Happy New Year! In this long-awaited post I’m announcing the winner of the gift-card contest. But I’m a little conflicted about it.
Here is how I did my drawing for the $50 gift card (you might need to do one someday, plus, I don’t want to get sued for malpractice, or whatever you call a rigged drawing). I assigned a number, starting with one, to each person who started subscribing to DCL since I announced the contest. Then everyone who completed the survey got assigned a number, on up to 105. (This way people got entered twice, with two numbers, if they were the go-getter, powerball types who both subscribed and also got surveyed).
Then I cast around here in the lobby of the Hood River Hotel, which Thor and I are visiting, for some helpful person to randomly choose a number for me. (Yes, I know that Excel can choose random numbers, but Diamond-Cut Life is about leaning on human relationships rather than impersonal technology to solve our problems). “ Ma’am, yes you ma’am, over there on the couch! I need your help, please” I called out warmly. And the kind soul cohabiting the lounge by the fireplace with me chose the number 17.
The only problem is that the person linked to number 17 did not give his email address (though he indicated earlier he was male). He wrote this note instead: “I don’t want the gift card, would rather you put the money toward a modest television set”.
Well, I like this anonymous person’s un-grabby, generous spirit. It’s possible he’s been at one of my parties, since he knows we don’t have a TV (I’m pretty sure I haven’t blogged about my TV-free status). But, Mr. Survey-Taker Number 17:. I don’t want a TV, thanks. I did have a TV for much of my life, and I don’t recall it creating any better a quality of life than I have now (I am quite happy). Plus, we can always watch the occasional worthwhile offering, like, say, a presidential debate, on our laptops.
So, I need more help in number-choosing. The lobby has emptied out, I hope not because I’ve been accosting people, which leaves the desk clerk, a disgruntled-looking young lass with an impressive mane of black hair. My request is not one she has heard yet in her short career, but she rallies to the occasion. “86,” she declares, idly examining a fingernail painted to match her hair. “Thank you!” I beam at her. My laptop tells me that 86 corresponds to [a bizarre email address] at spamgourmet.com. I learn that spamgourmet.com is a site that generates disposable email addresses so as to avoid spam. So, it’s a disposable address itself, obviously coded for this little contest, and it will evidently forward emails received, if they are not spam, to the person’s real address. Makes my head spin.
Not a fun winner. Now I’ve got to send an email to the hoked-up email address with the news of the $50 Amazon gift card. I hate to whine, but OK, as much as I’m grateful for any and all readers, I am totally whining: I liked the first winner better, the altruistic guy who wanted in his sweetly misguided way to finance a modest TV for me. That’s the kind of nonmaterialistic person I would like to see win a contest. If the winner of this ding-dang gift card mistakes me for spam and ignores me I’ll be back to accosting people here in the lobby of the Hood River Hotel. “Sir! Yes, you on the couch by the fire, sir! Please choose a random numbers between 1 and 105, but forget 17, and forget 86, and . . . ”