The Evolution of Instant Messaging
My sister will sometimes call me up and tell me about an argument she’s having with her boyfriend. "So, I text-messaged him this. . . and he texted me back this. . . ," and so it goes. Usually I turn into my dad for a moment and respond with, "You know, someday they’re going to invent something where you can actually speak to each other real time, without typing. . . it’s going to be amazing." What blows my mind the most is that they "text" each other with a PHONE! An actual phone! Wouldn’t it be easier to just talk? Wouldn’t it make the argument get over with that much faster? I don’t get it.
Today we have eharmony.com and match.com and though many have success with this, I’m oh so thankful that I’ve never had to venture into this world. I’ve spent hours looking through potential suitors with friends and family, trying to help them weed out the bad ones, laughing at the pictures that some people put out there of themselves, really laughing when we come across people I graduated with, thinking to myself how lucky I am that I met my husband when I was just 19. I didn’t have to go there. Thank GOD for that.
When I was teaching, I had a web site for my students that had helpful links and homework assignments. Students and parents also had my email address in case they had questions or concerns. I soon learned what a mistake that was, as I would log on to the computer and instantly be bombarded with instant messages from students, "whassup mrs bbm? wha r u doin?" I did not like the casual opportunity this gave to some of my students to just treat me like one of their friends, and I really didn’t like the spelling and grammar that resulted. I’ve graded term papers that looked like that and they were horrifying enough.
I occasionally took advantage of IM to "talk" to friends who were into the whole IMing thing. I’ve just always preferred the phone. I love email, don’t get me wrong, because it’s like modern day letter writing. But instant messaging. . . I’m just not that into it.
It could be because I was soured on it long ago.
I’m going to date myself here, big time. There was once a time when instant messaging. . . . didn’t exist (gasp!). During my freshman year of college at the University of Pittsburgh, we had several computer labs. Mostly the labs at 2 a.m. were full of procrastinators who were tiredly typing away on that paper for Latin American History or something equally awful. But on one particular spring evening, I was discovering the beginnings of instant messaging.
Back then it was called "phone." At least, that’s what I think it was called. I was typing away at an assignment and this "phone" box popped up. Someone was saying hello. I didn’t know what to do at first. Eventually, I typed back a tentative "hello," and the conversation continued from there. This "phone" was an early version of instant messaging, pre-IM and pre-text messaging. The person on the other end was a student at Pitt as well. He was a chemistry major and he seemed. . . interesting.
For the next two weeks, I would trek on over to the computer lab close to my dorm and type away. I don’t know why it never occurred to me to speak on the real phone with him. It would have been a lot easier. Eventually he asked me out on a date, a real date because he lived off-campus and had a car. I accepted; my friends thought I was nuts.
We set up this plan. He was going to drive into the dormitory area in his red car. We were going to go to a movie. He told me he had light brown hair, was 6′ tall and attractive. He said he’d be wearing a collared blue shirt. I knew he was a student at Pitt, a senior because only students had access to the "phone" feature on the computer. I didn’t describe myself because I wanted an out, or so I said. I wanted to be able to disappear without him knowing I was even there if the need arose.
So, Friday evening came and I stood in the quadrangle waiting for my "prince charming." I was excited. I envisioned a young Nicholas Cage or "Dr. Carter," a Romeo, Casanova. . .
And then I saw him.
Before the hood of his car even entered the parking area, his nose did. It’s harsh I know, but it’s true. Gone were the aesthetically pleasing images of actors. Gone were the images of a literary "Prince Charming". There was only one literary image that came to mind. . .
It was painfully obvious that we had very different ideas about what the term "attractive" meant. Being completely honest here, I have not been blessed with a small nose myself. I have my Dad’s nose (a smaller version of it, so he says), but I have always been a little uncomfortable with my nose. When I was in Junior High, I used to ask my parents for nose jobs instead of clothing or music when holidays rolled around. But I have NEVER seen a nose like that. NEVER.
My friends started to hoot, holler and laugh it up good. I froze. I wanted to run into my dorm and disappear into oblivion, never to "phone" him again. I had been on a bad blind date or two already; I really didn’t want another one. But, because I’m a somewhat nice person, I felt bad ditching him and stepped bravely out onto the curb. I hesitated and then waved. He smiled. It wasn’t pretty, and he totally wasn’t my type.
I got in the car and he stared at me. "You’re so BEAUTIFUL," he said. "Um, thanks," I said back and turned my head to stare out the window. He looked about 10 years older than me. He had a little pot belly that was very unbecoming. His nose. . .
You get the idea.
We drove to the theater. I knew he lied about how "attractive" he was, or deduced that he was delusional, or perhaps slightly blind, but the biggest lie was yet to be revealed.
At 5’9", I have always been one of the taller girls. I’m not one to slouch. I have never minded being one of the taller girls. I like it. I also like tall men, really tall men. My husband is 6’3". Most of the guys I dated before I met him were at least 6’1".
We got out of the car at the theater and there he was in all his glory, barely 5’7". What kind of tape measure was he using anyway? I towered over him, wearing flat shoes. I was furious. Looks that don’t make my heart race is one thing. I knew I wasn’t attracted to him; but sometimes, with time and conversation, people you wouldn’t normally think of as "attractive" become more so. I was willing to give him that chance. But someone who flat out lies to me. . . that warrants death.
I am not all about looks. I wanted to go to my senior prom with the guy who had the worst acne ever, because he could dance and we had fun together. Looks only last so long and take you so far. There has to be a connection. Of course, looks seem to help that connection. . . no one can deny that.
But lying is something I can not tolerate. Saying you’re 6′ tall when you’re actually 5" shorter than that is blatant. Did he think I wasn’t going to notice the discrepancy? When I first started dating my husband I told him that if he wanted to insure that I never ever speak with him again, then all he had to do was lie to me. I hate liars. "If you tell me you are wearing a green shirt, when in fact you are wearing a red shirt. . . and I find out about it. . . we’re done," I told him. Can’t. Stand. Liars.
So, back to my blind date from hell. I walk around the car and look down at him. I glared for a few seconds. "You said you were 6′ tall," I said. I walked towards the theater. His little legs tried to keep up with mine. Did I mention 90% of my height comes from my legs? We stood in line after we got our tickets and I was fuming. He kept saying, "You’re so beautiful." It was a little overkill. I’m o.k. I wouldn’t go as far as "so beautiful." It seemed to be his only line. "I’m sorry for being a lying pile of crap," would have warmed my heart more than trite flattery. A true Cyrano, with something subtantial behind the nose, he was not.
Then he tried to hold my hand. I ripped it away from his. "You lied," I said to him. "You’re so beautiful," he said back. "You lied," I repeated. Waiting in line continued like this.
He was a bona fide dork. It was a nightmare of a blind date, and the only person responsible for this was me. I could imagine all my friends back at the dorms, laughing until they cried, and then laughing some more. I was so annoyed with him, and more annoyed with myself.
As we sat in the theater, he tried to hold my hand again. I told him if he tried it one more time, he was going to have to move over a seat. He tried again. I moved over a seat. I am not a touchy-feely person with people I know and like, let alone with a lying pain in the ass.
After the movie was over, he asked if he could take me for something to eat. I told him to take me back to campus. I had him drop me off at a fraternity house where I knew my friends were hanging out. He asked if he could come along. "NO," I said. "Can I call you?" he inquired. "No," I said. He was seriously not getting it.
I found my friends and danced the rest of the night away. I drank some cheap fraternity beer koolaid. (Hi Mom!) I swore off blind dates forever. I swore off the "phone" forever. I swore off chemistry majors. I was done.
The next year in school, I met Mr. BBM. I was 19; he was 21. He was 6’3", and reminded me of Nick Cage and Dr. Carter.
He was a chemistry major. I was able to overlook his choice of majors.
I met him through real live friends, not the computer. We have never IM’d each other. We wrote each other sweet emails from time to time. Now they’re more like, "I’m up to my elbows in poop-when are you going to be done working already?" (Did I mention before that my husband works from home?)
I have never understood the IMing relationships or why someone would choose to IM instead of speak on the phone or in person. I may have a decent understanding of technology and I may have been there at the beginning of the IMing era. That doesn’t mean I like it or that I will ever understand it.
Then again. . .
I’m scarred for life.
Not going to BlogHer so BlogMe
I’m not going. When everyone was just starting to talk about the BlogHer conference, I was just starting my blog. I was all like "What? There’s an actual conference for bloggers?" As much as I would have liked to pack a bag and head to San Jose, I felt silly. I’m a newbie. I’d probably be the one standing in the corner by myself feeling all wall-flowerish. Blogging, especially Mommy blogging can be a little clique-ish sometimes. I hate cliques. No really, hate cliques. (I also can’t stand when people comment on your site all the time, and then you blogroll them and then they completely disappear from the face of the Earth never to return to your site ever, ever again, but I digress).
So, there’s this BlogHer online mixer for people who are going to the conference (or not). Since I’m one of the "not’s" I thought I’d at least participate in this. Are there people I’d like to interview? Sure. But, I don’t know whether or not they would participate, so I’m just interviewing myself. You’re supposed to pick five questions from this list. I don’t get all the link here, link there stuff, but I’ll just give it my best shot. Here goes:
1. Who do you read every day, rain or shine?
See that blogroll over there? Yeah, them. Because I know that my karate bloggers don’t always post every day, I make sure to check in with them at least every other day. I don’t always comment, mostly because my little one is usually climbing all over my keyboard which makes it a bit difficult. I always make sure to check in with Amalah. Her son is only a week older than my daughter so I like to see what he’s up to. Same reason with Maniacal Days. Her daughter is close in age to Lil C as well. Izzymom is always good for a laugh or two or some interesting insight. J at Thinking About is constantly posting something interesting. In fact, I wonder how she does it. (Oh yeah, her daughter is a lot older than my kids.)
2. Are you and your blogging persona the same person?
Absolutely. What you read is what you get. People who know me in real life know that they never have to guess what I’m thinking about. Never. Friends often tell me that they like me because I "shoot straight from the hip"; and I think I do that on this blog as well. The only difference? I probably swear more in real life. For some reason, I just can’t seem to type very many profanities. (Did I mention my Mom reads this blog and thinks that "sucks" is a swear word?) If we had a swear jar in this house, I’d probably be broke. I’m trying though. . . sort of.
3. What don’t you write about? Anything considered a no-no in your book?
I don’t complain about my husband on this blog. I might jokingly complain about him here like when he almost broke my leg; but the real stuff doesn’t see the black and white. That’s not fair to him, and that’s my decision without his input. Also, our arguments are usually over relatively quickly and I don’t need or want a written record of it. I also don’t complain about family or friends because I don’t have anything to complain about with them they read my blog.
4. What is your favorite thing that you wrote? What got a strong reaction from readers? Links please?
My favorite thing that I wrote is the post "Why men don’t have house parties". I got so many emails from people who just cracked up. The words were just really flowing the night I wrote that, and it just really hit home for a lot of readers. I got a strong reaction when I entered the political realm and wrote about the Duke Rape Case. But, I also had fun making fun of my heckler.
5. Have you ever anonymously posted on a site to flame them?
No. If I disagree, or don’t have anything nice to say I usually just leave. Once or twice, I disagreed or called someone out on something that was a bunch of political garbage and gladly attached my signature and http address. Why wouldn’t I? I’m not afraid to let people know what I think. Doing so anonymously would be hypocritical since I hate when people try to do that here.
If you want to play, see the link above and go for it. While everyone is singing karaoke and having a blast at BlogHer, I’ll still be here. . .
Have a drink and sing some Pebbles for me.
Kids you should know
A couple weeks ago, right around the time my friend passed away, my Mom told me about this little girl Julia. Julia is only two years old and has been diagnosed with cancer in the form of an aggressive inoperable brain tumor. My Mom knows her grandmother and told me how devastated the family is with this recent diagnosis. Julia has a twin sister and two loving parents who are having to make some of the hardest decisions they’ve ever made. Julia is currently having chemotherapy and as of tonight she is back in the hospital due to a fever and a very low blood count. They have a web site at Caring Bridge where you can track Julia’s progress and leave her and her family well-wishes. Even if you’re mostly a lurker here, please go over there and say hello in the guest book and send your thoughts and prayers. They cherish messages from people who care about them and their daughter. It gives the family strength to know there are so many people thinking about them and little Julia.
Another kid you should know about is my friend’s son. His name is Chase and he was diagnosed with Type 1 Diabetes a few years ago. He has started writing a newsletter about kids with diabetes and has done fund-raisers on his own to raise money for kids with diabetes. One of his fundraisers provided Crystal Light packs for kids to put in their water bottles at school lunches. Now he has another mission. He is attempting to write a book by collecting 100 stories from others who have been diagnosed with Type 1 Diabetes. If you have Type 1 Diabetes and are interested in writing up your story, you can email Chase at: whenigotdiabetes@aol.com. If you know of someone who might be interested, please pass along this information. Chase is a great kid and is really trying to help other kids who have been recently diagnosed by having a book filled with stories from others who have been diagnosed with the disease and are living with it, to let them know they’re not alone.
Some other amazing little ones now have their stories published over at Birth Stories and the response has been great. Check them out, and keep the submissions coming. The latest story is from Izzy of Izzymom.
What NOT to do
Remember that whole, "teach him what’s up" from yesterday? The thing about how I was going to practice my self-defense techniques on my husband? Yeah. It didn’t go so well.
After getting the girls to bed, I asked my husband if he was up for a little self-defense action. Usually he complies; sometimes he’s not in the mood to be twisted all over the place. So, we started out with a basic rear double wrist-grab. He stood behind me and grabbed both of my wrists. I easily got out of it with a work against the thumbs, "remove a gun from the holster" type of move with a step back into him. His hands remained at my sides, but my hands were now loose.
As demonstrated in class, I grabbed his right hand with my right hand. I lifted his right hand and arm up with that hand and slipped underneath my arm and his. His arm was now twisted behind his back and he was doubled over due to a joint lock at the wrist. Picture twisting someone’s arm behind their back but using their wrist joint as your controlling mechanism.
I wasn’t putting the joint lock on as strong as I could, but apparently it was uncomfortable. So, in an attempt to lessen the pain and make it more like a real life situation, he began to spin away from me. I followed along. Picture my husband, bent at the waist with his arm behind his back. I have control of his arm with my right hand and I start to follow his spin, so to speak. I was trying to figure out my next move. I wanted to put him on the floor. This is where things went terribly wrong. . .
I reach around his left shoulder with my left arm in an attempt to hold him still and throw him off balance so that I could use my right foot behind his right knee, and take him down. I attempt to place my right foot behind his knee, but the spinning is still happening. So my foot and consequently my knee slips in between his knees, he continues to spin and what occurred next can only be described as the sound effects for Rice Crispies.
Crackle.
Or, more accurately, Pop, Pop. Pop, and the only one who was "taken down" was me. The sound effects occurred when my knee, which is supposed to bend forward, bent completely out to the right. Did I mention my leg was straight when it got jammed between my husbands spinning legs? Yeah. Pain.
I writhed on the floor in pain, unable to move my leg after landing on the floor like a ton of bricks. I fell directly onto my side and hip. As my husband ran to the kitchen to get me ice, I yelled after him, "Well, that didn’t work." He laughed; I continued to writh in pain.
He eventually helped me to stand up and get to bed. Today, my leg is sore. I pulled the muscle that runs up the back of your thigh big time. When I move my leg, my hip makes a cracking sound, and my knee feels like squish, squish. My ankle was sore initially but is better today.
This is what happens when your partner is only 3.5 feet tall in class. You come home and try to practice on someone more realistic to what an attacker would be, but without someone to tell you what you’re doing wrong. . . you are apparently risking bodily harm. Ouch.
Next time I want to practice self defense on my husband, I’m going to wear one of these:
or maybe one of these:
How to choose a karate school
I’ve been getting some emails from curious readers about how to choose a karate school. It’s a very good question, and extremely important to know what to look for (and what to beware of as well). I consulted my instructors and some other karate-ka’s to find out what they would suggest. The suggestions below are a compilation of what to do when shopping for a karate school.
- Ask about costs. This is very important. There are some karate schools who will bleed you dry when it comes to money. They have inflated monthly costs, rarely offer a discount for additional family members, and charge astronomical fees to test. These are the same schools who require your little ones to test every two to three weeks. The tests are meaningless; they only serve to bring more money into the school. As an example, my karate school charges a monthly rate and additional family members receive a large discount. There are no testing fees (some fee for testing is o.k. but make sure it’s not going to force you to take out a second mortgage). My dojo even gives students a gi and provides all belts. They are extremely generous and not all dojo’s have to be like that to be good karate schools. But, do beware of inflated costs. Call around for sure.
- Be extra wary of long contracts. My dojo requires no contracts what-so-ever. Karate schools that require long contracts, especially for young children, are only looking for your money. They can’t guarantee your child will like karate, so they guarantee one thing-that they’ll take your money. These types of schools are notorious for getting a large group of students to sign up, pre-pay long contracts, and then they pack up and leave the area. Make sure the school is an established one. If the school is fairly new, find out where the instructor/s trained and make sure they’re legitimate.
- Observe several different types of martial arts classes. There are so many forms and you really need to shop around and make sure you’re choosing the right one for you. It’s an individual choice. There are no wrongs or rights here, but of course another warning. Make sure that the school answers to a higher authority. Is there an organization that oversees the dojo? Are there other schools that teach this type of martial arts? Look it up online and see what you can find. A karate school that can’t tell you what type of karate they teach and can’t tell you the lineage of the kata’s is probably not worth your time.
- Talk to students at the dojo, children and adults alike. Talk to the parents who are observing the classes or sitting in the waiting area. Do they have any complaints? If so, what are they? Karate parents are notorious for speaking up so ask away.
- Ask who the instructors are and what their ranks are. Find out their credentials. It’s o.k. if non black belts are helping out with the classes, but they shouldn’t really be teaching the classes, at least not on a regular basis.
- You can not learn karate online. You can not buy videos and become a warrior. My instructors tell me all the time about some people who came to the dojo a few years ago after "studying" karate videos and thought they would waltz in and be handed black belts. It’s never going to happen. You can supplement class instruction with videos or online demonstrations once you already have a good understanding of what you’re doing, but that’s all the online stuff is good for.
- If you’re inquiring specifically for your child’s interest, ask how many junior black belts there are in the dojo. Ask about the testing policies for junior black belts and find out age requirements. Let’s be honest here; no one goes to karate with the intention of staying a white belt. Black belt is the goal so find out what the road there looks like.
I think that is about all. I know there are a lot of karate-ka’s out there who read this blog, so please use the comments section to add anything else you think is relevant.
Now I’m heading off to rest. At karate class tonight I was used as the "attacker" by the instructor who likes to bring students to their knees, literally. He’s excellent at teaching self-defense; but for obvious reasons, I enjoy watching him demonstrate on someone else. He demonstrated his favorite self-defense jitsu technique on me and I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that my shoulder blade is feeling a little yucky right about now. I’ll describe it some other time. Maybe I’ll even video tape me showing my husband what’s up. . . now that’s an idea!
Yells to husband: Where’s my back massage????
Copyright
© Copyright 2006-2019 blackbeltmama dot com ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Follow Me
Blog Designed By
My Creations
Things You Could Care Less About
