Typo Negative

How people deal with typos in instant messaging (IM) says something their character. What it says, we're not sure. But something.

Are you the type of person who , when IMing just lets it gly and assumes that yuour ingerloocutor will get the giust of what you'tre saying regardless of any67 unflortruabnet mistakes?

Or are you the type who feels the need to produce clean copy at all times, even if it leads to moments like this:


----the type who geels the need--

Damn it!

BACKSPACEBACKSPACEBACKSPACE. . . . .

--the type who geels the need--

DAMN IT!

BACKSPACEBACKSPACEBACKSPACE. . . . .

--the type who geels the need--

ARRRRRRGHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!

Do you use "backspace" more than the spacebar?

We, obviously, are in the latter camp. A side effect of our profession, perhaps. We demand--not perfection from our students, obviously--but conscientiousness. And typos suggest a lack of care. In the olden days of manual typewriters, one could overlook teh occasional typo. We could hardly expect people to take time to scratch out every mistake or kill countless trees in the pursuit of paper perfection. But if all it takes to produce the illusion of flawlessness is careful proofreading and a handful of keystrokes, then there's really no excuse.

In the last paragraph, we intentionally used "teh," which we understand is something of an ironic buzzword. People deliberately transpose the letters that are so often transposed accidentally by way--we guess--of postmodern commentary on the act of producing digital text. A question arises: How do we know if the typer of "teh" is being ironic or merely careless? And should we assume that every "the" is merely a mistyped piece of satire?

In our classes, we make a point of telling students that, if ever we misspell something on the board, it is actually a test of their powers of observation. We think they've fallen for it.

Or should we say, they've fallen for ti?

What Would Emily Post Do?

The Solipsist loves e-mail. The perfect form of long-distance communication, it combines the immediacy provided by the telephone with the opportunity for reflection provided by old-fashioned letters. You can think about what you want to say, write it, edit it, and fire it off into cyberspace. Your correspondent receives the communication instantly but without the interruption of a ringing phone; she can then read your message and take the time to compose a thoughtful response--or set it aside until later. Perfect!

But then there's "chat"--the dark side of e-mail--the evil twin of its long-form cousin. Because if you're not in the mood to chat, and a friend bings you, pings you, bloops you--what are you supposed to do? With a phone call, if you don't want to talk, you can always claim to be "right in the middle of something"--dinner, laundry, sex, whatever--and get off the phone. But when you're on Facebook or its ilk and someone toodles you, you can't very well claim to be doing anything important; you're on Facebook for Christ's sake! "Hi, great to see you, but I can't chat right now. I'm finishing the 'Which Brady Are You?' quiz. What do you know, I'm Jan!"

When we began writing this, we worried about offending those Sloppists who have, in fact, mooped us on Facebook. But then we realized, they probably think the same thing about us. After all, we're not only on the receiving end of chat requests. Just this afternoon, we were proctoring an exam in an overheated classroom. We were ready to pass out, but thankfully, there was a computer to keep us occupied. We went on Facebook and found a couple of friends online. And whether they were ready or not, we qwertled them.

They were, of course, polite. We couldn't know for sure, though, whether they were playing along, waiting for the opportunity to claim that a loved one had just that instant returned from Iraq and so they had to scoot. Not that we took offense; we totally understand where they're coming from.

So here's what's needed: an acceptable procedure for declining a chat session when you obviously don't have anything better to do. (Yes, we know you can change your privacy settings so that you won't show up as online, but that's cheating!) Speaking personally, we hereby declare that if you are on Facebook and are floopsied by the Solipsist, you can, without fear of offending, simply say that you are not available to chat. We understand.

Now, if you'll excuse us, we're right in the middle of something. . . .

Funny story. True story.

At the Solipsist's place of employment, e-mail addresses conform to a predictable pattern: first initial, last name. Thus, our e-mail address is "TSolipsist@collegename.edu." Remember this.

Recently, YNSHC has been conducting training sessions for a new piece of instructional software, call it "Socrates." (NOTE: All names have been slightly altered to protect the innocent and shame the guilty.) He's been meeting with small groups of faculty members to walk them through the ins and outs of this program. He has been assisted in these trainings by the computer center coordinator, all-around tech guy "Mike Johnson." Keep this in mind.

The other day, we received an e-mail from one of the trainees we had worked with the day before. The subject-line: "Grrrrrrr. . . ." Seems this particular trainee had gone home and attempted to access "Socrates" (an internet-based program). As the subject line suggests, she had a less than optimal experience: She was frequently booted, her computer froze, she was attacked by monkeys--she was not happy. It should also be noted that this particular trainee is an award-winning poet with a certain flair for language. Her e-mail was thus full of fine phrasing and pinpoint denunciations of the program. And while she was very diplomatic towards the Solipsist and "Mike Johnson"--whom she in no way blamed for the program's malfunctioning--she was scathing in her review of the program itself--a program, it should be noted, that the college had just invested a substantial sum of money to acquire.

(Digression: Before you get into high dudgeon--or even low dudgeon--about extravagant purchases in a time of budgetary crisis, we hasten to point out that the money was from a grant that we were required to expend by a certain date. While we agree that the money could have done more good if it had been saved and doled out more judiciously over the next several months of austerity, that was not an option. Perhaps we will address the absurdist nature of state budgeting and expenditure processes in a future post. EOD)

Anyway, we mentioned that said teacher sent her e-mail to YNSHC and "Mike Johnson." Well, that's not exactly accurate. She sent her e-mail to "TSolipsist@collegename.edu" and "MJohnson@collegename.edu." But "Mike Johnson" is "MiJohnson@collegename.edu."

"MJohnson" had been assigned to somebody else, specifically, "Malcolm Johnson."

The college president.

Sigh.

The moral of the story, Sloppists: E-mail is a wonderful tool. Indeed, it is the Solipsist's favorite mode of communication, combining as it does the instantaneity of the telephone with the "not-having-to-actually-talk-to-somebody" distance of the postal system. But in e-mail, as in so many other things, it is dangerous to make assumptions. Remember, to paraphrase Dad-of-Solipsist, if you make assumptions, you make an ass out of u and mption.

Happy e-mailing!

Blackberry Raspberry

"Sent via Blackberry."

This is apparently the closing du jour.  Nowadays, the Solipsist often opens an e-mail from Friend of Solipsist and others with the above-mentioned tag at the end.  Isn't it bad enough that we have product placement in everything from "The Office" to the classroom?  Do we need it at the end of our e-mails?

Since when has it become important for the mode of message delivery to call attention to itself?  In olden times, did users of carrier pigeons feel the need to explicitly identify the messengers: "This note transported via Mr. Pidgles"?  Did Cherokee signalmen have to puff out a disclaimer at the end of their communiques: "This smoke signal generated via the waving of an Acme Indian Blanket"?

What are the corporate chieftains at Blackberry worried about?  Sure, without that message at the end, one might assume that the message was tapped out on a laptop or texted from a standard cell-phone (So 2008!).  But what would be the harm in that?  Is Blackberry that insecure that they feel the need constantly to remind people of their existence?

Is there some distinction in the quality of messages typed on a Blackberry?  If so, the Solipsist has yet to discover it.  If anything, it would seem that such messages would be shorter than others, unless one has a passion for typing on a teeny tiny typewriter.

Fun fact: Did you know that typing the word typewriter uses only keys in the top row of a "qwerty" keyboard?  Let's see Blackberries top that!

This post sent via good old-fashioned desktop!  So there!