My Whole Expanse I Cannot See…

I formulate infinity stored deep inside of me…

Oct 13

A little math

Talking about the election last night I got, yet again, “Well, what about the 33,000 deleted e-mails???” The whole e-mail thing really annoys me, it’s just so absurd. Secretary Clinton did something tech-stupid, but not criminal. Technology-wise, the State Department is kind of a mess. It’s a lot of very intelligent, highly experienced people of an older generation, doing an even older job, into which very new rapidly changing technology is being shoe-horned. Tech-set up mistakes were GUARANTEED. Secretary Clinton’s personal e-mail server wasn’t criminal, and it wasn’t malicious, it was just dumb. Of course, people still ask,”Why would Clinton delete 33,000 e-mails??? You don’t get 33,000 yoga tips! She’s a crook! Crooked Hillary!” Um, actually, 33,000 yoga tips is pretty damn easy to believe if you do the math…

Okay, I suck at math, but don’t worry, I used a calculator!

The Law: You’re not required to turn over any e-mails of a personal nature, including SPAM to the FBI.

Now, every day I get roughly sixty some totally useless e-mails. I get Facebook, Google+, Twitter notifications. I get iTunesTwitch notifications. I get Apple ads, ads. I get newsletters; Goodreads, MaddowBlog, ATIA, FAAST. I get multiples from each source, particularly the notifications. Then, I get four or five private personal e-mails that I wouldn’t show to anybody, ever, not even for money. Then, maybe I get ten casual personal e-mails. So, let’s say, I get, in my In-box, seventy-five e-mails per day.

Alright, math time!

75 x 365= 27,375

I, little ol’ me, get roughly 27,375 e-mails per year that I would delete before I handed my iMac over to the FBI. That said, rather than some complex shadowy conspiracy, it’s far easier to believe that Secretary Clinton, a mother, would have some 33,000 yoga tips, newsletters, notes about her daughter’s upcoming wedding, and private conversations with her husband that she’d rather delete than hand them over to a bunch of stiff suits. The simplest explanation is usually the right one.

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