I decided to take a few days off last week, and since we’re out of the dog days of summer and into the cat nights of August it seemed like good timing. I have no idea what that’s supposed to mean, but it was a chance for me to get back to the practice of sitting on the back porch, piddling around the house and catching up on the latest on my favorite bingeable streaming shows. And also extra time spent on the internet with its interminable trendiness. And little aggravations.
What’s aggravating is trying to keep track of the terminology that apparently keeps changing with each new Moon. I covered some of these before, so I beg your indulgence with a few new additions to the e-lexicon. Feel free to impress your friends and co-workers with your up-to-date social media savoir-faire (and these may be helpful for spying parents, JSYK).
PAW: Parents are watching.
HBU: How about you?
Lulz: Sort of the same as LOL, but improved because it is one letter longer.
LMK: Let me know.
ELI5: Explain like I’m five.
TL;DR: Too long; don’t read.
QAP: Quick as possible (an improvement over ASAP because it’s one letter shorter.)
TTP: To the point.
Ship: A relationship.
SMH: Scratching my head (also see Facepalm, Headdesk): Reaction at someone’s idiocy.
ROFL: Rolling on the floor laughing.
TBH: To be honest.
FMC: Feeding my cows.
PNL: Peace and love.
Frankly, from my coffee on the back porch perspective, I’d just as soon be blissfully unaware of those shortcuts to expressing myself, but the internet has become as intrinsic to communication as the old crank telephone was to my dearly departed grandma.
I’m as guilty as anyone when I get to cruising on the information superhighway. It’s hard to find the exit ramp. It reminds me of that Twilight Zone episode where the young couple can’t leave the town and the husband keeps coming back to ask a café toy that looks like a little devil what to do next. Spoiler: They never leave.
The triple-w is kind of like that, you know you want to leave, but you must check your email or Facebook just one more time.
I have to say, though, it is helpful for keeping up with the news from hundreds of sources – conservative, liberal, right wing, left wing, chicken wing, you name it. I was thinking, you put all those together and you get the Johnny Cash song about the singing group that performed on stage in a certain line-up:
The one on the right was on the left,
And the one in the middle was on the right
And the one on the left was in the middle
And the guy in the rear was …
“The One on the Right is on the Left” ends with the band members getting into a knock-down-drag-out donnybrook on stage one night over their political differences. Mr. Cash released that comedy ditty in 1966 when the war in Southeast Asia was heating up, and I don’t know for sure, but something tells me it could be a hit today as well. The difference being by the late sixties there were peace demonstrations on virtually every college campus in the country. Fact is, few in college wanted to get drafted.
Speaking of those days as well as the above-mentioned PNL, I’ve been reading about the Woodstock quinquagenary being observed this month. Even though I remember hearing about it on the news at the time, all I really know about it comes from the movie and the triple album that came out later.
Confidentially, I’m not sure if I was part of the Woodstock Generation, per se. As a matter of fact, that year I was just another one of those guys in uniform, and by the time the movie came out I was stationed on Guam and saw it from a wooden bench in a Quonset hut turned-movie theater which was left over from when the Marines landed in 1945.
Not unlike Woodstock, the sixties was a crazy mixed up decade with social change coming at us from all quarters what with Vietnam, the draft, civil rights, women’s rights, R and X movies, long haired hippies and so forth. Not to mention me flunking Algebra II.
And get this, with all that going on, we only had the 30 minute evening newscasts on the three networks to get our information. Fancy that.
Anyway, all the once-hippies are graying up and having grandchildren, so maybe the impact of Woodstock comes down to not much more than the music of Joe Cocker and Jimi Hendrix, et al.
OK. I made up the “FMC: Feeding my cows” thing just to see if you were paying attention.