Cursive — foiled again
Remember cursive? It happened in 2nd grade. I don’t know what the deal is now. Then, it was this pencil with lead the size of some huge pasta with a funny name and a barrel the size of a cigar. The paper was ugly yellow with one line the size of two. We did our “exercises” consisting of pages of O’s and / linked together. We swirled and slashed ad nauseum. The boys hated it. The girls excelled. Yeah, we were sexist at a very early age.
I did and do cursive poorly. Except for an illegible signature, everything got printed by my hand over the years. It was decried by many purists who referenced the beauty and elegance of the past. Time brought about computers, email and more for the purist to complain about.
The complaint transitioned into our becoming a new breed — maybe Homo Momentus. We were accused of having the attention span of an ant. Some said that was excessively denigrating to ants. The Internet was the source of all ills, they claimed.
Their accusations seem to be getting more defensible. Blogging has descended from paragraph to tweet. Shakespeare might not have gotten great press either if he’d been limited to 120 character or whatever.
I’ll give you an example. There was this Otis guy. Damn fine writer. He’d sneak into Brad’s house and write these blog thingies. He and the New York Times Style Guide could really kick sand in my blogging face. In blogging terms he was a regular and offered a point of view that was often different from mine. That was good. I was richer for it.
What happened? This:
When I try to follow those tweeters, I understand what the dyslexic must go through. My mind becomes disjointed. It sees the moment superseding flow and elegance. It is like they are writing in a secret code and I don’t have a decoder ring. I wonder where that Otis guy went. Makes me sad. I think that Brad guy must have started locking the back door.