posted by ![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
perldiver at 02:15pm on 05/06/2007
perldiver at 02:15pm on 05/06/2007I am such a fuddy-duddy. This whole "texting" thing seems like something from a movie about Pod People to me. But wait, I'm starting in the wrong place....
My phone got stolen out of my car a month or two ago, so I've got a new phone. It's got a very different interface than the last one, but it still does all the weirdo newcen kidstuff like texting.
Of course, I'm male, and I'm a geek. So, what are the chances that I've actually sat down and read the manual that tells me what all the little icons--such as "You've got a text message!"--stand for? (Actually, should that be "d00d! u gotz txt k?" Whatever.)
Pretty good, actually. So today I notice that I've got a text. I think, "hunh, odd" because none of my friends use text. So I check, and sure enough I do. Four of them actually. Two are a couple of 411 numbers that I had texted to my phone after getting connected, so that I'd have them for reference. One is a family friend leaving a callback number, the last is a number I don't recognize. So I call it; I don't recognize the voice, he doesn't recognize my name. I explain the situation, he says "What was the message?" I tell him "there wasn't one, just the number." We decide that it was just a misdial, all good.
It's only after I hang up that I notice there actually IS a message (you just have to scroll down to see it). And here it is, in all of its abbreviated undercapitalized glory:
So, I find myself somewhat bemused by this voyeuristic, archeological glimpse into someone else's life. I can imagine so much based on this tiny fragment...a star-crossed couple, madly in love but torn apart by the strife that arises from his unfortunate opium habit...in shame and anger, he flees to the fleshpots of Asia, hiding himself away in opium den after opium den, the ravenous monkey on his back fed by the sweet smoke of the oily black bricks that he has come to crave...but wait!, his lover, unwilling to lose him, tracks him across thousands of miles by the simple expedient of checking with Visa and finding that his last purchase was made from 'Lo's Not-An-Opium-Den-Really' on Won-po-guy street, Shanghai. Filled with new determination at this lead, she races to the airport, flies to the mysterious Orient, and stages a furious intervention beside his opium couch, in which she derides his drug habit and the horrors of run-on sentences and overuse of connecting ellipses.
Because I was raised on Hollywood movies, I'm sure that he kicks his habit and they have a beautiful life together thereafter, marred only by a recurring incidence of the neighbor's Labrador digging up their flowerbed.
My phone got stolen out of my car a month or two ago, so I've got a new phone. It's got a very different interface than the last one, but it still does all the weirdo newcen kidstuff like texting.
Of course, I'm male, and I'm a geek. So, what are the chances that I've actually sat down and read the manual that tells me what all the little icons--such as "You've got a text message!"--stand for? (Actually, should that be "d00d! u gotz txt k?" Whatever.)
Pretty good, actually. So today I notice that I've got a text. I think, "hunh, odd" because none of my friends use text. So I check, and sure enough I do. Four of them actually. Two are a couple of 411 numbers that I had texted to my phone after getting connected, so that I'd have them for reference. One is a family friend leaving a callback number, the last is a number I don't recognize. So I call it; I don't recognize the voice, he doesn't recognize my name. I explain the situation, he says "What was the message?" I tell him "there wasn't one, just the number." We decide that it was just a misdial, all good.
It's only after I hang up that I notice there actually IS a message (you just have to scroll down to see it). And here it is, in all of its abbreviated undercapitalized glory:
U arent i just
dont wanna fight
i shouldnt be
smokin anyways
So, I find myself somewhat bemused by this voyeuristic, archeological glimpse into someone else's life. I can imagine so much based on this tiny fragment...a star-crossed couple, madly in love but torn apart by the strife that arises from his unfortunate opium habit...in shame and anger, he flees to the fleshpots of Asia, hiding himself away in opium den after opium den, the ravenous monkey on his back fed by the sweet smoke of the oily black bricks that he has come to crave...but wait!, his lover, unwilling to lose him, tracks him across thousands of miles by the simple expedient of checking with Visa and finding that his last purchase was made from 'Lo's Not-An-Opium-Den-Really' on Won-po-guy street, Shanghai. Filled with new determination at this lead, she races to the airport, flies to the mysterious Orient, and stages a furious intervention beside his opium couch, in which she derides his drug habit and the horrors of run-on sentences and overuse of connecting ellipses.
Because I was raised on Hollywood movies, I'm sure that he kicks his habit and they have a beautiful life together thereafter, marred only by a recurring incidence of the neighbor's Labrador digging up their flowerbed.
amused
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