Smileys Continued

I make a bit of a distinction between smileys and the other stuff that 'netspeak' has thrown up. Most of the others may be synonyms or acronyms - u -> you, lol -> laugh out loud (or, as my mother stubbornly insists in her emails, 'lots of love') etc... On the other hand, as 'GreenOnion' remarked, smileys are a reversion to pictographs. This is a fair point, but smileys aren't used to replace words. They don't convey the body of the message. They serve an entirely different purpose - they supplement the words with emotional information. They succintly depict the mood behind the sentence. This can be quite useful, especially in cases where a sentence can have many emotions behind it. For instance-

Without smileys:

A: Would you go out on a date with me !?!
B: Sorry, no. I have a boyfriend.
A: Oh really !?! I didn't know that. Sorry.
B: No problem.
A: Thanks.

With smileys:

A: Would you go out on a date with me !?!
B: Sorry, no. I have a boyfriend :p.
A: Oh really :o :o !?! I didn't know that. Sorry.
B: No problem. :).
A: Thanks :D.

The first conversation would probably leave both parties feeling rather awkward. The second smoothly indicates the fact that B hasn't taken it seriously and isn't uncomfortable. Ditto A.

Sniff

There's this new fangled malady going around - swine flu and it's bad.  Someone objected to it being called 'swine' flu - since swine are offensive to muslims and jews. I'm not sure how that works; presumably, if you're a jew or a muslim and you get the flu, then you've commited a sin 'cause you got pig stuff in you, I guess. So they want it renamed - because apparently that's going to change the fact that it comes from pigs. Or something. Anyway, there was a suggestion that it be renamed to 'Mexican' flu, since that's where it started.... and those guys haven't taken that too well. So now, it's not just a cold, it's also a political headache.

Also, I'm not sure whether calling it "anything flu" is going to make it easy to get the public to take it seriously. I know influenza was a kick-arse disease back in the day, and some of its variants wreak devastation even today. But we've come to associate the word 'flu' with a mild cold that you shake off with a couple of Tylenols and a morning in bed with your favourite novel. No one's going to take 'swine flu' with the seriousness it deserves. You might as well call it 'piggy sniffles'. No. I suggest we should give it a really deadly sounding name.

Any suggestions !?! 

Smileys

I have started to punctuate my smileys. It would be interesting to see if other people who tend to be prudish about grammar are doing the same. If so, we can declare smileys a part of formal, written English. And the language will be the richer for it.

Disturbing Developments In Old Blighty

The British have long been the innovators that the rest of the world has emulated. Indeed, this creativity had been one of their trademarks. For instance, they gave us the modern system of parliamentary democracy, we saw that it was good and we all tried to take it up ourselves. Ditto various other institutions and inventions, not least among them, the English language itself.

Another characteristic of the Brits is that, having produced these great innovations, they then proceed to suck at many of them. This is, of course, most obvious in the myriad sports that they have come up with. Cricket - great sport. Who invented it !?! - The British ! Who are going to get their arses handed to them when the Ashes roll round !?! The British !! Who invented footie !?! Brits!! Who will be going home without the World Cup in 2012 !?! ... You get the drift.

The reasoned response to this is perhaps 'Fair enough'. After all, sport is competitive and someone is going to win at the expense of the rest. There is no reason to believe that the country that came up with the sport should be the best at it. The best composers aren't always the best performers.

But now, to that 'invent and suck at' list, it seems we have to add something that isn't competitive. It is a right. And that is the right of free speech. If the Australian is to be believed, "The [British] Government is pushing ahead with legislation that will criminalise politically incorrect jokes, with a maximum punishment of up to seven years' prison."

Maybe this disease will remain confined to British shores. But there is a good chance that it will spread. Like I said before, the world often tends to imitate the Brits - and then outdo them. And that trailblazing nation - one which played a leading role in giving us the concept of freedom of expression - is just about to surrender that very fundamental right without a whimper of resistance.

Ill winds blow.

Ego

Ego gets a really bad press. I have yet to come across anyone who views it as remotely good. The closest attribute that gets the thumbs up is self respect - or self confidence. And yet, it seems to me that ego is not merely a good attribute, it's been a major driving force behind a lot of progress humanity has made to date. The desire to show oneself as the 'king of the hill' has, in many, many cases, chanelled itself into great feats of science, sport, art and discovery. But there is another reason ego should be lauded as a trait.

Let me illustrate that reason:
I am a rather regular practitioner of the noble art of badminton (this is a sport where two guys slap cocks back and forth across a net, so noble may not be the most appropriate way of describing it - feel free to come up with your own adjective). I wouldn't call myself proficient in the sport, but I'm not a beginner either. Intermediate would be somewhat accurate. In the University's recreation centre, I have had the pleasure of playing against opponents of varying degrees of proficiency. Now, whenever I play against some guy who's way, way out of my league - and get, umm, pwned ( I believe that is the term) - my ego lies dormant and let's me be. I feel no real humiliation. I just accept his victory as a fact of life. On the other hand, when some guy whom I assess as a fellow intermediate puts one over me, no matter how close fought the game was, I burn. My ego kicks into ovedrive and I just have to play him again and again - until I either win, or establish to myself that he is, in fact, a superior player. In either case, my ego calms down.

So my theory is this: Ego is our subconsious way of deciding whether a particular task is reasonable. By flaring up and dying down to suit the circumstances, it drives us to accomplish what we may, but makes sure that we don't burn out trying to achieve what is beyond our reach. It's thus both a progressive trait (by which I mean what I wrote in the first paragraph) and in a more subtle sense, a survival trait - and it's about time we accepted it for what it is.

So here's to ego, one our our most underappreciated gifts.

Quote Of The Day

Overheard:

"One of my only problems with pizza is that it's fattening."

The Emergency Response From Hell

"Hello, you've reached 911. To continue in English, press 1, ...."

A Deeper Issue

Here's the police defending their response time when called to the Binghampton Massacre scene. The following snippet wasn't the main reason for the overall delay, but it raises an important issue:

"The first 911 calls came in at 10:30 a.m., police Chief Joseph Zikuski said at a news conference. The callers spoke broken English, and it took dispatchers 2 minutes to sort out what was happening, he said."

I have no intention of sounding like some kind of 'hater', but in a multicultural society, where a sizeable population speaks 'broken' English or none at all, how are emergency services affected !?!

Regarding The Binghampton Murderer

A guy called Voong (Wong) went bananas and killed 13 and injured others in Binghampton in New York.

From AP (http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/20090404/ap_on_re_us/binghamton_shootings) :

"Police and Wong's acquaintances portrayed him as an angry, troubled 41-year-old man who struggled with drugs and job loss and perhaps blamed his adopted country for his troubles. His rampage "was not a surprise" to those who knew him, Zikuski said."

I have a mild question:

If this guy's massacre did not come as a surprise (meaning people kinda sorta thought even before the incident that he might do something like this), why the heck was he issued a gun permit !?!

Your Personality = Nails On A Chalkboard

I had to rant some more about the people I overheard on the bus yesterday, but I hadn't much more to say about them specifically. So I wrote a story about someone like them as a protagonist. It is, on reflection, the meanest article I have written to date and I'm not sure I like it. But it's vented my rage and I'm kinda sorta normal again. Enjoy, or not:

So I got this address of a prostitute from a pal two weeks ago, because I had turned 26 and was still a virgin and that's against God's will. I called her up and we agreed to meet at the local Starbuck's to talk and set up a "date" as she put it. I thought it was unnecessary, but she said she preferred it this way because she wanted to "make it more than just a physical thing" for her customers. So I thought I would go along with it. After all, I wanted to make sure she was worth fucking before I committed myself. I imagine I would get fairly pissed off if I were to go to her boudoir and get naked and then have her come out and find she was ass ugly. So, anyway, I walked into the place and looked around and I saw her. I was almost certain it was her of course, because all the other girls in the place were titless. Oh, apart from that half Latino barista, and I'm pretty sure she was not the one. Her face was a turn off. Anyway, back to the whore. Like I said, I was almost certain. But I had to make sure, of course. So I asked her, "Are you the whore I will be fucking !?!" And the bitch went all, "Shhh..." and looked around all embarassed. Because, you know, she was just racist and did not want to be seen as a servicer of brown guys. I was having none of that shit. I have my pride. So I said, "Well !?!" And she went all red and quiet and said, "Yes... yes..". And I said, "Good. Time and place please." And she gave me her address and said, "I'm free on Tuesday between 5 and 7." Having finished the "business" part of the conversation, I tried to talk about more casual matters, but she seemed all cold and aloof. It was most depressing. I mean you try to be nice and ask her about the work and if she likes it and if she has been in it for long and all you get are monosyllabic replies. When I asked her if she liked what she did, she said she had no "fucking" choice. I thought she was trying to crack a pun and so I laughed. It did not go down well.

It would not be overstating the facts to say that the "date" ended somewhat awkardly.

Tueday, 5 PM saw me outside her door. I had left the condom packet at home and I was worried. I mean, this is a whore we are talking about here. So when she opened the door, I got straight to the point. I said, "You don't have AIDS, do you !?! I have left the packet of condoms at home." and she was all like, "Good eveni--, what!?! Fuck no.." and I was like, "Prove it." and she got all angry. But she went and got test results from the doctor anyway and they were negative. Then she said, "I would ask you for proof, if I wasn't so Goddamned certain you hadn't come within ten feet of a cunt before." Which I thought was mean and also, unprofessional. I said so but she just told be to shut it and get to the fucking.

The shagging was strictly OK. It wasn't what I had been led to believe. My pal had said the bitch had a tight one but I thought it was wide, so he must have been fucking lying. But hey, I had fucked someone, so that was something.

I dressed up and got ready to leave. I was almost out of the door when she screamed, "Where the fuck do you think you're going!?! You owe me 50 bucks, you bastard." The cunt. I was having none of that shit. I mean really. "I'm not paying you, bitch.", I said drawing myself up to my full height, "You said you were free on Tuesdays." It wasn't about the money, it was about principle. It pains me to tell you, dear readers, that at this point, she went bananas and started screaming "You bastard"s and "Fuck you"s and whatnot. Which was unnecessary and uncalled for, but I thought I would cut her some slack since she was a woman and I am naturally given to chivalry. But then she attacked me. I mean like, physically. That is just not ON. So I pushed her to the floor and she stayed there cursing and said, "Get the fuck out of my apartment." So, of course, I turned to leave and she shouted, "I have syphillis..."

Bitch.

Self Centered

I was on the bus yesterday and happened to overhear a couple conduct the most self centered conversation I have ever heard in person. From what I gathered from their conversation, they had planned a party and had invited friends over. One friend had dropped out at short notice because his parents had been in a car accident and he was staying with them in the hospital. The couple's reaction to this was non-stop bitching about his frightful treatment of them, without so much as a word of sympathy. The only time they mentioned the parents was when they claimed that they had not been hurt badly ("It's only a little bruising, why couldn't he just come away after checking them in - for %&*&$'s sake !?!")

Now I've been, and still am, rather self centered myself. Everyone is, in some measure. But this takes the cake. This is selfish to the point where not only does other people's pain not move you, but it doesn't even register that they may have any pain whatsoever. It's like a man who not only breaks his wife's arms but then complains that she's not making him tea.

Arseholes.

Apology

To both my readers:

I'm currently reading "The Hound Of The Baskervilles" and the writing style is rubbing off on me. Hence the long winded and verbose prose of the two preceding posts.

My apologies.

Unlocked Treasures... And Some Confusion About Emotions

Jealousy, like kindness (as I mentioned earlier), is an emotion which I have trouble feeling. I just don't feel the urge to become miserable if someone else has more money, or is better looking, or perhaps even has more talent than I do. I may like to be more like them, but I don't grudge them what they have.

However, sometimes, just sometimes, I do feel pangs of discomfort when I contemplate genius of the order of, say, Beethoven. Or Dali. Or Wilde. Or Einstein. It's not jealousy, at least not as I understand it. After all, they wrote and composed and painted for my pleasure. They created wealth, and then, they just gave it to me. No, I don't grudge them their genius, I am grateful to them for using their talents to give me treasures. But every so often I do think to myself, "What else did they see, or hear, or think up !?! Maybe there was a tenth symphony that Beethoven heard all by himself on the inside of his head. Maybe he died before getting it out - or maybe he did not want to soil it by bringing it forth into this sullied world. Ditto Dali. Ditto Wilde and Einstein and all the other greats who have and will grace this earth. There must have been whole ocean floors of unlocked treasures in those eggheads which will, forevermore be sealed from the rest of us."

Granted, I don't say this to myself in quite the melodramatic way in which I have written it here, but that is more or less what crosses my mind. Like I said, it's not jealousy. But what is that feeling. Yearning, I suppose !?!

Puck Of Pook's Hill

I've been reading Puck of Pook's Hill by Rudyard Kipling (now there's a poet) and the story of the Roman Centurion has set me thinking about the British Isles. Not just historically, but geographically as well. What they must have seemed to the early settlers and navigators! Perennially shrouded in mist, covered thickly with forests haunted with predators hungry and huge, the very western edge of the world, and nothing but sea beyond!

The book itself is lovely. The stories are immensely evocative. They conjure up visions of faraway days and times, and fill you with a nostalgia for sights and sounds you have never seen or heard - but still miss with all your heart. And the poems! I rarely feel jealous of peoples' talent, but I did feel a twinge when I read these. I suppose it is poems like these that make people abandon form and write their own dross in free verse. They are afraid of being compared to such delights. Here's a sample:

Cities and Thrones and Powers
Stand in Time's eye,
Almost as long as flowers,
Which daily die.
But, as new buds put forth
To glad new men,
Out of the spent and unconsidered Earth
The Cities rise again.


This season's Daffodil,
She never hears
What change, what chance, what chill,
Cut down last year's:
But with bold countenance,
And knowledge small,
Esteems her seven days' continuance
To be perpetual.


So Time that is o'er-kind
To all that be,
Ordains us e'en as blind,
As bold as she:
That in our very death,
And burial sure,
Shadow to shadow, well persuaded, saith,
'See how our works endure!'