Acronym Madness

There I stood, staring up in awe at an enormous billboard brightly displaying the many initials I was supposed to know the meaning of, but did not. It was an AM nightmare. No, not AM as in ante-meridiem, AM as in “Acronym Madness.”

I was 19 years old and found myself, quite by happenstance, with a seat on the policy board for a California Student Association. I filled that seat monthly at meetings in Capitol offices, where big players in the state education arena would speak animatedly in Acronymese. I was proud when I was able to correctly identify which agenda item we were discussing. For effect, I’d love to rattle off the acronyms that flew around the room (and over my head), but I don’t know them any better now than I did then.

Not to worry. As a teacher credentialed, employed and RIFed in California, I now boast an impressive acronym vocabulary. Would you like to discuss NCLB? I’m an HQT! My specialties are ELA and ELD. Or maybe an IEP is what your student needs? That’s fine, too. We could meet at IHOP. I’ll bring my PDA.

Perhaps your profession is not as replete with acronyms as mine, but if you listen to news at all, you’ve heard your share. FEMA intervenes in North Dakota. GM no longer needs to buy Fiat. AIG is apparently very generous to its CEOs. You can hear all about it on CNN.

Sports fans are certainly no strangers to the acronym. From the NBA all the way down to CARD, you’re concerned about the MVP. And if food is your forte, you’ll read FDA labels, steer clear of MSG, and probably cook with EVOO. Don’t even get me started on the NYSE.

But nowhere is AM more pervasive than in the world of digitized socializing. The IM has developed a dialect that at times barely resembles English. “OMG,” one IMer might say to another, “I m ROTFL.” To which the response might be, “MDM wants me 2 get off the PC. IDK Y. So, G2G. CUL!”

Years ago I remember complaining that spell-check was ruining young people’s skills with the written word. It couldn’t tell an unsuspecting typist the difference between ‘your’ and ‘you’re’ or ‘there,’ ‘their’ and ‘they’re.’ I long for the days when these were the reigning problems with incoming essays. Now the need is in distinguishing ‘you’ from ‘u,’ ‘are’ from ‘r,’ and ‘for’ from ‘4.’

In a unit on Melville’s Moby Dick, I actually had a student turn in a response containing the following sentence: “That cptn was way 2 in2 getting that whale. He needed 2 TAP.” A good overall assessment on her part, but I looked it up, and there are no editor’s symbols appropriate for these errors. I was tempted to note, “u r 2 far gone even 4 spell-check. GAC.”

One day I grew curious about the constant thumbing of mini machinery that was taking place under desks. I asked a student to show me how to use the text feature on my cell phone. She tried to teach me some common texting acronyms, but all I could see was another acronym nightmare, except on a cell screen instead of a billboard. I resisted fiercely. I punctuated, capitalized and even occasionally made parenthetical references with precision. But as a lover of language, I could not ignore efficiency indefinitely. Accuracy and thumb speed don’t go well together on a keyboard four centimeters square.

And so with the best of them I now TXT my DH aka my BFF, when I need to communicate something unsuited for a laborious phone call. For example, I recently said to him: “can I pls c u b4 6? ILY 2 much 2 w8,” to which he responded, “YAE2M.”

And now, my dear readers, U C Y AM is here 2 stay.

KATAIUTC
Key Acronyms to Aid in Understanding this Column)
RIF – reduction in force
EVOO – extra virgin olive oil
ROTFL – rolling on the floor laughing
MDM – my dear mother
IDK – I don’t know
CUL – C U later
TAP – take a pill
GAC – get a clue
DH – dear husband
YAE2M – you are everything to me

The Evolution of Affection

As a child, I thought evolution was a thing that happened a long time ago. You know, back in the days of evolution. But if you’re like me, you have searched the faces in a grainy photo of your ancestors and found characteristics that look familiar.

Your nephew, BraeDen, has great-great-grandpa John’s deep set eyes, and your neighbor's kid, Hayliegh, has a jaw line that bears a striking resemblance to their great-great-aunt Jane’s. Thanks to photography, we can watch evolution in action. (The evolution of our naming practices is less clear.)

Through a succession that can be well documented in grainy family photographs, my husband has evolved into a handsome bald guy who wears a goatee and black-rimmed glasses. When my baby was born, the on call pediatrician came in and introduced herself to my husband and me before examining our beautiful baby girl. She took one look at the 8 pound 8 ounce bundle and told her, “All you need is a goatee and glasses!”

It was true. Our baby looked exactly like my husband. Naturally, our birth announcement included a photoshopped image of our sweet baby girl sporting a goatee and black-rimmed glasses.

An interesting conversation followed the pediatrician’s comment that day. Apparently, there is significance beyond simple trait inheritance when babies look like their fathers. You see, back in the days of evolution, fathers were less likely to eat or otherwise destroy offspring that resembled them. This encouraged fidelity on the part of females, and apparently led to that popular androgynous look we see in fashion magazines today.

Gratefully, I am reasonably certain my husband would not have eaten our baby even if she had looked like me. Also, our baby’s femininity abounds. But if I had not given birth to her myself, I might seriously wonder who her other parent is. It seems there is almost nothing of me in her.

She has been part of our world for 17 months now. Her curly red hair and her bright blue eyes (both traits from her dad’s side, of course) bring joy to us daily. But dissimilarities between us do not stop with our appearance. Our preferences diverge dramatically.

I prefer newspapers and magazines be kept in neat stacks on household surfaces. She favors a “strewn” look on floors throughout the abode.

I prefer sleeping for more than two and a half hours at a time. She likes to think I'm standing next to her crib constantly while she sleeps, and awakens to confirm this regularly.

I prefer emptying the vacuum bag into the outdoor trashcan. She thinks the living room couch is a fine receptacle.

When I am finished eating, I refrigerate my leftovers. She systematically transfers every uneaten morsel, one by one, to the kitchen floor. It’s enough to make me wonder if toddlers have changed at all since the days of evolution.

Well, perhaps there are a few things my sweet toddler and I have in common. After all, I get the vast majority of my own physical traits from my father. But there is one more delightful, magical, and enduring trait we share, and I am sure I inherited from my mother. It is a genuine love for several games of peek-a-boo followed by a loud and lovely tickle-cuddle session and a series of kisses ranging from Eskimo to butterfly. And whether or not the days of evolution are behind us, I’m quite sure my grandchildren will inherit this trait from their mother as well.

Chocolate Dos (364), Chocolate Don'ts (1)

I am an unabashed and hopeless lover of chocolate. It’s so versatile. Failed resolution? Marital squabble? Chocolate. Financial set-back? Scholastic disappointment? Chocolate. Traffic stress? Bad hair day? Chocolate.

Far from being only an antidote to life’s little miseries though, chocolate can be a celebratory indulgence. This is why the chocolate fountain was invented. Nuts, breads, strawberries, all manner of melon, even marshmallows—they’re all wonderful. But run them under flowing liquid chocolate, and you’ve got a party going on.

Professional achievement? Wardrobe success? Chocolate. Found $10 bill in jeans? Was momentarily photogenic? Chocolate. Danced for no reason? Kid said something cute? Chocolate.

Years ago, I was recounting a now-forgotten woe to a friend. She listened with well-placed "hmmms" and "I sees" until at length I had vented. She paused, took me by the hands and said with gravity, “Sweetie, you just need chocolate.” We burst out laughing, went out for hot fudge sundaes, and all was well with the world.

More recently, I encountered a man in Wal-Mart who also shared my love for chocolate. We met on the chocolate aisle. Amid my browsing, I heard a heavy sigh. It was the man. He opined, “How do I keep my kids from eating chocolate all the time, when I myself want to eat chocolate all the time?” I gave him a polite laugh, but on the inside I wanted to flee the area, as this man had obviously gained access to my diary. Fleeing, however, was out of the question due to impossibly narrow aisles and the fact I had not yet made my chocolate selection, breaking and entering be darned.

So naturally, what I’ve asked my husband to give me on Valentine’s Day is . . . a thorough detail job on my car. Chocolate is many things. But a fitting token of the love between my honey and me it is not. Auto detailing, on the other hand, says, “I know you appreciate cleanliness and organization, I know your reality makes messes in your car and, most of all, I know you eat chocolate on quite a regular basis so why would it be special today?” And that is when I swoon. There’s nothing quite so romantic as knowing your partner knows you well.

So, as you contemplate what to give your sweetheart this year for Valentine’s Day, don’t just automatically go for the heart-shaped box of chocolate. Change the vacuum bag. Get the garden ready for Spring. Clean out the garage. Offer a foot rub. Whatever you know your honey will love, do that on Valentine’s Day. Then, on the next day, and all year long, give chocolate for no reason at all.