’t care to talk about.

Buck wrote: "Now that I’m in correspondence with some of you lovely people, what’s struck me is that I’m suddenly forced to think of you as actually existing human bein..."

You're right - a handwritten letter engages more senses (sight, touch) than an email (sight) for both parties. Huh. So the perfect letter would also be scented, written on edible paper, and sing (I find those singing cards a little annoying, maybe if they pitched the tunes lower so that it wasn't so painful?).

Is that drunk writing? I thought alcohol would introduce more errors, smaller words, a couple "I love you man"s.

Well, I've never written to Buck, but I have found that people who've been drinking but are not yet incoherently drunk sometimes do write more open letters.

However, if proposing marriage by letter, I recommend sobriety.

Miriam wrote: However, if proposing marriage by letter, I recommend sobriety.

Bah. These are unreasonable expectations! No, j/k, I think proposing by letter might be a Really Bad Idea, in general, but what do I know from romance?

And Buck, speaking of douchebags - and introducing yourself at a rockabilly bar as Scotty B. Goode makes you one - I have a friend, a real live local one, who has an album on facebook titled "douchebags." I don't always agree with the criteria by which she determines who should be pictured, but I giggle every time she uploads a pic. Yes, I love letters, but I do also love the stupid, happy ephemera of social media.

And, darn it, I know you don't like to drink and post, but can we get a Drunk Book Review out of you? That would be would epic.

I've written my share of Hungover Book Reviews. Does that count? The thing is, I don't drink (to excess) at home, and when I get in from a night on the town the last thing on my mind is books; I'm usually too busy crying myself to sleep.

My facebook albums are full of douchebags; it's just that we don't identify ourselves as such.

I see I've used two semi-colons in this comment. What could be more douchebaggy than that?