The unfortunate demise of grammar

Either I’m becoming a snob or the Land of Written Language has taken long service leave.

I have always been one of those people to get ticked off by apostrophes being used incorrectly, or the common misuse and spelling of homophones like ‘their’ and ‘there’. But I have always ground my teeth and put this down to being raised by a family of avid readers and writers.

I admit I let myself go when emailing friends or chatting online – there’s hardly time for capitals when one is in the midst of quick conversation (usually animated with ridiculous amounts of exclamation marks where possible). But is there a line being crossed somewhere when the general public are in full view of these grammatical mistakes?

Time after time I have picked up on newspaper print or online job postings filled with nonsensical fragmented sentencing. I have found flyers in my letterbox with words I’m positive aren’t real – ‘Is your lawn going unmowed?’ – and promotional signage in workplaces is often embarrassingly incorrect. My own workplace has a weekly intranet update with the ‘Reccommended Reading’ for each week. If I blush when reading these errors alone, you can imagine the pain when customers point them out on the shop floor, such as one particularly recent handwritten sign: ‘Childrens’ Favorites.’

Where does it end?

How to dig a virtual hole

While I don’t believe that eReaders or eBooks will lead to the demise of the paperback (or hardback) novel, I do believe in karma. Or at least the unfortunate consequences of trying to have your cake and eat it too. In this case, I am referring to the coming addition of the Kobo eReader to your local Angus & Robertson or Borders book store. http://www.angusrobertson.com.au/ebook-faqs

We knew eReaders were coming to market, no shock there. But teaming the old and the new – the physical page with the screen – is this really a positive move for bookshops? Many people believed that evil had surfaced with the coming of the Amazon’s Kindle. Given the cheaper nature of an electronically published book over print format, it was predicted such technology would lead to the decline of author recognition and sales. Not all books are produced in the eBook format, and due to the trend of screen scanning, as opposed to reading; customers may be sacrificing reading pleasure for quick referencing purposes.

While I respect the advantages of the Kobo, or any other eReading devices, I feel that their presence in bookstores is unsettling to say the least. One visits a bookstore or library to browse and peruse their options in the flesh. One surfs the internet to browse a broader list of options at their own convenience, from a distance. Items, such as international products, they may be otherwise unable to view. But to sell a ticket to online shopping within a physical shop – Borders and Angus & Robertson are practically leading customers out the door and to a computer. Or iPhone. Or eReader.

Applemania

I had been hearing the buzz for about a week.

I’d felt the manic enthusiasm of college fresh, hi-tech intellectuals with respectably funky glasses. I could hear them behind me (always with a hint of a Californian accent) whispering the word that had become their god-chant. They had bubbly smiles and spoke of incomprehensible numbers. Of a strange land with unimaginable ‘space’ and ‘speed’, where people could afford extra ‘bytes' – for free if they wanted.

Was this the place of my innermost desires?

Was this a sign?

Then I received my first email.

I clicked ‘delete’ without opening. All day I could think of nothing else – the subject title haunted my dreams. Welcome… Grand Opening!

I shook my head vigorously at the screen and shut my computer down. I went to work.

A few hours later, as if some sick joke, an employee told me my father had called.

“Hey, it’s not that bad.” My colleague patted my arm confusedly while I held my breath. “He just wanted to take you somewhere on Saturday – something about a new shop?”

I covered my ears and ran.

That night I tossed and turned next to my partner until it got too much for both of us. He removed the pillow from his head, then further peeled down the doona covering his face. He turned to me and waited.

“I can’t take it anymore!” I was practically sweating with torment.

“Then just go with your dad,” he replied. A sensible outlook for a sane person.

It had been decided upon.

I was to embark on a new way of living.

That coming Saturday, my father and I entered the shiny new Apple store of Chermside Westfield Shopping Centre, Brisbane.

It was colourful and energetic and a little like a spaceship with its abundance of white and silver; the white MacBooks and the silver MacBook Pros all lined up into a truly never-ending monotony, interspersed by a rainbow of iPod nanos.

It was… actually kind of eerie. Everything was ‘Ultimate.’ Everything was ‘New Level Fun.’ It was clinical. Hundreds of people ambushing these bouncing screens of Apple’s latest, while others, myself included, stared wide eyed at the numerous possibilities that we could totally have if we just purchased one of these amazing gadgets.

At home later, my father staring at his new accessories to his already much accessorised iPhone, myself opening the manual to my sparkling new Macbook; I couldn’t help feeling, amongst my proud new happiness and my sense of belonging to the world finally, a little bit sold out.

Although my MacBook opened to awesome tunes and welcomed me, assuring that we were ‘Made for Each Other’, I won’t be surprised if we all get abducted by giant apples one day.

Or probably less so if Apple buys Google and then Apple owns the world.