By Bill Kirk

I've been somewhat distracted of late what with school getting out, summer coming on and, well, preparations for the rest of my natural life. Reflecting for a moment, I must admit to wondering about some of the fine points of how I will spend it. After all with all the modern phone technology out there, this is an easy question to ponder. Will I be able to keep up? Or better, should I even try? Could some of our technology-driven conveniences and processes just be passing fads?

OK. So, given the hint in the title of this piece, some of you may be curious what texting (or ".txtng" as it is sometimes referred to by those averse to using vowels) might have to with longevity. To help get me to the answer, here's a little poetic rendering for those of you who may feel challenged by texting and are wondering if there's any hope---either that you will learn how to do it one day or that it will mercifully go away. For those over age 40 who can figure it out, congratulations. For the rest of you who consider texting some kind of torture that ought to be banned as cruel and unusual punishment, bless your hearts. I'm stuck right in the middle of all of you.

My thumbs are too big, my nails are too short and I can't see much of anything on those itty-bitty cell phone screens. Besides, trying to figure out just which abbreviations to key into the "phone" that will purportedly save so much time, actually takes me nearly twice as long as keying in the full words. And even more amazingly---younger generation, please, take note---it takes me at least four times as long as actually speaking the words in the form of what is sometimes referred to as a phone call.

OK. So, I admit to I outwardly professing my intent to one day become a texter. I suppose it could happen. But truth be told, I am secretly waiting for someone to invent a cell phone with a circular dial so I can hear the "skrrridge-tick, tick, tick, tick...." sound of the yesteryear telephone dial coming out of my cell phone.

Realizing the likelihood of that happening any time in the near or distant future is slim to none, I hereby offer this short piece in homage to all those under age sixteen apparently born with texting intuition and thumb nails pre-filed to small points. Remember to show a little sympathy for the rest of us who are happy just to grip our cell phones with what may soon evolve into what may be described as vestigial opposable thumbs. And, not to worry. An English translation with real words follows.


cllN plnz
by bil krk

my dad bawt me a cel ph.
its realy wA 2 QL.
u wont bleev w@ it cn do—
il shO u aftr skool.

it ltz me d/l muzc;
snd pix, gmes n stuf.
it evn hlps me do my math,
n f thts nt nuf,

It hs a dxNre;
n evry countrys map—
jst ask me whr a rivA s.
il fnd it ina snap!

thers O 1 sml prob—
its nm @ ll.
bt sumday mayB I shd lern
to actuly mak a cll.

wrd count: 86


Calling Plans
By Bill Kirk

My Dad bought me a cell phone.
It’s really way too cool.
You won’t believe what it can do—
I’ll show you after school.

It lets me download music;
Send pictures, games and stuff.
It even helps me do my Math,
And if that’s not enough,

It has a dictionary;
And every country’s map—
Just ask me where a river is.
I’ll find it in a snap!

There’s only one small problem—
It’s nothing much at all.
But someday maybe I should learn
To actually make a call.

Word Count: 88

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