The texting and Twitter world is here, and while you might expect these lines to be a diatribe against the practice, that isn’t going to happen. I have nothing against it. Far from it.
It continues in the great tradition of painting on cave walls: mastodon big, stomp stomp, me chase, throw spear, mastodon chase, me hide, do something unpleasant in pants, oh thank the sun god, pants not invented yet.
And after cave walls, Egyptian hieroglyphs: Bathsheba loves Amenhotep IV. Meet me behind the temple after midnight, big boy.
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OK, I died and they sealed me in this tomb with all this garbage. What am I supposed to do with this ivory comb since my hair fell out about 400 years ago?
Then came Gutenberg and his printing press, followed by the widely available Bible, followed by and preceded by non-stop religious wars.
And now, texting via microwave towers. (I’ve compressed history a bit. But such are the times we live in.)
Texting is a fine thing, certainly better than some things that are bad like coughing at the opera.
My problem is that I don’t abbreviate well. I dislike typing the abbreviation for “you” or for “laugh out loud.” For some misguided reason, I would rather spell out “avoiding work like the plague” than render it as AWLTP.
For this I am truly sorry. OK? I mean K?
