I’m back. Okay, deep breath. One. Two. Three.
HELLOOOOOOOOOOO Helloooooo Helloooooo helloooo hellooo*
*Echoing through the canyon of my wasted time.
Think about how many times you turned on a light and how many times you turned off a light today. So many times you can’t even remember? Now think, what if you are punished every time you turn a light on or off? Now you understand my life in my carpeted apartment.
Also every time my husband and I kiss each other.
I was shooting a scene in my new film, No Strings Attached, in which I say to Natalie Portman,
“If you miss me. you can’t text, you can’t email, you can’t post it on my Facebook wall. If you really miss me, you come and see me.”
I began to think of all of the billions of intimate exchanges sent daily via fingers and screens, bouncing between satellites and servers. With all this texting, emailing, and social networking, I started wondering, are we all becoming so in touch with one another that we are in danger of losing touch?
It used to be that boy met girl and they exchanged phone numbers. Anticipation built. They imagined the entire relationship before a call ever happened. The phone rang. Hearts pounded. “Hello?” Followed by a conversation that lasted two hours but felt like two minutes and would be examined with friends for two weeks. If all went well, a date was arranged. That was then.
Now we exchange numbers but text instead of calling because it mitigates the risks of early failure and eliminates those deafening moments of silence. Now anticipation builds. Bdoop. “It was NICE meeting u” Both sides overanalyze every word. We talk to a friend, an impromptu Cyrano: “He wrote nice in all caps. What does that mean? What do I write back?” Then we write a response and delete it 10 times before sending a message that will appear 2 care, but not 2 much. If all goes well, a date will be arranged.
Whether you like it or not, the digital age has produced a new format for modern romance, and natural selection may be favoring the quick-thumbed quip peddler over the confident, ice-breaking alpha male. Or maybe we are hiding behind the cloak of digital text and spell-check to present superior versions of ourselves while using these less intimate forms of communication to accelerate the courting process. So what’s it really good for?
There is some argument about who actually invented text messaging, but I think it’s safe to say it was a man. Multiple studies have shown that the average man uses about half as many words per day as women, thus text messaging. It eliminates hellos and goodbyes and cuts right to the chase. Now, if that’s not male behavior, I don’t know what is. It’s also great for passing notes. there is something fun about sharing secrets with your date while in the company of others. think of texting as a modern whisper in your lover’s car.
Sending sweet nothings on Twitter or Facebook is also fun. in some ways, it’s no different than sending flowers to the office: You are declaring your love for everyone to see. Who doesn’t like to be publicly adored. Just remember that what you post is out there and there’s some stuff you can’t un-see.
But the reality is that we communicate with every part of our being, and there are times when we must use it all. When someone needs us, he or she needs all of us. There’s no text that can replace a loving touch when someone we love is hurting.
We haven’t lost romance in the digital age, but we may be neglecting it. In doing so, antiquated art forms are taking on new importance. The power of a hand-written letter is greater than ever. It’s personal and deliberate means more than an email or text ever will. It has a unique scent. It requires deciphering. But, most important, it’s flawed There are errors in handwriting, punctuation, grammar, and spelling that show our vulnerability. And vulnerability is the essence of romance. It’s the art of being uncalculated, the willingness to look foolish, the courage to say, “This is me, and I’m interested in you enough to show you my flaws with the hope that you may embrace me for all that I am but, more importantly, all that I am not.”
Ashton Kutcher
I love this article and it’s so true in an ideal world. But sometimes the person you love works 12 hour shifts making life-or-death decisions for strangers. And you understand that even though he’ll be coming home to the home you share together, he’ll need some time to unwind. So that phone call on his way home or surprise text in the middle of the day, that means more than your conversation over dinner. It means, “I love talking to you and hearing what you have to say and I will enjoy an extra conversation with you while commuting so that when I want an hour or two of silence later it will be fine.”
Yesterday my husband texted me to find out how my morning went. Later, when we were lying on the couch watching tv together I said, “Remember when you texted me today?” “You seem very excited about that,” he said. “Well, you don’t have service in the ER.” “I was walking to get a snack.”
So when he was walking to get a snack and looked at his phone and saw he had service, he thought about me and texted. It’s true that texts are like nothing—so disposable, so common, so often thoughtless. And it’s true that cellphone conversations don’t have the same concentration as conversations face to face. But that doesn’t mean that technology threatens meaningful relationships. Besides, sometimes it just provides you with a good joke you’ll be telling for the rest of your life (ahem, that my husband asked me out over Facebook chat).
(Source: silverr-lining)
My grandparents are the cutest ever. EVER. They’re moving out of Williamsburg, where they were both born and raised; where they met, married, and have lived always. Now they want to sell my grandmother’s collection of thousands of romance paperbacks. The books still look brand new. Let me know if you want them and how many (and if you want any serieses or just a few randomly chosen ones) and they’re yours for the price of a nickel each and shipping.
When we get a big snowstorm and it’s so cold and snowy and everything is still I am reminded of the time I got stuck at a friend’s dorm during a snowstorm in December 2002 and was so hungry but there was no food and I was anorexic then anyway but I was just so hungry that I picked all the raisins out of a box of raisin bran. For two days that was my biggest meal. The dorms were emptied out for winter break except for the friend I was staying at and a British girl who had a large wine stain on her camel hair coat. The window’s steel frame right beside the bed was chilling and the floors so cold and hard. And then finally the roads were cleared.
I know I have small hands because I used to play piano (not well) and because I wear a 5.5 shoe BUT then my husband said something about my hands being freakishly small and now it’s weird but every time I notice my hands I see them as being freakishly small. This is weird. Is there a support group for this? I feel weird about my hands.
This morning on Squawk on the Street Erin Burnett mentioned Haagen Daz and the British guy filling in for Mark Haines said, “actually Haagen Daz is British, I think” and Erin said, “oh, I didn’t know that.” And I said to the TV, “actually Haagen Daz was started by a mom-and-pop team of Jewish immigrants in the Bronx who made up the words Haagen Daz.” And after the commercial break Erin read a little something from the editor that said that Haagen Daz is from the Bronx and the name was meant to make it sound fancy.
My nephew turns 3 today. Happy birthday Noah!
I can’t believe that within one year I went from not being an aunt to getting two nephews and a niece. Life, for all its idiosyncrasies, knows how to deliver.
My great-great-great aunt is on Facebook and my internet browser doesn’t recognize Facebook as a word.
I just finished watched “What Ever Happened to Baby Jane?” and I’m freaked out of my mind. Holy crap freaked.
