A Conversational Pearl

Bubba and I have a handy two-word conversational pearl that lubricates our conversations; it affably suggests agreement while is simultaneously totally non-committal.  Even though we both know the truth behind our use of it, like flattery, it works.

Me: “I think the air quality is going to be good today.”

Bubba: “Could be.”

Could be.

No argument. So agreeable. Yet so much wiggle room for the possibility that Bubba doesn’t agree.

Bubba: “I think the couch would look better on the other side of the room.”

Me: “Could be.”

How lovely that you have that opinion. It’s possible the couch would look better there. But for now, while I mull it over, let’s just leave it be.

It’s an excellent response to an opinion or to anything that can’t be immediately proven.

It obviously doesn’t fit all situations, but when it does, it’s perfect. Used at the right moment, it has proven its brilliance at preserving our loving relationship, preventing conversations from hitting sandpaper, and usually making us laugh. 

Photo source: EliasSch on Pixabay

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To-mA-to, To-Mah-to, and People’s Names

Sometimes, not sure of a person’s name, I’ll ask them to pronounce it for me. I struggled for a while trying to remember if a neighbor’s name was Kristan or Kirstan.

Bubba declared his use of this approach.

“I went up to an acquaintance at a party and asked,”

‘do you pronounce your name Laura?…

…or Erica?’

Photo source: Radoan_tanvir on Pixabay.com

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More Blue Screen Haiku

For those who remember computer blue screens and error messages that sent terror through your bones, here are some gentler error messages.

But they still deliver disaster.

A file that big?

It might be very useful.

But now it is gone.

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Aborted effort: 

Close all that you have.

You ask way too much.

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First snow, then silence.

This thousand-dollar screen dies

so beautifully.

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Computer haiku.

Distills angst of those moments.

Our author unknown.

 

Photo source: TheDigitalArtist on Pixabay

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Blue Screen of Death

I was going through files from a decade ago and found a collection of haiku poems that took computer problems—something that seems like a modern, human/technological issue—and transformed them into poems about the human condition. Given how frequently computer tragedies happened, the haiku writer was prolific.

I’ve no idea who wrote these, but for anyone who ever experienced a computer crash or got an error message about a missing file, you’ll relate.  I’ll serve up more later. Enjoy!

You step in the stream,

but the water has moved on.

This page is not here.

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Serious error.

All shortcuts have disappeared.

Screen. Mind. Both are blank.

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Windows NT crashed.

I am the Blue Screen of Death.

No one hears your screams.

 

Photo source: Clker-Free-Vector-Images on Pixabay

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Capitalized Humor

(Source unknown)

Photo source: Adobe Spark

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Dictated Voicemail Messages

I’ve recently taken to using the dictation app on my phone to capture ideas when 1) I’ve no paper to write on, 2) no pen to write with or, 3) where taking both hands off the wheel isn’t a bright idea (like, ever).

Other than Siri sometimes deciding I meant something other than what I said, I like it.  It works best if I review the transcript sooner rather than later, because if too much time passes I can’t even begin to guess what I was thinking.  Or I can, but Siri’s interpretation was way more entertaining than the original.

Like this text message Siri transcribed for me, en-route to a friend’s house:

“I’m on my way. I’m at the intersection of Highway 12 and fucking. So probably 15 minutes. I have soup. And cornbread. Celibate.”

Siri is exhibiting her Freudian slips. Or cognitive dissonance. She clearly doesn’t know what she wants.

But despite these little kerfuffles, I’ve embraced dictating; and, it turns out, astonishingly, some new habits are easy to learn. Despite all the propaganda about habit-learning to the contrary, I quickly learned to tell Siri “period” and “new paragraph” and “question mark” as I dictated, to ensure she properly punctuated things as she wrote stuff up. Because, yes, punctuation matters.

The thing is, my dictation device–my phone–is also, well, a phone. I call people. They don’t answer. I go into voicemail. I leave a message by recording my voice on their device, and when my friend gets that message, they listen to my voice speaking my message.

And, because I’ve so easily adapted to dictating, my voice messages now include not only the substance of my call, but a meta-message: instructions for periods and question marks and paragraphs.

Which will be very helpful comma should my friends decide they want to transcribe my voicemail period

 

Daily Post-Prompt: Astonish

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