While I was still at Emerson College, I ventured into the basement of the Little Building to use the gym, and I watched a disturbing newscast on “Webspeak.” This article more clearly spells out (pun intended) the worrisome aspects of this coded language, specifically because of the divide it creates between parents and their children, let alone intelligence and its counterpart (I also learned that NIFOC is code for “nude in front of computer”—what unnecessary information). Apparently, middle school and high school kids, the likes of which I had long been separated from, had taken to using IM and text message shorthand (i.e. BRB for “be right back”) in their academic papers and even in their SAT essays. I actually said, “WHAT?” out loud as I walked on the treadmill. I had just transferred from Georgia State University to Emerson to study Writing, Literature and Publishing. I had taken out an ungodly amount in loans (the first of several) in the quest to make language my life. I wanted to figure out how to say things that everyone could understand and relate to via my fiction. At GSU, my fiction classes felt like training for a hobby, something to do on the weekends when I had grown tired of crocheting or needlepoint. I had come to Emerson to reach out to the world that knew that fiction could be so much more than mindless entertainment; in fact, that it was essential to keeping life from becoming one big mindless pursuit. And here were these kids fighting against everything that my ideal profession stood for. If they’re busy creating this new language that automatically excludes a large portion of the population, what is the point in trying to communicate anymore? If everything could be reduced to their first letters, why write stories or novels or poetry anymore? WHY WAKE UP IN THE MORNING?

I eventually calmed down and found the silver lining to seeing this unsettling newscast: I couldn’t go to the gym anymore. But mainly, it made me hyperaware of the usage of these abominations to the English language (a similar, though not equal, offense to overuse of hyperbole). I should say that Emerson College is home to the people in the world who didn’t quite fit into normal molds. Not a bad thing, though not necessarily a good thing, this is the reason for most of the sarcasm and irony that encases Emerson almost as much as the cigarette smoke in front of the buildings. So it came as no surprise that many of the students would occasionally exclaim, “BRB” as they were walking away or “LOL” instead of Actually. Laughing. Out. Loud. And though it was hilarious, whatever that means, the first five thousand and two times these ironies were voiced, it quickly got old. And older. I’m of the religion that ironic over usage cancels itself out and becomes, simply, usage.

So, this rant is just to say: be careful. Be very careful. And even if it’s spelled wrong, spell out what you want to say. And if something’s funny, do us all a favor and just LAUGH.   

I have recently undergone a re-evaluation of my internet identity. Almost as important (arguably more important) as one’s real life identity, internet identity is exciting in its malleability. Two years ago, as I was ushered around the Emerson College campus, my tour guide informed us that soon we’d be able to access the Emerson’s WiFi as far into the Common as the gazebo. I was stoked. I envisioned myself lying in the grass, my computer in front of me, attaching the latest short story I’d written in an email and sending it out to all of the literary magazines eager to publish me. At that point in time, this, in addition to the occasional Facebook visit, was the extent of my internet usage. This fact, and past, dark experiences of having my time wasted, contributed to my initial resistance to Twitter. Even now, after my resistance has waned a bit meaning I have an account that I update more than once every six months), the little byline that pops up when you search “Twitter” on Google, “What are you doing right now?”  makes me uneasy. At first, I didn’t see the point. “Twitter is nothing more than Facebook updates” is a sentence that I’ve said more times than I can count. Generally annoyed by information that is useless to me and unnecessarily shared, I saw Twitter as just another way for my generation to destroy whatever respect we’ve gained.

What turned it around? Curiosity. What else? I initially signed up when my sister, on the verge of having a baby, and my brother-in-law insisted that I stay updated on the progress of her labor via Twitter. I guess you could say the miracle of birth got my foot in the door, but it was the consistent emails (“So-and-so is now following you on Twitter!”) that finally nudged me to update and follow my friends’ accounts. I also have a little to owe to the blog post by one of my fellow ideaLaunch-ers, Brindey Weber, and her blogpost, which sparked my interest even more by revealing the practical uses of the site. I tend to stubbornly boycott things that the masses support (i.e. Twilight), so realizing that Twitter can be used as a launching pad to other things rather than solely for the point of tweeting/Facebook-status-updates opened my eyes (and online heart) to new possibilities. One of my first return tweets (a term that still makes me cringe because it sounds like it’s referencing drug use) was something along the lines of “Melanie Yarbrough forgot Twitter existed.” I stick by my initial argument that the majority of tweeters (including myself, most times) are sharing less-than-necessary information. And though I haven’t quite reached the point of text messaging my tweets to the website, I couldn't go much longer resisting something even God uses. That will not be the case if he ever reads Twilight.