txt spk
Dear Mr. Sarcasm,
Txt spk. Valuable time saving device or dumbing down of the population and first sign of the impending apocalypse? You decide! Or is that U decide? You de… You get the picture.
— M.C. Smlown in Minsk
Dear Creepy Woolen Clown Who Is In No Way the Terrifying Alter Ego of My Friend Gav,
There are those who might argue that written language began as a series of abbreviated symbols and pictures – that a cat-headed guy doing that “Walk Like an Egyptian” thing next to a couple of squiggly lines is sort of the ancient world’s equivalent to “OMG, WTF.” But those people would be morons – not because they’re wrong, per se, but because their opinion conflicts with mine. And we just can’t have that.
See, in the context of the Internet, I come from “the streets.” We didn’t have any of this cushy abbreviation where I come from – the ‘hoods of local bulletin board services didn’t hold with that posh shortening of sentences and words. We kept it real, by painstakingly typing out every word, regardless of how repetitive it might seem to the recipient, nor how painful it might be to our poor carpal muscles. (Side note: you think if we taught a monkey to type with his feet, he might develop Tarsal Tunnel Syndrome?)
Yes indeed, back in the Golden Age of the Internet, people actually took the time to type out all their words. And when I say this, what I really mean is the exact opposite – or what some might call “a complete lie.” This is probably meant to cover for the fact that I enjoy doing things the hard way, and believe everyone else should get on the same page. Single-spaced. No indenting. With all references cited in the bibliography.
I suppose I’m what you might call “an anal retentive language elitist.” Except that I’ve never, to my knowledge, tried to stick words in my butt. I like typing words out all the way. My text messages read the same as my instant messages, which read the same as my e-mails, which more or less sound like the way I speak. Ask anybody who’s spent more than ten minutes with me – conversations with me generally consist of long-winded paragraphs containing fourteen subjects, six or seven predicates, obscure references to movies you’ve never seen and video games you’ve never played, and at least two of those long dash (—) things that I seem to be in love with.
My point, which it’s only taken me about three hundred sixty words to get to, is that maybe I’m not actually the best person to ask. As a general rule, I hate any form of expression that seeks to shorten or interrupt the beautiful flow of this perfect language of ours. Which is, I will admit, a bit ridiculous given that I’m a colossally lazy man in every other measurable way. But hey, since I insist upon spelling out each and every word the long way, I now type at an inhuman eighty five words per minute, using only four fingers. Why I choose to openly mock writers who still use typewriters or – gasp – actual pen and paper to create, yet insist upon typing out “eighty five” instead of using two digits, no man can say.
So… do I think “txt spk” is convenient? Sure. Do I think it’s a sign of the apocalypse? Probably not. I’ve rambled that ramble already. Do I absolutely loathe people who ask questions that they themselves intend to answer? You bet your sweet Aunt Gert.
Personally, I’m going to keep on doing things the way I do them – not only because I have the OC Disorder (as they call it in the “soft sciences”), but also because there’s absolutely no way I can be misunderstood by spelling everything out. Sure, you may think that “OMG” is a universal abbreviation for “oh my god,” but did you know that some cultures spell the word “jock” with a “G” for some reason? (Possibly the same reason Jehova started with an “I” in Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade. Foreign folk are funny about their Js.) In those places, “OMG” actually stands for the common Marky Mark utterance, “on my g(j)ock.” Serious ‘net faux pas, my friend.
And so, as with most things in life, my way may seem silly and pointless, but it’s ultimately the only correct way to do anything. When I’m emperor, all this messy confusion will be put to and end. That I can promise you.
I should also mention that the writer of this letter recently purchased my book, Fish Stories, via Amazon’s UK site. (No, I’m not so desperate for sales that I feel the need to mention every single one. Okay, yes I am. But I’m going someplace with this.) Some time later, he received an e-mail from them with further recommendations based on his apparent tastes. “We’ve noticed,” they wrote, “that customers who have expressed interest in Fish Stories by Ron ‘AAlgar’ Watt have also ordered The Verge of Psychosis: An Aspiring Actor’s Journal by Brian Laesch.”
While a lesser man would infer something insulting or at the very least mildly disturbing in being put in the same realm as a book with the word “psychosis” in the title (ew) for aspiring actors (eeeew!), I really couldn’t move past the one reaction: somebody else in the UK actually “expressed interest” in this thing? No wonder they’re no longer the Imperial rulers of half the known world.
Thanks for writing!
