At the outset, the disclosure is that I try to write more and more about less and less.
But at this rate, soon I’ll be writing everything about nothing. A quick survey of previous columns reveals such narrow topics as the word “so,” as it becomes “so-oo”; the overuse of the word “like”; and even the “f-word,” which appears with great frequency and rapidity in rap music.
One recent column exploited the west Texas way of raising an inflection at the end of certain words to make them sound like whines (or at least like warnings), and another discussed the specific use of the phrase “la jura,” a warning used only when the cops are closing in.
Small can be a good topic. However, functions of aging require me to express a lament over an extremely small symbol, the “@,” which is a funny little “a” with a tail circling it.
Let me explain:
As a copy editor, I come across many announcements of meetings and functions which, by necessity, take place at a certain time and at a certain place. But sometimes, whoever mails in the announcements uses the “@” symbol in the stead of “at.”
As a result, a meeting announcement might be submitted like this: “The meeting will be @ 8 p.m. @ the high school; call the organization @ 427-0010.”
Well, now, “@” just isn’t Associated Press style, and we need to convert it.
It’s time consuming. My personal dislike for the use of the “at sign” is its location on the standard typewriter. It ought to be pressed by the left pinkie finger, but because my ring finger is stronger, I generally cross over, take my eyes off the screen and end up having to retype several lines.
But the bigger problem is remembering that “@” requires us to depress the shift key at the same time. That’s depressing.
Many of us grew up in the pre-electric-typewriter era. Each keystroke required Swarzenegger-type strength. Holding down the shift key caused the entire set of keys to become elevated or lowered, a feat few could master, inasmuch as we try to hit the shift key with our pinkie.
But those who were able to complete Typing I at Immaculate Conception School got their benefits as well. Just notice any I.C. graduate — male or female — of 50s vintage and you’ll see bulging biceps, a vise-like grip and hands of steel — all compliments of trying to master the massive typing machines of yore.
And we’d be hapless and lapless if we had tried to hold those behemoths on our laps the way we do I-Book and Dell laptops today.
How and why did the “at sign” ever come about as the sine qua non for e-mail addresses? We grew up believing this hard-to-type character stood for quantities, as in “I bought two apples @ 20 cents apiece . . .”
The @-symbol must have originated in the mercantile world, and because it looks a small “e” encircling a smaller “a,” it may stand for “each at,” or “per.”
The “@,” which has no universally agreed-upon name, generally gets called the “at sign.” One website identifies a number of names for it in different languages, with several terms relating to animals.
For example, the Dutch call it an “apestaart,” which means “monkey’s tail”; “snabel” is the Danish term, meaning “elephant’s trunk”; the Finnish call it “kissanhnta,” meaning “cat’s tail”; it’s “arroba” in Spanish and Portuguese, and the Germans use “Klammeraffe,” which, my friend Klare Schmidt assured me, means “spider monkey.”
One theory as to the origin of “@,” as plausible as any, tells of the medieval practice of copying books, before the invention of the printing press. The explanation goes that monks, who painstakingly transcribed historical works by hand found it much easier to use “@,” which required only one pen stroke instead of three.
It’s unlikely very many people paid any attention to the hard-to- type symbol, and why the personal computer adopted it, as part of every e-mail address — instead of simply writing “at” — baffles me.
•••
Our oldest son Stan (Adam) is getting married in Denmark this month.
After almost three years, Stan has acquired the ability to understand much Danish, but like most people learning a foreign language, struggles a bit in speaking it. Even though many words of that Scandinavian tongue look like English, the sounds often are entirely different and difficult to master.
Perhaps we can help out our son. We already know at least one Danish word, “snabel,” the word for the “@” sign.
Maybe he can use it when asking simple directions, such as “Where’s the church @?”