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In An Era I Don’t Belong To May 5, 2011

Posted by sarahsfate in My Own Personal Trials, PostADay2011, Thoughts on People.
Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

I miss social niceties. What was it that caused the dissolution of social discourse and, more specifically, polite conversation with depth? Should I blame the over-used simplicity of acronyms? LOL! IKR! BRB! IDK! C U L8R! That’s not even conversation. Is it?

I texted several days ago with someone I haltingly refer to as ‘friend’ and besides it being an unbalanced, hanging-right conversation, it could best be described as monosyllabic. Hey. What’s up? Same. Yeah. Okay. <–What the hell is that? I have another friend who turns every conversation into a pool competition where he plans to ‘kick my butt, har har’. Why is that funny? Why is it funny enough to say repeatedly? I can’t be certain, but I have a strong suspicion that at some point between my 30th birthday and my 32nd birthday, I became old. Where’s my cane? Ahh, there it is.

It’s like being 16-years old — too young to do anything fun and too old to do anything age-appropriate. Only I’m young enough to understand the acronyms, ebonics, and slang — and old enough to be offended by it. I believe in self-expression and to each his own, but man.  Gaelic and Latin have fallen on hard times. English is wasting away in exile. Other languages all have two or three dialects. How many do we have here?

I corrected my nephews grammar the other day and he laughed. Why is that funny? I wondered, and then I asked. “What does it matter?” he replied. I think I cried. Not really. I’m not big on tears. But still.

I miss receiving rooms and high-backed chairs and scones. I miss ‘how do you do?’ and ‘charmed’, and charming men removing their top hat to bend low over my outstretched hand in greeting. I even miss playing rousing tunes on the pianoforte. Not that I played well. Or played at all. Is it possible to miss what you’ve never had?

I miss hand-written correspondence and, no, the ‘see me about this’ scrawled on a yellow sticky note does not qualify. Letters served a purpose of regaling the recipient with stories of pursuits and endeavors. The only time I hear the word ‘pursuit’ anymore is during a high-speed police chase. And information provided by friends comes in a 320-characters or less status update on Facebook. Maybe I’m too quizzical (a preferable word compared with nosey) and simply want to know more. Maybe people are too busy to provide more.

When I ask someone for details about a girl they’re seeing I hear she has a big house, nice car, loves sex. Really? How. Ab. Solutely. Fascinating. Does she keep her personality in the glove box? I don’t care what her estimated worth is, I’m not buying her for crying out loud.

I miss suitors who call on you with flowers and poems. Not that I want a poem — it’d probably be poorly written anyway. But the men didn’t shout “heyyyyy baby” from across the road way did they? Did they? *sigh* Maybe they did.

I miss real conversation. Surely someone out there feels the same and I’m not really alone in an era I don’t belong to anymore.

...the end of my rant...



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