There is a phenomenon sweeping across the technological world that makes using complex sentence structure a thing of the past. It's called text messaging. I bet you cannot figure out the title of my posting. That is because I have joined the ranks of the young and the hip. Now when I speak or write, it is not necessary for me to use actual words. In the young and hip text messaging universe, I am only required to divulge the first letter of each word in my sentences. And only young and hip people with super texting decoding powers can understand me.
I stumbled upon text messaging by accident. Dan and I were running some errands when all of a sudden, my cell phone let out the strangest doorbell noise I had ever heard.
"View now, view later," the screen said.
I pressed "OK" and there was a message from my brother Steve. He wanted to know when he could pick up his birthday cards from our grandmother and great aunt, since they refuse to send anything directly to him but always send any correspondence (birthday cards, graduation gifts, money, etc.) in care of me.
After making sure Dan, my husband and technology guru, wasn't watching, I tentatively put the phone to my ear just in case Steve was actually on the other end and that message was just the "subject line" to his phone call.
"Hello?" I whispered.
"Who are you talking to?" Dan glanced at me from the driver's seat.
"No one. I just got an IM (young and hip lingo for Instant Message) from Steve."
"That's a text message, Becky."
"That's what I meant."
Pretty soon, I started noticing odd consonant-vowel combinations popping up on magazine pages, commercials, billboards, in e-mails - BTW, BRB, LOL, LOLA, TTFN, and IYKWIMAITYD. Occasionally, I found out that what I thought I knew about the English lexicon did not always apply in the text messaging world. For instance, SOS does not always mean "help" in the world of text abbreviations. Sometimes it means - well, I'll let you look that one up. And WTF does not mean "Where's the food?"
Young people, this bizarre obsession you all have with locutionary brevity is nothing new. Let me introduce you to FDR and his New Deal complete with the FERA, PWA, and SSA.
Eventually, I knew I had to jump on the bandwagon when I saw my dad texting my brother during his college graduation. In fact, my dad glows with pride everytime he receives a text and goes to work replying to the message promptly.
I realized that if I ever wanted to contact any young people such as my brother or any of his peers, I would have to master the art of text messaging. None of the younger generation answers the phone anymore. Text message them, and you can expect an immediate response even if they failed to pick up your call five minutes before.
"You know how to text?" a teenager asked me one day a little too incredulously.
I had just picked up my cell phone and was punching random numbers that the phone somehow converted into letters on the tiny screen in front of me.
"Of course," I sniffed.
I turned away so that the kid couldn't see how slow I was typing.
"Let me do it for you," Dan always says when he sees me texting. "Haven't you ever seen the kids text? They can do it so fast!"
It's true. I am a very slow texter. It takes me a while to figure out where all the letters are and how many times I need to punch the number in order to arrive at the desired letter. Besides, nobody ever texts Dan, so he never gets to show off his mad texting skills. It's quite sad.
Now that I have been initiated into the text messaging universe, I have decided I can start using that abbreviated slang that only young and hip people know how to decipher. Did any of you figure out the title of my posting?
(Here's a clue for any of you elderly readers: I don't understand why we can't just use complete sentences anymore.)
Monday, July 21, 2008
Wednesday, July 09, 2008
Fishnets, Wal-Mart, and Ineradicable Feelings of Guilt
A few weeks ago, I found myself on a steadfast mission to track down a pair of fishnet tights. Fishnets are not a staple in my fairly conservative, slightly bookish wardrobe. I do own the occasional spaghetti strap tank top, lowish-cut halter, and above-the-knee mini skirt. But nothing quite so trendy or - dare I say - sexy as fishnet stockings.
However, in the production Chicago (in which I was performing at the time), fishnets are a necessity. Apparently, 1920's-era murderesses did not dress like school teachers. Hence my determination to find a pair of fishnet stockings.
I asked my fellow theater company members where I might find fishnets, and almost unanimously received the same reply - Wal-Mart. Wal-Mart carries the most variety. Wal-Mart's prices are the cheapest.
I boycott Wal-Mart. For some reason, after Sheryl Crow, in her song "Love is a Good Thing," insinuated that children could too easily obtain guns from Wal-Mart discount stores, my somewhat pacifist alter ego began to feel uneasy about shopping at Wal-Mart. And being a wannabe writer, musician, and avid reader, I was already wary of Wal-Mart's censorship policies.
Then I came upon the Rise Against "Prayer of the Refugee" video in which children and adults from developing countries are shown assembling products in squalid conditions that are then shipped to a Wal-Mart-type store and stamped with a "Made in the U.S.A." label.
I'll admit it. I have been swayed by liberal pop culture.
Here is where my hypocritical nature surfaces and subjects me to intense sensations of guilt. I boycott only Wal-Mart. I do not boycott The Gap, Old Navy, or Banana Republic. I run in Nike shoes, and I own Dri-Fit shorts and shirts. I enjoy the occasional trip to Disneyland, and I collect Barbies. I know these and probably almost every "American" corporation out there are linked to unfair, exploitative labor and/or employee practices. But I boycott only Wal-Mart.
I won't even try to justify my actions by saying Wal-Mart is worse than all other corporations because of its multiple unfair practices. I boycott only Wal-Mart because I, in the spirit of a true American, do not want to completely inconvenience myself. So I boycott only Wal-Mart and feel ridiculously guilty about not boycotting everything else. But, obviously, not guilty enough to do anything about it.
There came a time during my quest for fishnets that I was forced to go to Wal-Mart. I had exhausted all of my other conveniently cheap options. If Wal-Mart didn't have fishnets, I was certain I would have to spend $15 or $20 at a dance or costume shop.
To make my experience more purposeful, I equated my entrance into Wal-Mart with the conventional epic hero's descent into Hades. Would I return unblemished and noble, or would I give in to the Dark Side of the Force?
I stepped through the automatic doors, half expecting to see a kid with a .22 running up and down the aisles or a long table with sewing machines operated by 12-year-olds. Instead, I found myself staring at several empty shelves, the flourescent lights above casting an eerie purple shadow over the seemingly barren store.
I was wondering if in fact my boycott had worked, and I had run Wal-Mart out of business singlehandedly (in which case, I would have felt guilty as well, knowing that I had cost all of the Wal-Mart employees their jobs), when a clerk approached me and asked if I needed help.
"I'm looking for fishnet tights," I said, just above a whisper, not wanting anyone else to know that a professional, thirty-something school teacher would be looking for an item as risque as a pair of fishnet stockings.
"We're remodeling, so a lot of our stuff is off the shelves. I'll have to check where we moved them."
I blindly followed the clerk who led me to a rack of little girls' pink dance tights.
"I don't think any of those sizes will fit me." I said, not bothering to point out the difference between pink dance tights and fishnets.
"Hey," the clerk shouted to another group of clerks hanging out in the women's underwear section, "do we have any fishnets? This lady wants to know."
The other clerks began to murmur, "Fishnets? Fishnets? Do we carry fishnets? I've seen them at Halloween with the sexy kitten costumes . . . "
"Usually they're with the tights." One confident clerk left the befuddled herd and led me to another rack filled with an assortment of women's tights.
After studying the rack for a moment, she shrugged apologetically. "They used to be here. We must be out. Sorry."
I decided not to tell her that she didn't need to apologize, that she had just saved me from committing treason on my Wal-Mart boycott. I had emerged from my descent into Hades unscathed.
I went to a costume shop that afternoon, perfectly willing to dish out $15 or $20 for a pair of fishnets. They were $4 a piece. I bought three pairs.
"That's a good idea, buying extra pairs," the woman behind the counter said. "Fishnets are so flattering. Now you can wear them after your production."
I smiled, probably a little unenthusiastically. I couldn't bring myself to tell her that, most likely, I wouldn't be wearing them anywhere besides on stage. I mean, after all, I am a conservatively dressed elementary school teacher, right?
However, in the production Chicago (in which I was performing at the time), fishnets are a necessity. Apparently, 1920's-era murderesses did not dress like school teachers. Hence my determination to find a pair of fishnet stockings.
I asked my fellow theater company members where I might find fishnets, and almost unanimously received the same reply - Wal-Mart. Wal-Mart carries the most variety. Wal-Mart's prices are the cheapest.
I boycott Wal-Mart. For some reason, after Sheryl Crow, in her song "Love is a Good Thing," insinuated that children could too easily obtain guns from Wal-Mart discount stores, my somewhat pacifist alter ego began to feel uneasy about shopping at Wal-Mart. And being a wannabe writer, musician, and avid reader, I was already wary of Wal-Mart's censorship policies.
Then I came upon the Rise Against "Prayer of the Refugee" video in which children and adults from developing countries are shown assembling products in squalid conditions that are then shipped to a Wal-Mart-type store and stamped with a "Made in the U.S.A." label.
I'll admit it. I have been swayed by liberal pop culture.
Here is where my hypocritical nature surfaces and subjects me to intense sensations of guilt. I boycott only Wal-Mart. I do not boycott The Gap, Old Navy, or Banana Republic. I run in Nike shoes, and I own Dri-Fit shorts and shirts. I enjoy the occasional trip to Disneyland, and I collect Barbies. I know these and probably almost every "American" corporation out there are linked to unfair, exploitative labor and/or employee practices. But I boycott only Wal-Mart.
I won't even try to justify my actions by saying Wal-Mart is worse than all other corporations because of its multiple unfair practices. I boycott only Wal-Mart because I, in the spirit of a true American, do not want to completely inconvenience myself. So I boycott only Wal-Mart and feel ridiculously guilty about not boycotting everything else. But, obviously, not guilty enough to do anything about it.
There came a time during my quest for fishnets that I was forced to go to Wal-Mart. I had exhausted all of my other conveniently cheap options. If Wal-Mart didn't have fishnets, I was certain I would have to spend $15 or $20 at a dance or costume shop.
To make my experience more purposeful, I equated my entrance into Wal-Mart with the conventional epic hero's descent into Hades. Would I return unblemished and noble, or would I give in to the Dark Side of the Force?
I stepped through the automatic doors, half expecting to see a kid with a .22 running up and down the aisles or a long table with sewing machines operated by 12-year-olds. Instead, I found myself staring at several empty shelves, the flourescent lights above casting an eerie purple shadow over the seemingly barren store.
I was wondering if in fact my boycott had worked, and I had run Wal-Mart out of business singlehandedly (in which case, I would have felt guilty as well, knowing that I had cost all of the Wal-Mart employees their jobs), when a clerk approached me and asked if I needed help.
"I'm looking for fishnet tights," I said, just above a whisper, not wanting anyone else to know that a professional, thirty-something school teacher would be looking for an item as risque as a pair of fishnet stockings.
"We're remodeling, so a lot of our stuff is off the shelves. I'll have to check where we moved them."
I blindly followed the clerk who led me to a rack of little girls' pink dance tights.
"I don't think any of those sizes will fit me." I said, not bothering to point out the difference between pink dance tights and fishnets.
"Hey," the clerk shouted to another group of clerks hanging out in the women's underwear section, "do we have any fishnets? This lady wants to know."
The other clerks began to murmur, "Fishnets? Fishnets? Do we carry fishnets? I've seen them at Halloween with the sexy kitten costumes . . . "
"Usually they're with the tights." One confident clerk left the befuddled herd and led me to another rack filled with an assortment of women's tights.
After studying the rack for a moment, she shrugged apologetically. "They used to be here. We must be out. Sorry."
I decided not to tell her that she didn't need to apologize, that she had just saved me from committing treason on my Wal-Mart boycott. I had emerged from my descent into Hades unscathed.
I went to a costume shop that afternoon, perfectly willing to dish out $15 or $20 for a pair of fishnets. They were $4 a piece. I bought three pairs.
"That's a good idea, buying extra pairs," the woman behind the counter said. "Fishnets are so flattering. Now you can wear them after your production."
I smiled, probably a little unenthusiastically. I couldn't bring myself to tell her that, most likely, I wouldn't be wearing them anywhere besides on stage. I mean, after all, I am a conservatively dressed elementary school teacher, right?
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