George RR Martin is totally not a spammer

… no matter what you believe, Thunderbird, curse you!

I just posted a Tweet griping about how Thunderbird always slugs email from George RR Martin, who’s been my friend and editor on Wild Cards for freakin’ decades, as possible spam. Yet it allows a communication from one Dr. MaxMan, Penis Enlarger in without a peep. Whiskey. Tango. Foxtrot?

The good folks over at Westeros.org, the mega-fansite for all things George, with emphasis on some obscure fantasy series called A Song of Ice and Fire, Tweeted back they’d experienced the same hitch in T-bird’s gitalong.

Now, as I told them, I can sorta understand why Thunderbird would just automatically assume email purporting to be from That American Tolkien Guy would be spam. They’re probably right. Most of the time.

What really annoys me is that there seems to be no way to tell Thunderbird to knock it the hell off. They used to have a button when you were reading emails that would allow you to mark a post as Not Spam. Now, though, all I can find is a button labeled to the effect of, “Go Ahead and Ignore Our Warnings That This Is Totally Spam, and Moronically View It Despite the Fact It Will Most Certainly Infect Your Computer With Ineradicable Malware, Causing It to Join a Network of Zombie PCs Launching Denial of Service Attacks on Various Humanitarian Organizations, Undoubtedly Causing the Deaths of Thousands of Orphans. Asshole.”

Which is not helpful.

Meanwhile, the whole Dr. PenisHead, MD or whatever the fuck thing still torques my nuts. Especially since I’ve marked a ton of emails with the same header as junk. Is this the reward I get for using an email client named for a cheap wine?

In other tidings, got the contracts for the Seekrit Projekt signed and mailed out (yes.)

I was going to issue forth to mail them, which I totally did not want to do, inasmuch as traffic at this time on a Friday is hammerhead awful here in Albuquerque’s scenic North Valley,  plus I was feeling lazy and didn’t want to go out, whine, snivel moan*. (Not that lazy, ’cause what I really want is to keep on rewriting The Dinosaur Lords!)

I was saved from that ignominious fate when, lo and behold, the mailman came by.

Of course, I was changing clothes at the time. And I do not care to entrust important letters clothespinned to the outside of my damn mailbox. Bunch of savages in this town.

So I had to chase the postman down the street barefoot in my bathrobe, letter in hand. But I caught him. Mission accomplished!

*Except really not that lazy, because helicopters keep flying over the house. When you got helicopters buzzing all around, you know that traffic’s fracked. So there!

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