The Art of Texting

During the DrinkFest last week, I was deeply impressed by the amount of text messaging going on, even with people who had a beer in one hand and were carrying on live conversations. Some people sent complex messages, thumbs flying over keypads...some have clever little phones that flip open to what looks like a small keyboard... the screen makes it easier to read and send said messages, I presume.

All in all, enough letters of the alphabet were sent through space to clog the East River...which, I know, I know... it isn't a river... and that's saying something.

I am new to text...to a point.

Back in the 1990's, when I was a regular visitor to the UK, text was cheaper then calling someone, so, everyone sent text messages. I've had the same telephone number in the UK since 1998... I carry my cute pay as you go phone back and forth with me when I travel there, and it's as cute and clever now as when I bought it. I've only upgraded once... it's sturdy, it can take and receive calls, sends text messages, and is a nice shade of blue. I'm good with it. Still, I didn't master the art of the text.

Back in the US of A, I didn't text. It was expensive, the packages weren't text friendly and, oh, right! I didn't have a mobile phone.

I was a landlubber. Being a former employee of the old behemoth, AT&T, my generous retirement package included free telephone service within a certain Bell system...so, my little home held four phone lines.

Four.

Free ones.

With all the bells and whistles.

We were lazy sods, the children and I... and my dad when he lived with us. Why yell for someone when you could call them, even if they were two rooms away? Yes, I would pick up my portable phone in the sunroom and dial another number in my house to tell my son, who was in his room, to take the garbage out.

And I wondered why my ass was the size of Kansas.

The upside was, I knew every single number of every person I knew, without looking them up. And, if my son didn't answer, I could leave a voicemail for him.

Now, I live and breathe by the mobile phone, the cell phone, the almighty sliding red phone that has already conked out on me, this POS chocolate phone. It holds all my numbers, numbers I'm lost without because I've no idea what they are without this POS. It has photos, and can do all sorts of things I've yet to figure out... and it has messages I want to save.

Yes, messages.

I text.

I envy the two thumbed texter... their hands cradle the phone as they focus on the screen, brow furrowed... texting like mad. I am a one thumb texting person, myself. I've tried to give the left hand a go at messages... it is fearful, however, and won't jump in.

Let us be honest, what letters are really on the left side of the phone? GHI? PQRS?? How many words do you type that have Q in them? Sure, the middle keys are up for grabs, but, with the right thumb being such a dominatrix...I've thought of putting a little black outfit on it....it grabs those middle keys and takes control. The left thumb remains meek and submissive, content with words that hold the seldom used 'S' or 'G'.... quickly hitting the key before the right thumb can grab those letters, too. You see, I don't use T9.

"What?" Self said. "You don't use T9?"

Self really gets on my nerves at times.

No, I don't use T9. I've a good reason. I can't figure it out. The Investment has tried to teach me, on numerous occasions. Since he, too, has a short attention span, it goes something like this:

"Okay, Mom... you just hit the button, and the word will show up and you scroll past until you find the word you want."

"Let me try." I try. "Oh, I didn't know I could download music."

"You can? Whoa."

See?

I despise texttalk. I did not attend good schools in order to type "C U L8R"

I type out full sentences, with punctuation. This becomes a long and arduous process, and will remove me from ever having (kids, scroll down a few lines) a saucy conversation via text. My partner would be asleep by the time I typed in "Oh, yes, that would be very nice if we (fill in the blanks)".

You can see how the right thumb has control and the full workout in any text conversation and how I am concerned over my lopsided look of a strong, powerful right thumb... I wonder if I'll start to have a Sissy Hankshaw look eventually.

To keep peace, I let the left hand close the phone sometimes.... or hit the unlock button. You can feel the sense of accomplishment it achieves from this little task.

Ah! Then you have the worry of multiple text conversations. What then? I wear reading glasses... cute ones, but, reading glasses nonetheless. To text, I have to flip them down from my head or touch myself all over to find them, put them on, read the text and text back.

The first thing I have to do is see who the text is from.

You have to be very careful, I would imagine, on what you say to whom. I had three text conversations going on Saturday night (woot).... none were anything to be concerned about, however, I wanted to keep them separate. I wondered what would happen if you had one going with a friend, one with a colleague, and one that was slightly risque.

Watching the name at the top would be a priority, wouldn't it? If not, well, it would give you something to journal about in the morning.....