You knew her, you loved her: the forsale-digest. It’s not enough for Google to be surveilling us constantly, they also have to be lame and abandon the digest format. The tireless tech administrators (this is not sarcastic, a few weeks ago I accidentally deleted literally every email I have ever received and they graciously recovered them overnight) have crafted a solution to this problem. But … it’s just not the same. Below is my eulogy to the forsale-digest we once knew.

I’ll always remember how the forsale-digest enabled me to be my nosiest self. Couch for sale? Yeah, I’m going to take a look at that. An infrared sauna? I want to know what that looks like. I think I’ve opened every single Google Document selling old sweaters, ratty t-shirts and random cooking accessories, despite no intention of buying any of it. 

The forsale-digest also spread joy. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve smirked, chuckled and outright cackled at the contents of a digest collection. People will sell the weirdest things, like four lightly used hospital beds, and for some reason, I find this hilarious. Pictures of items for sale with very ugly dogs conspicuously in frame have driven me to tears. The forsale-digest knows how to make me hoot and holler like nobody’s business. 

What I’ll miss most of all about my recently passed on, dearly beloved forsale-digest was how she built community. Nearly a year ago to the day, an incident involving a sneaker selling student, a sassy professor and the forsale-digest occurred; we are all closer because of it. I felt a genuine connection with each and every one of you for that singular weekend. The camaraderie fostered through one ridiculous email exchange undid all the psychic harm of Quarientation. 

We owe the forsale-digest a round of applause. She sold, she digested and most importantly, she served as a touchstone for our community. May it live on in our memory, despite its untimely demise. RIP, my good friend. 

Respectfully, 

Grace Canny