I'm just going to say it: Internet lingo and text-ese are beneath me. That is to say, I am too good to speak that way. Aside from the occasional "lol," you will never get a text from me that says, "c u soon" or "plz dnt be l8." I shudder to think of just how low the bar has dropped since cell phones and computers have become so ubiquitous.
This is not to say I am not aware of this vernacular, spreading like a rash. I don't like getting "w/e" any more than the next guy, though "j/k" has brought relief from time to time. Lately though, the language seems to be escalating from abbreviations to full-on phrases, represented by a letter or sound. Adam recently showed me a series of online skits that revolved around Gen-Xers speaking solely in this fucked-up verbage, and while the grouchy grammarian in me slit its throat, I wound up laughing until I peed on their couch, shrieking, and begging for more. Amidst shouts of "first," "false," and the supremely entertaining demonstration of "roflol," my personal favorite, and the cause of the faulty bladder, we kept hearing what sounded like "poned." Being that all three of us are too good for this form of "speech," we had no recourse but to look it up. It's actually "pwnd," a derivative of "owned," which means, quite logically, to get the better of someone. So we began teasing each other with random (until it wasn't random) interjections of "pwnd!"
This charming little trend bled over into a few nights later when B and I had dinner with some friends, one of whom was our beloved Jacob, whom we "pwnd" until he became a trifle less friendly. The next morning I was instant messaging with Jacob, using my correct English in all its luster and glory. Suddenly Jacob typed, "POWNED!" I laughed so hard. Quinn walked over and totally laughed, mostly because he thinks he's the one cool enough to have an inroad into this scintillating world of broken down junk speech. He is at once endeared to my knowledge of such things, and disturbed that I think I can pull it off. Anyway, he fully appreciated that I got owned by Jacob, and walked away laughing.
Cut to this morning, in the very wee hours, when I moved Quinn to his bed after finding him on the living room floor. As I tucked his covers around him, he raised his head all wobbly-like, eyes closed like a newborn mouse, and said, "Mama? Can you please tell Jacob pwnd is spelled p-w-n-d, not p-o-w-n-e-d?" Dear God. "Okay honey, I will tell him." I mean really, does a mother laugh or cry at that? On one hand, this child, whom I struggle everyday to educate, knows about pwnd. On the flip side though, he cares that it is spelled correctly. Part of me thinks he'll benefit from being so versatile, that he'll have the best of both worlds. But truthfully, there is no "best" in that junk heap world, and I want both my children to rise above it. Jacob calls me a "Nazi bitch," which I take a compliment.
When it comes to language, I've been owned by propriety...or is it ownd?
(Adam? Can you hook us up with the link? I couldn't find it anywhere.)