Still no Being & Nothingness Cam Project . So I’ll take you back in recent history to the time in the early fall of 2008 when I started to take a little bit of a mind vacation and basically stopped doing much of anything except writing letters. I had set myself up with a little independent venture in my government job cubicle--a sort of walk-up business--of writing bogus recommendation letters for anyone who needed them. Darned good ones, too. Several people may have been hired with the help of my letters. If there’s a lag in the story up the road, I’ll tell you about that undertaking.
In late September of 2008, I finally got a letter from the Masomenis Corporation responding to my letter asking for more information about their home defibrillator. I had done some research since that July and found out that there were all sorts of companies producing home defibrillators. They’re scattered like leaves. Really expensive leaves. The defibrillators can talk you through using them at the critical moment. One guys’ testimonial said it kept him calm. It was happenstance that the Masomenis Corporation was the ad that caught my eye and the circuitous route that I had taken to contact them had been silly.
Their letter was hand-written, which was very creepy. When I did it, it was amusing and eccentric. When they did it, it was weird and un-business like. In the letter, one Raymond Horn offered to answer my questions about acquiring a defibrillator, but didn’t answer my actual questions (although he did volunteer that it should not be used on pets). I Googled them and to email a complaint about this useless letter—I had left behind any inhibition about direct communication with Masomenis—and didn’t find anything. Oooo—not on Google! Oooo--very mysterious and amazing! Well, hell. I was forced to look at page two of the search. Then another search engine, another. Yeah, ridiculous. But disconcerting. I was looking all over WebLand. I went to page seven, then ten. I tried all the variations, the snazzy wording you work out. I went down the equivalent of dark, dead-end search engine alleys. Pathetic. There’s a set of draft minutes from a meeting in 2001 about re-naming a local street where I spoke from the audience. That is on the internet and no Masomenis Corporation?
No site, no “Contact Us.” By this time, however, writing letters was becoming my profession, so even though I was never buying a home defibrillator—especially since it could not revive pets--I wrote to them and ask them to answer my questions.
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