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Michael Amann Says ...

Are you there, Buckeyemail? It's me, amann.11.

By Michael Amann

Change is bad. Not all the time, not as a rule, but too often the fragile chemistry of my life is sent into disarray by an unwelcome catalyst. One might argue that variety is the spice of life, but I find that consistency is what makes the world go 'round. Anyone who supports modulating norms and habits without proper thought, might as well buy square tires for their automobile and start eating soap. To alter without improving is at best insanity and at worst a devious sin. Guilty of this ruinous philosophy are the members of the team who conceived the hell-born abomination of Buckeyemail

Known by the students as "F-ckeyemail," the blight has been around actually for quite some time. And hard-line skeptics like myself were able to avoid its creeping tentacles for quite some time. The cries of the early adapters only steeled our resolve against submitting willingly to this alien enemy. The Doomsday Clock reached midnight, however, on Dec. 31. All current OSU students were wrested from their safe homes at webmail.osu.edu and forcibly transplanted into the hated halls of Buckeyemail. The perilous transfer was made all the more traumatizing when students discovered the first of many vile twists - their long cherished passwords were to be changed. I remember when I had to say goodbye to my beloved 69butttuba69, the loyal password that served me for untold years, and replace it with a cold, heartless series of numbers and letters. They mean nothing to me.

I long for the simpler times of the previous Webmail. For years all that was required of me was typing a simple "amann.11." My friendly password would automatically pop up and I would be in business. That was easy. That was convenient. Of course it had to change.

Now, what do we have? Like some cruel popular girl from high school, Buckeyemail discards the memory of my existence, no matter how many times I insist it remember me. Every single time I have to check my e-mail - which is a lot, people, I am very busy - Buckeyemail feigns a memory lapse and I am forced to type in the entirety of my e-mail:

a-m-a-n-n-.-1-1-@-b-u-c-k-e-y-e-m-a-i-l-.-o-s-u-.-e-d-u

And that's a last name with only five letters, followed by only two numbers. What about my friend Gary Westenhouse, the 1,345th Westenhouse to attend OSU? He spends more than 30 seconds every day typing that into his computer.

The devil, it taunts Gary. It dares him to check the "Remember Me?" box, knowing full well it will never do such a thing. The devil taunts us all.

Even on the off chance that the debauched e-mail program does remember you, this will serve only to cruelly raise your expectations for the next time. Even on such a blessed a day as the one that Buckeyemail recalls your existence, even if the heavens parted and the Lord Christ himself came down to Earth and forgave mankind of all its sin and cured it of all that plagued the world so that humanity could live forever in peace, were He to try to log into his e-mail account, Buckeyemail would not remember His password.

He would have to type in XxXMeSsIahXxX in its entirety. And He would weep.

Some speak of fleeing to gmail. The time for that escape had come and gone. Talk is that there is no hope for the greener pastures of a benevolent e-mail. Like the Communist North Korean regime, Buckeyemail jealously prevents escape from its vile clutches. Buckeyemail accounts, unlike the glorious predecessor, cannot be forwarded to another provider.

Such are the times in which we live. The old is cast aside to rot in a ditch while the young Twitter and blog and sext and do Lord knows what else. The time of tradition and honor are no more. The globe rots while Buckeyemail laughs at the chaos it has wrought. It is the very worst thing in the world - until they make a new one.

Originally Published: February 3, 2010

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