Certain people know this about me: I am incredibly talented at one video game. It's the last one I ever understood how to play before "joysticks" turned into graphing calculators with 800 buttons, and people could steal cars with dead hookers in them. When I stand before that machine, I transform from my everyday self into a ninja who can fire and roll the ball in such a way that extra lives rain down on the board -- all while I'm narrating my ongoing strategy to drunk friends who cannot believe that I hold such powers.

Point #1: I love Centipede.

Last night, my friend Emily and I went to see Vagabond Opera at the Someday Lounge. As fashionable as it was to watch gipsy klezmer, it's really not surprising that we capped off the night at Ground Kontrol, Portland's pinball/video game palace. I couldn't survive one more hour without putting my initials back into the Centipede high scores. (One of the great injustices in my world is that no matter how many times "KLJ" is in the top ten, Ground Kontrol powers off at night, the scores reset, and I have to keep coming back to recapture my glory.)

Point #2: I am a nerd.

I don't know if that's entirely true. Nerd-dom is a matter of perspective. To me, flocks of people who wear the same skinny jeans and the same style of resale shop boots and listen to the same music and have the same kind of skin that's so tattooed and pierced that transitioning into old age smoothly will be impossible -- are ridiculous. But in Portland, they're cool. And to me, people who play Centipede and talk about books and wear sparkly sweaters and listen to old school soul -- are interesting.

So who knows?

What I do know is that after reclaiming my crown, Emily and I sat on my couch until 4 a.m., lamenting the fact that language is dying. Death may be too strong of a word; it's certainly shifting, as languages often do. This shift is frightening to us. And that either makes us nerds or drunk thinkers, but we agreed that richer forms of language (along with many beautiful things on the planet) are going the way of the salmon, which is going the way of the dodo. It's true of English, and I have to believe every language, from Spanish to Farsi, is subject to the same simultaneous mass extinction as humans all over the planet communicate with fellow citizens by using their thumbs.

Point #3: Text messages are ruining the world!

Em teaches fifth graders. She told me that she recently had a student turn in a paper with the word "l8r" on it. In ye olde English, that should read "later." But not when you have a five second attention span and some buttons to push. When I was teaching Intro to Fiction at University of Oregon, one of my students created a section of narration that went something like this: "She walked into the party, and all of the guys were wearing togas. LOL. She grabbed a drink and started dancing."

If you didn't notice anything wrong with the previous three sentences, then you think "LOL" is a sentence, and that proves my point. We're fucked! I'm totally guilty of text message shorthand, don't get me wrong. Just this morning, my Detroit friend texted that he was mailing Revolva performance footage to me. (I'm putting together a new demo).

I responded, "U R a prince! xxooo"

What's the difference between me and the true language destroyers? About fifteen to twenty years. The internet didn't exist, to my perception, until I was 18. I remember the original "mobile phones" when they were approximately two feet long and a foot wide and had to be plugged into a car. The first time I saw someone gabbing on a cell phone, my college friends and I collapsed into a puddle of tears; we could not stop laughing at how arrogant and stupid it was to walk down the street, talking on a phone.

Text messages came to me so late in life that they can't possibly replace my preexisting understanding of language. I worry about the people coming up behind me. They're the ones who will have no recollection of life before "btw," "omg," "lol" and "l8r." Not to mention, no recollection of life before sentences such as "Groc shpping tmrw n can get u smthg."

Books will still exist. Newspapers will still exist. But will they be stored online and yawned over the way I once yawned over "The Canterbury Tales"? And while we will continue to speak to each other with feeling, will human beings forever have to type LOL next to something funny instead of just crafting written words packed with humor? Will frowny face emoticons be required next to abbreviated, incomplete sentences that can't possibly convey the depth of our sadness?

This is not a new topic. Just one that's on my mind. The stories we tell ourselves about the world form our reality. And if our reality, our present culture, requires change, we have to tell ourselves some new stories -- and carve out a new reality using words as our tools. I can't fathom how that's going to be possible using Text-Message-ese.

I thought about this for so long last night that I hardly got any sleep. I was further confused by the fact that I had just flipped out playing Centipede, which is no more pure than microwaving a burrito, charming and retro though the game may be. I have lots of piercing thoughts about a better existence, but I also enjoy killing digital insects. And after destroying 50 zillion levels of bugs and mushrooms, I love going back to my apartment and complaining about how technology is making people stupid.

Point #4: I have not quite attained pure enlightenment by transcending the state of affairs in which I was formed.

Point #5: I hooped for 4 hours today -- two with Ty and two on my own -- and when I got home from the gym, all I wanted to do was make nori rolls and eat them while putting my thoughts in order.

Point #6: I'm totally satisfied and happy with this entire Valentine's Day; it was exactly what I wanted to do.

Point #7: I can't keep my eyes open anymore due to lack of sleep, perfect food and intense workout -- and my blogs don't have to wrap themselves up into a tidy bow anyway. They are just my thoughts, on a silver platter, for the consideration of approximately 100 people on earth.

Goodnight, tribe. Or as they will say in standard English circa 2025, "C U L8R."