Stop: collaborate and listen

You know we’ve gone post-industrial when people start solving problems you weren’t aware of – and charging you for it... But then there’s Cacophony, which we’ve already established is a barter economy. In return for your engaged readership, I’m about to solve the biggest little problem you never thought you had...

And that problem is: the email ‘subject’ line...

It isn’t so hard at work – because generally there’s some ‘thing’ you’re trying to communicate. But what if the point of the email is just to connect? Go through your inbox – I bet it’s full of ‘hey’s and ‘hi’s, maybe a ‘howdy’ from your cowdy friends. I’m partial to a ‘hi y’all’ and a solid ‘greetings and salutations’ generally hits the spot. But by the time you’ve bounced a couple of Re:hi’s back and forth, you’re having a genuine conversation, and that subject line is plain inaccurate.

One of my friends avoids the whole issue and leaves his subject lines blank. The thing is, he’s not a man with nothing on his mind. Based on the subject line, you’d think he was sending you something with the mental nutritional value of fairy floss, which: just no.

My default is day-and-time. Monday Morning. Tuesday Afternoon. Wednesday Evening. Again, fine, but when you regularly email someone at the same time, you end up with an unsearchable inbox. I know there’s an invite to a party somewhere in there, but which of the Re: Monday Morning’s holds the gold?

The solution? A diversion I like to call Subject Line Lyrics.

The game is this: Sender fills in the subject line with lyrics of their choice. Recipient includes title and artist in their reply. Simple, right? Well, there are rules.

1) Points are scored for matching lyrics to content; the more oblique the connection, the better. You can give genre hints, but it’s more fun if you don’t...
2) Googling is not cheating; you don’t have to know it, you just have to be able to find it.
3) Most importantly, hipper-than-thou-isms are considered an act of hostility. Don’t be pulling out your Sub-Saharan folkadelic punk acts, particularly if they’re only available on vintage 8-track bootlegs.

I’m sometimes surprised by how different lyrics can seem when they’re written down. Cliches that glide right by when they’re sung start to itch (see: Ben Lee, collected works of).
Inanity sometimes becomes profound. (Collaborative listening? How would that work? And what sort of invention would make it possible? And what’s it all got to do with flavoured frozen water, anyway?)
And sometimes they stay inane. (Sing it with me: Oh. Ah. Oh-yu-es. Yeah...).
But the best thing? People open your emails.

Now if I could just figure out a similar solution for work...