July 12th, 2007


when I'm done, I'm going to tell the kids to get off my lawn, too.

Sign me up for geezerhood.

Linguistically, anyway. So, when the year 2000 rolled around, I think we all pretty much agreed that the way to pronounce that was "two thousand". And then, most people, but especially folks who read Arthur C. Clarke at a formative age, went on to pronounce the next year "two thousand and one". A few people pronounced it "twenty oh one". Not many, though.

I'm pronouncing this year "two thousand and seven", and nobody thinks less of me, at least nobody has stopped in their tracks and commented on what an odd phrasing I chose. Yet.

I heard on the radio recently mention of a transit project that's due to be finished in "twenty oh nine". Gah. In a sense, it's fine, because I know what the guy meant, but it still grates on my ear.

And the sad thing is that I know I'll be in the minority the year after that (Arthur C. Clarke sequel notwithstanding) - I'll call the year "two thousand ten" or "two thousand and ten", while most young whippersnappers will be calling it "twenty ten". Sure, that's consistent with the phrasings we used in our youth, but "nineteen ten" somehow grates on my ear much less than "twenty ten". I don't know, maybe it's the whole optometry resonance. So "Two thousand and ten" for me, thanks.

(And nobody will be calling it MMX, in part due to Intel protecting the use of the trademark.)

And as the years go on, I'll grow increasingly isolated - one man using four syllables when two would do (take that doubleyou doubleyou doubleyou dot whatever dot com forward slash something dot aitch tee emm ell).

Maybe it won't matter, because in a few years, we'll all be speaking Esperanto.