im so excited to see how language develops over the next few decades. cause the world’s so interconnected now, you can chat with someone halfway across the globe as easily as you can talk to your neighbor. previously even countries that spoke the same language developed slang and idioms and cultural meaning differently, as an english speaker, take america, england, and australia. sure things were easier than when all we had were boats and letters, but the technology we have now makes it instantaneous in a new way. and with the ability to communicate across previous cultural boundaries this way, i think language will change to reflect that. like new international slang of a sort
and with all the changes to the methods we use to communicate, world languages are moving in an interesting direction imo
So I was watching the new I Am Bread Lets Play and Gavin said he wanted Michael to come to England sometime… And now my head is just full of images of Gavin and Michael traveling around England and Gavin showing Michael all the sights, and where he grew up and even though they are in England, Michael would still do Shitty imitations of Gavin’s accent aND THEY WOULD JUST BE SO GROSS I CANT HANDLE IT
anyway i’m pretty happy with being born and raised in alabama and i sorta wish i didn’t grow up repressing my accent so that i wouldn’t sound Stupid. i wish i didn’t consider the north to be some sort of utopia where everyone would just get along because hooboy was that way off the mark. im not embarrassed by it anymore even though people in new england seem to think i should be. the south is actually pretty great and diverse and radical, you just have to know where to look and be willing to give a damn.
[ From what I’ve seen, New Zealand does not celebrate Nov 5 like the British do, over here we burn an effigy of Guy Fawkes or even just make a bonfire and celebrate with fireworks practically everyone knows the ‘remember remember the fifth of november, gunpowder, treason and plot’ rhyme. In NZ it’s a day of general celebration whereas Britain focuses more on the history aspect (which is understandable because it is a British-centred celebration!). ]
When half the people you hang out with every day live in other countries, you get used to receiving emails and IMs at all hours of the day. Still, the first time Abbie wakes up, powers up her computer, and a chat window with Ichabod opens with an hours-old message that says, If this finds its way to you, give a shout. I could use your help on my research paper, you’ve got ways with JSTOR that I can’t even hope to aspire to, she stares at her screen in bemusement, scratching a hand through her sleep-tousled hair.
She waits until she’s got a mug of coffee and a banana from the dining commons before she replies. Why wouldn’t it find its way to me? It’s the internet, not the wild west. It’s not exactly perilous. I’ve got lecture this morning but shoot me an email with what you’re looking for and I’ll see what I can do during my break this afternoon.
She sees the email alert on her phone while she’s checking the time, halfway to her second lecture of the morning. You can never tell with these things. It’s a long way from London to Sleepy Hollow. Below that, he’s got a list of topics he needs articles on, and Abbie starts making a plan of attack for searching JSTOR’s archive before she even makes it back to her dorm room.
The second time Ichabod opens a middle-of-the-night IM with some variation of “I hope this finds you”, Abbie rolls her eyes. After the fifth, she can’t help but grin. Once, he sends her an email while she’s sleeping that starts with “Let me know if this doesn’t reach you,” and she laughs so hard she snorts coffee through her nose and threatens to make Ichabod buy her a new keyboard.
The first time she has cause to message Ichabod when it’s the middle of the night in England, she hesitates, and then can’t help but open it with, “I hope this makes it to you all right. The internet is dark and full of terrors, after all.”
After that, it’s pretty much tradition.
After four months of exchanging IMs and emails and the occasional phone call or Skype chat, it seems pretty safe to say that they’ve progressed beyond mere friendship. Abbie steels her courage and refers to him as her boyfriend one day, then tips back in her desk chair and beams at the ceiling of her dorm room when he addresses his next email to “my girlfriend”. She has to school her face into some semblance of normalcy so she doesn’t just beam ridiculously at him the next time they get on Skype, but then the video connects and Ichabod is beaming at her and she loses control and they spend the first five minutes of their conversation just giggling delightedly at each other.
They’re dating for six months before the school year ends and they’re able to meet. Abbie walks through the concourse, her stomach jittery with nerves that she refuses to acknowledge, and comes out past security to find Ichabod waiting for her.
He scoops her up into a hug before she can even get out a “Hello”, and it practically lifts her off her feet. She mufles a burst of hysterical laughter against his shoulder. “You’re so tall.”
He sets her down and stares at her like he never wants to look away.
“You look relieved,” she says, nerves flaring up into self-consciousness at his unwavering regard. “Did you think I’d stand you up?”
“No.” He grasps her hand as though he’s afraid she’ll vanish without that tether between them. “But it’s a long way from Sleepy Hollow to London.”
“Yeah.” She grins and lifts up onto her toes, tugging at his hand until he gets the message and bends down far enough for her to kiss him. “But I found you, all the same.”