I often get irritated by abbreviations in text messages. This morning my Mom sent me a text which read “Sorry 4 yesterday. Ok 2 cum 4 dinner next Sunday? Luv Mom.”
On the one hand, maybe she should be applauded in her efforts to embrace this youth-speak. But on the other hand, I can't help feeling she really should know better at that age. I fear that the regularity in which these spelling short-cuts are used by people has the potential start eroding language. There'll come a time when our written word will resemble the tracklisting of a Prince LP. And for what benefit? To be saved from the effort of typing just 6 measly extra letters? I mean, those seven extra letters cost nothing do they? (Well to be fair, I suppose there are a limit to the number of characters you can send in a single message and if you exceed this limit, there'd be the additional charge incurred in sending 2 messages. I accept economics are involved in certain circumstances and I’m not going to insist that someone should pay double where it can be avoided; that would be pointless. I’m not that much of a pedant for heaven's sake). Irritatingly, when I re-typed this particular message into my own phone, I was appalled to find that she would still have had 75 characters to use. If anything, I think she should have typed the full words out just to get more of her money’s-worth.
And what's even worse is that as I’m typing all this, I’ve also just noticed her use of the word ‘cum’, which seems to be the spelling more commonly used in making reference to a sexual climax. Call me old-fashioned, but I don’t really want to think about ejaculatory fluids in the same context as my own mother. Such imagery is most unsettling. I just hope she’s not sending this spelling of the word to all her colleagues and friends. She’ll be a considered a laughing stock, or even worse, mistakenly assumed as a kind of text message based pornographer. It might sound like a big laugh to you now, but this is something that I’m going to have to broach with her the next time I see her. Damn, what a troublesome blog I have spawned today. I’m not looking forward to addressing this matter in the slightest.
Sun 25th Jan 2009
Unusually for a Sunday, I did not go for dinner with my Mom. She called to say she had been invited elsewhere (should it be of concern that even my own mother is standing me up now?). To be honest, it came as a bit of a relief. I felt sluggish and mildly hung-over following yesterday’s party. It’s one thing not being good at interacting with strangers, but quite another not being able to interact with your own mother.
I wasted the morning lolling about house, till I could bear my lethargic stupor no more. I decided to join some friends on a bracing afternoon bike ride in the countryside. We did a fair few miles too. The first part of the ride seemed cruel and unrelenting, but the cold wind and the endless pedaling soon seemed to snap me from my hangover.
On the way back, we decided to award our efforts with a pint in a nice warm country pub. We locked our bikes outside next to the bus stop. Escaping the cool air blowing at our shirts which had been dampened by earlier sweat, we took off our restrictive helmets and entered the pub. We settled down at a table by the log fireside. Our tired legs rested whilst we supped at crisp cool glasses of lager. Whist chatting and laughing together by the warmth of the fire all seemed good with the world. I felt better about myself having made the effort to do some exercise.
We couldn’t stay for long. The dusk was looming and we needed to get back before dark. Even though there had only been time for one drink, as I stood up to leave, I felt enveloped by a small warm buzz of alcohol. The hair of the dog had truly relaxed me.
As we left the pub could hear the distant rumble of a bus approaching. And inside, there was a small strange part of me that hoped the bikes had been stolen.
I wasted the morning lolling about house, till I could bear my lethargic stupor no more. I decided to join some friends on a bracing afternoon bike ride in the countryside. We did a fair few miles too. The first part of the ride seemed cruel and unrelenting, but the cold wind and the endless pedaling soon seemed to snap me from my hangover.
On the way back, we decided to award our efforts with a pint in a nice warm country pub. We locked our bikes outside next to the bus stop. Escaping the cool air blowing at our shirts which had been dampened by earlier sweat, we took off our restrictive helmets and entered the pub. We settled down at a table by the log fireside. Our tired legs rested whilst we supped at crisp cool glasses of lager. Whist chatting and laughing together by the warmth of the fire all seemed good with the world. I felt better about myself having made the effort to do some exercise.
We couldn’t stay for long. The dusk was looming and we needed to get back before dark. Even though there had only been time for one drink, as I stood up to leave, I felt enveloped by a small warm buzz of alcohol. The hair of the dog had truly relaxed me.
As we left the pub could hear the distant rumble of a bus approaching. And inside, there was a small strange part of me that hoped the bikes had been stolen.
Sat 24th Jan 2009
This evening I was invited to a 60th birthday/retirement party. I didn’t know many of the people there, since it was a friend’s mother’s party. But this made my invitation all the more flattering.
I’ve started to notice that I’ve perhaps never developed past the stage of looking like a self-consciously awkward teenager whenever I’m in large groups of people. Other humans who aren’t me, make parties look much easier. Or is it all just comparative because I make them look hard? I don’t really know how to explain it. It’s like some folks I don’t know will try to make me feel really welcome. They’ll do things like coming up and talking to me, apropos of nothing; yet I never seem able to instigate anything like that. I just keep myself exclusively in a corner with people my own age, huddled inside the comfort of my familiar social circle. Even at 30, I still don’t feel myself of enough interest to approach someone I don’t really know and make polite conversation. I always feel like I’d need a pretty good reason to do so – perhaps if I needed to alert someone to the fact their child is on fire in the corner, something like that . And even then I’d still be hesitant. The poor kid would be charred to death before I found a polite opportune opening with which to interrupt any conversations their parent’s might be having.
Exactly how am I ever going to get to that position where I can put others at ease with my rapport, when I’m still so pre-occupied by making my rapport feel at ease? Is the skill of looking out for other’s comfort just something which one acquires at a certain age? All my parent’s generation make it look easy – just like how all their parent’s generation made the New Year sing-a-long to “Auld Lang Syne” look easy.
Don’t get me wrong though, I did have a genuinely good time. My self-consciousness is not of such quantity that it actually spoils my enjoyment of parties (let me assure you, that hasn’t happened for at least a year). And neither do I really consider myself aloof. This is nothing more than a small acknowledgement, that maybe I could give a bit more of myself to others, as they do to me. Which is rather ironic, given that I’ve just written a whole entry about someone else’s celebratory occasion and yet have written solely about no-one but my own uninteresting self.
Actually, perhaps that might be the answer? The next time I get invited to a party, I could get all these blogs printed and stapled, then hand them out to guests?
But I suppose if anything, that would be giving an over-compensatory, possibly unnecessary amount of myself to give.
Too much too soon.
Especially if they were merely inviting me to link arms for “High Ho Silver Lining” at the time.
I’ve started to notice that I’ve perhaps never developed past the stage of looking like a self-consciously awkward teenager whenever I’m in large groups of people. Other humans who aren’t me, make parties look much easier. Or is it all just comparative because I make them look hard? I don’t really know how to explain it. It’s like some folks I don’t know will try to make me feel really welcome. They’ll do things like coming up and talking to me, apropos of nothing; yet I never seem able to instigate anything like that. I just keep myself exclusively in a corner with people my own age, huddled inside the comfort of my familiar social circle. Even at 30, I still don’t feel myself of enough interest to approach someone I don’t really know and make polite conversation. I always feel like I’d need a pretty good reason to do so – perhaps if I needed to alert someone to the fact their child is on fire in the corner, something like that . And even then I’d still be hesitant. The poor kid would be charred to death before I found a polite opportune opening with which to interrupt any conversations their parent’s might be having.
Exactly how am I ever going to get to that position where I can put others at ease with my rapport, when I’m still so pre-occupied by making my rapport feel at ease? Is the skill of looking out for other’s comfort just something which one acquires at a certain age? All my parent’s generation make it look easy – just like how all their parent’s generation made the New Year sing-a-long to “Auld Lang Syne” look easy.
Don’t get me wrong though, I did have a genuinely good time. My self-consciousness is not of such quantity that it actually spoils my enjoyment of parties (let me assure you, that hasn’t happened for at least a year). And neither do I really consider myself aloof. This is nothing more than a small acknowledgement, that maybe I could give a bit more of myself to others, as they do to me. Which is rather ironic, given that I’ve just written a whole entry about someone else’s celebratory occasion and yet have written solely about no-one but my own uninteresting self.
Actually, perhaps that might be the answer? The next time I get invited to a party, I could get all these blogs printed and stapled, then hand them out to guests?
But I suppose if anything, that would be giving an over-compensatory, possibly unnecessary amount of myself to give.
Too much too soon.
Especially if they were merely inviting me to link arms for “High Ho Silver Lining” at the time.
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