I'm woefully out-of-touch with American life.  It's incredible how much some things have changed over the last seven and a half years, since I moved from Ohio to Amsterdam.

Take text-messaging, for instance.  When I left America, mobile telephony was nowhere near as common as it is today.  In fact, I didn't get my first mobile phone until I moved to the Netherlands.  At that point, people mostly used cell phones for making phone calls.  Over time, though, text-messaging started to become popular -- in Europe as well as in North America -- and though the technological part of it didn't give me any troubles (I actually wonder if Europeans may have adapted to text-messaging more quickly than Americans), I just couldn't keep up with the popular American usage and cultural evolution of the technology.  Text-messaging short-hand in particular.  I heard about it in the media, and I understood the ways that the 4s and 8s and R's and U's and consonant contractions were supposed to save time and space -- but I genuinely thought that it was just a silly thing that high-school sophomores did, like practicing your "autograph" a thousand times on the back of your Trapper-Keeper.

After a week of trying to assimilate back into my "home" culture, though, I realize that I was seriously mistaken.  Text-messaging is at a totally different level than I ever anticipated.  And the usage of the text-messaging short-hand is far more widespread than I had ever imagined.  Last Friday, I responded to one of my friend's text messages with a suggestion and he wrote back "k."  I knew that his single-letter response meant "OK / Affirmative" (I'm not that clueless about text-messaging short-hand).  But when I laughed about the incident to my sister and her husband, saying that I would have to harass my friend (who's my age) about his teeny-bopper short-hand, they stared at me with blank looks on their faces that told me how far off from reality I was.  It turns out that "k" is a perfectly professional and adult way of responding to text messages -- confirmed by several people my age or older, with occupations as prestigious or more prestigious than my own -- and, if anything, it's considered just plain silly to write back the extravagantly overblown two-letter version of the affirmative response.

As you can see, I'm woefully out-of-touch with American life and linguistics.

Part of me wants to be indignant and stubborn about this -- pouting about how text-messaging "impoverishes" the English language, fussing and fretting about grammar and syntax.  But ultimately, I don't want to be that guy.  Truth be told, American linguistics have always been about adaptation and transition.  Looking up the history of the phrase, "OK" (or "okay," depending on your preference), it's easy to see that "k" is every bit as good as any of the other derivatives.  No one actually knows what the "O" and the "K" are actually supposed to stand for.  Some think it's a bastardization of the Choctaw (Native American) word "okeh," which means "it is indeed."  Others suggest that it's an adaptation of the Greek phrase "Ola kala," meaning "everything's good" or "all good" -- brought into popular usage by Greek railway workers in the United States during the 1800s, as the initials were stamped on various shipments to indicate that they were ready to go.  Still others trace the usage of "O.K." back to Martin van Buren's campaign for the American presidency, in the late 1830s, in which he used the abbreviated version of his nickname, "Old Kinderhook."  But the most widely accepted etymology of "OK" goes back to an American fad during the early part of the 1800s, in which comic misspellings of common phrases were abbreviated and cemented in the public consciousness:  "K.G." for "Know Good" (no good) and "N.S." for "Nuff Said" (enough said)... and, most notably, "O.K." for "Oll Korrect" (all correct).  Some very interesting -- and widely varied -- theories, wouldn't you say?

Ultimately, no one really knows how the phrase "OK" came into popular usage.  We just know that it was an American phenomenon -- though it's now been adopted by hundreds of other languages -- and that it was likely based on some sort of "incorrect" grammar (possibly intentional).  Based on all these criteria, then, the text-messaging "k" seems to be a surprisingly appropriate adaptation of the old terminology.  I may not like it, and I may be slow to adapt to the cultural transitions -- but hey, such is the American way.  K?

Language is full of trap-doors, surprise snares, pitfalls.  But I only recently figured out that the Dutch word for this type of misleading mistake -- valkuil -- is, in fact, a trap-door surprise of its own.

You see, previously, I had always heard the word valkuil as valk - uil (falcon - owl).  And I had actually come to like the connotation of a dangerous falcon-owl, catching us in our moments of weakness.  It seemed like a very vibrant word-picture:  some stealthy bird of prey sneaking up behind us on a seemingly pleasant and peaceful evening stroll and digging his talons into our unsuspecting shoulders.

But for whatever reason, it just recently dawned on me that my personal translation of this word has been incorrect.  Embarrassingly off.  The more correct interpretation of the phrase valkuil is actually val - kuil (fall - pit).  Of course, this actually makes a lot more sense, as it's basically a direct translation of the English term "pit-fall."  But, albeit more logical, I somehow find this realization disappointing.

So all that to say this:  Beware the valkuil, whether it's the talons or the drop.

I was talking with my friend Marc this afternoon about formal titles.  It was fascinating to learn of some of the intricacies of the Dutch language.  For instance, the most proper for of address for a mayor in the Netherlands is De hoogedelgestrenge heer.  Thus, if addressing an official letter to Amsterdam's mayor Job Cohen, you'd address it to "De hoogedelgestrenge heer Cohen."  Literally translated, that means "the highly-noble-very-stern Mr. Cohen."  Isn't that awesome?!?!?  The principal of the high school (let's pretend this one is a woman) would be "De weledelgestrenge vrouwe __________" -- "the definitely-noble-yet-stern Ms. ___________."  Seeing that I serve as the leader of a church community (which tends more towards the Protestant end of the spectrum than the Catholic), it may not be too far-fetched to think that I could be addressed as "De weleerwaarde heer/vrouwe Dominee Asp" -- "The Definitely-Honorable Mister-Reverend Asp."  Sounds kind of nice, huh? :-)  You can find a specific title for just about any role in society on the Wikipedia page about "Aanspreekvorm."

Then I found out about the English equivalents.

To my surprise, there were almost two times as many forms of official "honorifics" in the English language!  Most of us probably know that the President of the United States is officially addressed as "Mr. President."  Or that a judge is typically called "The Honorable Judge __________" (addressed as "Your honor" in a court-room setting).  But did you know that there's also a special form of address for the King of Hungary ("His Apostolic Majesty")?  Or that a bishop in the Church of England should be addressed as "The Right Reverend and Right Honourable _________?"  Crazy stuff, isn't it?  In case you're interested, you can also find more information about English honorifics on the Wikipedia page about "Manner of Address."

I love this kind of stuff in theory.  I hate this kind of stuff in practice.  Good thing almost everyone I know is content to simply call me "Eric."  But if you really wanted to try out "De weleerwaarde heer Dominee Asp," well... I'd be willing to give it a try. :-)

You know that pesky H1N1 virus that's been filling up headlines for the last several months?  It now seems that it's not quite the killer that it was once rumored to be (in fact, I can now say that a personal acquaintance of mine has suffered from -- and safely survived -- the virus); however, I think it still serves as a very interesting sociological study.

You see, in the United States of America, the virus has become popularly known as the "Swine Flu" (since it was originally carried by pigs).  Pigs are presumably innocent, morally-neutral characters in American society -- so nobody is really offended by the label "Swine Flu."  But if anyone were to call it "Mexican Flu" (which is the most popular European name for the disease) -- well, that's borderline racism.  "What?!?  Are you saying that all Mexicans are dirty, disease-carrying mongrels or something?  I can't believe that you would stoop to that level of racial stereotyping!"  So no, no... We'd better call it "Swine Flu" (or better yet, "H1N1").  The poor piggies can't help it.  And believe it or not, the American health authorities have waged a very deliberate PR campaign to make sure that the sickness does not enter the American-English vernacular as "Mexican Flu."  Because there are enough tensions already between whites and Latinos in the United States.  No one wants to go around riling things up based on a name for a flu.

But in the Netherlands, it's interesting to note that the same virus has become (as previously noted) known as the "Mexican Flu" ("Mexikaanse Griep") -- since, well, the virus seems to have originated in Mexico.  And Mexicans are presumably innocent, morally-neutral characters in Dutch society -- so nobody is really offended by the label "Mexican Flu."  But if anyone were to call it "Swine Flu" ("Varkensgriep") -- well, that's just plain culturally insensitive.  "What?!?  We can't have this disease linked to pigs!  Can't you imagine the shame and disgust among the Jews and Muslims, who are very careful never to touch anything related to pigs?  I can't believe you would stoop to that level of cultural insensitivity!"  So no, no... We'd better call it "Mexican Flu" (or better yet,"H1N1").  The poor Mexicans can't help it.  And believe it or not, the Dutch health authorities have waged a very deliberate PR campaign to make sure that the sickness does not enter the Dutch vernacular as "Swine Flu."  Because there are enough tensions already between whites and Muslims in the Netherlands.  No one wants to go around riling things up (or hindering effective treatment of the disease) based on a name for a flu.

Isn't that fascinating?  One culture's good is another culture's bad, and vice-versa.  I've seen it many times in the last several years of living in Amsterdam (my second culture) -- but perhaps never so clearly, and so clearly inverted, as with the naming of the dreaded H1N1 virus...

I don't want to be a crusty old cynic... And I can't say that I'm overly grounded at some particular point on the Capitalist - Communist Ideological Spectrum... But this poster, photographed (with my camera-phone) at a local eating establishment earlier today, piqued my curiosity, nonetheless.

Isn't there something strange about a Communist revolutionary leader being used to market the launch of a new line of salad products *** now on sale at Wok to Walk *** ???

I know that advertising is intended to be somewhat provocative... But this strikes me as just plain silly.

You?