I hope you all have me on your AWL :-)
I read this article this morning in The Globe and Mail, one of Canada's two national newspapers. I thought people might be interestedDuncan Findlay ([EMAIL PROTECTED]) thought you would be interested in this article from http://www.theglobeandmail.com I hope you all have me on your AWL :-) I read this article this morning in The Globe and Mail, one of Canada's two national newspapers. I thought people might be interested Get today's news delivered to your in-box. Sign up for our daily News Update! http://www.globeandmail.com/newsletter/ -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- >From globeandmail.com, Wednesday, June 5, 2002 Send me more junk e-mail Who can resist the opportunity to imagine<BR> himself a fellow alumnus of Edgar Allan Poe?<BR> I just love those cyber ads. KIM BLANK Call me crazy, but I love unsolicited e-mail ads. They're part of postmodern life in cable-wired suburbia, just like low-fat yogurt and the sound of car alarms going off 24/7. You know the e-mail I mean, the kind that mysteriously arrives from the depths of cyberspace telling you how to "Create Masses of Wealth from your Own Home." I love this stuff almost as much as products with the ultimate legitimizing endorsement, "As seen on TV," such as the Automatic 5-Minute Pasta and Sausage Maker (just three "easy" payments of $33.99). Recently, I got an e-mail with a bold caption proclaiming that "A University Diploma Is Waiting For You." For me? That's cool. Come to think of it, university diplomas are grand things. You know, I wouldn't mind a degree in architecture, or maybe even something in veterinary medicine. I love animals, even reptiles. Though I'm not so keen on mollusks. But then again, I doubt that any one ever takes their pet oyster in for stomach problems. Never mind. I read on: "Obtain money-earning power and the admiration of all." Money is good, and admiration often makes me feel warm all over. "Select your field of study from business, computers, engineering, education, the sciences, liberal arts, fine arts, social sciences, history, literature, languages, or any other discipline. No required tests, classes, books, or interviews." Sign me up. What do I have to do? "Someone is always waiting to take your call -- 24 hours a day, seven days a week, including weekends. All you have to do is call to insure your future." What am I waiting for? I dial and a recorded voice tells me to leave my name and number and when exactly I can be contacted. I do, and two weeks later I get a call. "Yes," I say, "that's me all right." A voice that sounds like it's been run through a vacuum-cleaner hose says he's from "the university degree program." Wow, I think. These are the guys. I interrupt him immediately because I just gotta know: "What's the name of your university?" The voice gave me a name, but let's call it the University of Ravenburg. Sounds fine. "Is that spelled with a 'u' "? "Yes. That is correct, sir. U-n-i-v- . . ." "No. I mean the 'burg' part." For some reason I'm secretly thinking that Edgar Allan Poe must be among their alumni. "Can you send me some information?" "Let me tell about our program, sir. We can do everything over the phone." "Everything?" "Let me explain, sir. We give you credit for your work, life experiences, and previous study." "Do I have to do anything?" "No. We are a diploma mill." "What's that -- exactly, I mean?" "That means your degree will be recognized but not accredited or transferable." No big deal, I think, although I wonder about the non-transferable bit. I ask: "Does that mean I can't pass the degree on to someone else? Like my 15-year-old son? He's not real keen on school. An engineering degree might be just the ticket to sort him out." But I don't think the guy on the other end is listening. "The diploma we supply for you will reflect your experience, achievements, and age. We will blend it in with your history, and it will be good for employment and advancement opportunities. We can even give you a summa cum laude designation." Hey, I'm impressed, though I'm a bit worried about how my history might be blended. But I gotta ask right up front: "How much?" "The degree comes in a UCLA-style design, and, for no extra charge, we will supply a wallet-size diploma as well. If prospective employers call us -- and upon registration we will give you a fax, phone, and e-mail number so we can be contacted by them -- we will have two letters sent by professors from Ravenburg attesting to your qualifications. We will even follow up with transcripts if requested." Geesh. Ravenburg University has got this all worked out. I'm impressed by how impressive I imagine I will become. Frames, I think. I'll need plenty of frames. "So, like, how much?" "Let me ask you a question," he says, and for a moment I wonder if there's a record for how long someone has talked without changing their tone. "How important is your future?" I'm no dummy, but I hardly have time to say "very important" before he continues. "Then this program is for you, sir. If you register with our program at Ravenburg right now, you will receive your diploma or diplomas within 10 days." "How much for one? Like for a Master's Degree in Communication, or maybe a PhD, too?" "The cost for registration and one degree is $1,400. The cost for two is $2,200, and $2,700 for a third. These are U.S. dollars. A fourth degree is yours free. We take all major credit cards." This is more that I thought. A lot more. My dreams of diploma heaven sink a little. "So how does that sound, sir?" "A bit steep, actually." He doesn't miss a beat. "Let me offer you this. If you register right now, we can reduce the fee to $900. And that would cover two degrees. And with our instalment plan, you can pay $500 upon registration, and two easy monthly payments of only $200." As I try to work out what to say next, a beep comes from my computer along with the female digitized voice I know so well: "You have e-mail." Conditioning overcomes me. I take the phone away from my ear, and with a click of the mouse I open my new e-mail and read in bold, green letters: "Penis-enlargement supplement. Guaranteed results. All natural." Hmm. All natural. You wouldn't want to mess around with additives or preservatives. Maybe I should give them a call. Could come in handy. Not that I . . . somewhere in the background, a tiny voice is still droning away about degrees . . . Kim Blank is a professor of English at the University of Victoria. His degrees are the real thing. 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