I wonder if future generations will have some sort of analogue to the issues created by sloppy handwriting. Maybe people won’t write by hand at all; it’ll be a quaint form of archaic barbarism, like cave paintings or good manners. Everyone will type on fancy handheld devices and use a hexadecimal code instead of a signature.
If that last part happens, I’m going to make sure my signature is the HTML Hex Code for something cool. I’ve always been a fan of 9F79EE, but I could do with something rosier. I suppose I could also try to spell out an amusing word or phrase with the first six letters of the alphabet. Maybe I’ll call myself “Faded Beef” or some such, but probably not though. (That’s 67,342,548,719 for you decimal folks out there.)
I’ve been thinking about this because my wife and I discovered recently that she can’t read my handwriting at all. To get the full effect you have to understand that she teaches young children for a living; she reads bad handwriting professionally. She can translate poorly spelled gibberish in which some of the letters are backward; she can’t read my notes.
In my defense however, everything in the world is too small.
Either way, we had to do some traveling over the past few days, and while we sat in the car we tried to plan out my next few posts. During a lull my wife started flipping through my little idea notebook, figuring that she could help me unpack one of the half-formed fancies I’d scribbled inside of it. Instead, a new post was created.
Here is a list of things that my wife read.
Ideas in My Note Book (Supposedly)
“Dawning outer balloons”
I don’t know what outer balloons might be, but they sound very mysterious and powerful.
“Slopping for grapes”
Clearly I do strange things for fresh produce.
“Wooing Ow Shoes”
Your guess is probably as good as mine.
“She screamed while
I was in the bathroom
I danced for room
J’s head in garbage
What does the cat say?”
This is clearly the part of my notebook in which I experimented with new age poetry. I think, in a suitably smoky environment, if I asked about the cat in a poignant fashion, this could seem brilliant. Instead, this note became an altogether less artful post series. I don’t remember a cat being involved.
“How do I love keys?”
“1st birthday party
so many togs
polite saw them everywhere
wear clean underwear
then the octopus
If you’ve been following my blog for a while, this note might actually make sense to you. If not, I suspect the underwear comment seems particularly out of place. Then again, sandwiched between togs and an octopus, maybe it fits right in.
“Frosty the snowman
Sadly, she wasn’t mistaken about this note. That’s actually what I wrote. I’ll tell the story eventually. Until then you just have to wonder. If you’re like me, the critical question is why I put that comma there.
“Fishermen in the woods talking about bad things happening to my body”
This could be the plot of a blockbuster summer film, don’t you think? I’ll call it Deliverance 2.
“Anatomical coefficient of waffles?”
I don’t have any idea what this could possibly reference, but I’m intrigued by anything that mentions coefficients.