By Jared Chausow
By Katie Toth
By Elizabeth Flock
By Albert Samaha
By Anna Merlan
By Jon Campbell
By Jon Campbell
By Albert Samaha
1. The Evite Ah, the Starbucks of the Internet. The illusion of choice, made to order. Since I've never known anyone who has wholesomely selected a "Girl's Night In" or "Super Bowl" template (perhaps I simply need new friends), Evite as I know it has always been a bit of a nuisance. The following guidelines might get me dropped from the guest lists of future soirees, but if it means no more clip-art martini glasses, I'll take the risk.
Ideally, don't use Evite. Send out a mass bcc'ed e-mail or pdf or invites on dead trees. If you somehow feel inexplicably drawn to the Evite, drop the irony act and make it as basic and functional as possible. Who hasn't had to click open their inbox to find 31-year-old males sending invites to their third annual 29th birthday with a Strawberry Shortcake image that reads: "Guess Who's 5 Today?!" Yeah, you're hilarious. Beneath the overwrought text (no doubt promising unlimited Schlitz and strippers on donkeys) lie about 276 names. If you're going to invite more than 40 people to your birthday party, Evite provides you with a Hide Guests function. Use it. Save yourself from either potential humiliation or gro-tesque popularity. The latter sends an uncomfortable message: You will not speak to me for more than a minute now that I've schlepped myself and my $9 bottle of Merlot to a warehouse in Williamsburg on a Saturday night. Hide Guests should take care of the the rest of the Evite pitfalls. These are: people who respond "+50." You people should be beaten with sticks, a lashing for every fake guest. I'm serious. Also, people who give elaborate explanations about why they chose the "maybe" dot. I don't care. No one cares that you might be out of town but your flight gets in at 7 p.m., so if you literally run from the airport . . . save a shot for me, Bob! Because Evite is a public forum in a private space, I am still working on reminding myself I don't actually have to read the responses. There's nothing more irritating than a private joke played out among a small segment of the invitees.
Tina: "I'll be there . . . as long as I can touch Bob's pineapple."
Jeff: "Happy birthday man, even though we all know your pineapple has been canned since Atlantic City."
Don't do that. You wouldn't do it if you were face-to-face with these people. You can't even be getting anything out of it since you're only checking back to get cross streets on the day of the big event, unless you're psychotically checking every day to see if your ex is coming. (Evite informs the host when you do that, so you might want to pull in the reins on your stalking.) This leads us to a subsection of E-type: People who use it as a format for the Great American Novel. Here the invite number isn't the problem, but the responses, which take their cue from the top text.
Andrew: "I will indeed be there both in spirit and in body and imbibing copious quantities of the first into the second."
Fantastic, you graduated from college. So did I. What does this do to the one legitimately busy pediatric neurologist who only has time to click and run? That's right, just a bright green dot without accompanying witty phrasing. Cold, right? Suddenly, Miss Do-Gooder is a big frigid asshole who doesn't get any of your jokes anyway. Oh, she's coming, all right, but she certainly doesn't seem excited about it. She must be one of Bob's "friends" from the office. This party's gonna suck. Maybe you should just have a "Girl's Night In."
2. The forward A classic of its generation. They can brighten the day if received from a person who rarely sends thembut let's face it: We all get a little trigger-happy from time to time. Kerry-friendly IQ charts and red-state-bashing maps only serve to give blue staters blue balls at this point. Less topical forwards spring to mind as well. Like that random questionnaire about yourself and your favorite pudding flavors that ends with your perpetuating the cycle by using 20 more of your closest friends. But just when I think I'm getting a grip on it, the forwards pull me back in. Lately I've found that the forward, no stranger to Darwin, is adapting before my very eyes. It knows the jig is up: A mass message is no longer acceptable as contact from a friend. Forwards are becoming more elaborate and often arrive with loud streaming video that causes your computer to accidentally bitch out your boss as he walks by. The recipient box, once boasting a social-circle résumé of @columbia, @esquire, @sony has tucked itself neatly into bcc invisibility and now I have no idea where I stand. "Thought you guys would appreciate this," starts one. Who guys? How many? Am I special? I don't feel special. On the other hand, forwards sent to a visible group of addresses court the "Reply All" faux pas that speaks for itselfre:, re:, and re: again. It's a problem either way.