"Hey"

hey (hā) interj. Used to attract attention or to express surprise, appreciation, wonder, or pleasure.

A recent study* revealed that nearly 87% of Americans with text-message capabilities have at some point received the one-word message "hey" from a friend, family member, or more likely, a potential or existing sexual partner. Statistical research indicates that the ubiquitous "hey" text is becoming increasingly popular on college campuses and among the under-35 demographic. But just what does the "hey" text message imply or convey? When you type those three letters on your cellular phone's keypad or touch screen and hit send, are you saying what you think you are saying?

T.J., a sophomore at Boston University, explained his usage of the "hey" text: "I text a girl 'hey' to let her know I'm feelin' her." And if she responds? "I might follow up with something like, 'what r u doing tonite?'" T.J. went on the explain that he finds texting "hey" is a great way to make "first contact" with a girl.

Hunter College freshman Mike agreed--"'Hey' is nice and neutral," he said. "Same goes for 'yo.'"


Females, however, seemed to disagree about the effectiveness of the one-word text. "Oh my God, I hate getting texted 'hey,' it's so irritating," said Amy, a freshman at Tulane. "I accidentally gave out my number to this weirdo in my I[nternational] R[elations] class who said he was starting a study group. Now he texts me 'hey' like twice a week."

Leah, who just started her junior year at Cornell, felt similarly. She described the "hey" text as "immature and vague" and said she'd prefer interested parties to actually call her to ask her out.


Etymologically, "hey" dates back to the early 13th-century, and is derived either from the Roman eho, or the Greek word, eia. The only modern-day language other than English to use a similar expression is German (hei). In American culture, "hey" is regularly used as a replacement for the more formal-sounding greeting, "hello." "Hey" is a self-contained thought, one that invites a response playfully without demanding it. In the medium of text-messaging, it is often interpreted flirtatiously, as a signifier of romantic interest.

At least, that is what Becca, a sophomore at Sarah Lawrence, is hoping. "I met this awesome guy last night at a Take Back the Night organizational meeting and I think he might want to go out," she explained. "If he texts me 'hey' in the next few days, I'll know he means business."

*There was no study conducted and all of the quotations/names included here are completely fictional. Any similarity to actual undergraduates is entirely unintentional.

Poem du jour

I have a somewhat contentious relationship with Robert Frost. For reasons unknown, I have always felt inclined to dislike him and his work. Seriously, doesn't he look like a mean old crusty man?


On a recent trip to his hometown of Bennington, VT, I passed up the opportunity to visit his house, which is now a museum in his honor. I chose instead to visit the Annual Southern Vermont Garlic and Herb Festival. When forced to choose between Frost ephemera and homemade garlic pesto, I went with the pesto.

My favorite possibly apocryphal Frost anecdote (and don't we all have one of those) concerns his issue with reading his work in public. According to J.D. McClatchy, Frost HATED to read his poetry on a bill with other poets. He only liked to read when it was just him. One time, he agreed to do a reading at Harvard (his alma mater) on the condition that he would be the only poet reading. But someone screwed up and Frost finds out on the day of that some other nobody poet is supposed to be reading as well. He freaks out and tries to back out. Finally, he concedes and agrees to read only on the condition that he can read first. Harvard says "Fine, whatever."

So Frost gets on stage and reads about apple picking, fire and ice, and snowy woods and whatnot. Everyone claps and Frost returns to his seat in the front row. The next poet gets on stage to read and before he's even finished with his first poem, the smoke alarm goes off and the whole auditorium has to be evacuated. Why? BECAUSE FROST LIT HIS PROGRAM ON FIRE.

Which is kind of a gangsta move. I can't validate this story anywhere, so don't even bother trying. Google search for "Robert Frost asshole" turns up zilch.

But recently, I actually read some Frost poetry and I gotta say, the man knows what he's doing with language. My favorite poem at the moment is "For Once, Then, Something":

Others taunt me with having knelt at well-curbs
Always wrong to the light, so never seeing
Deeper down in the well than where the water
Gives me back in a shining surface picture
Me myself in the summer heaven godlike
Looking out of a wreath of fern and cloud puffs.
Once, when trying with chin against a well-curb,
I discerned, as I thought, beyond the picture,
Through the picture, a something white, uncertain,
Something more of the depths--and then I lost it.
Water came to rebuke the too clear water.
One drop fell from a fern, and lo, a ripple
Shook whatever it was lay there at bottom,
Blurred it, blotted it out. What was that whiteness?
Truth? A pebble of quartz? For once, then, something.

I mean, DAMN. I hope someday in my writing to find "something more of the depths."

Not on this blog, though. My next post will be an academic deconstruction of the text message "Hey."

Under the influence

Since moving to Boston and starting graduate school has correlated with drinking copious amounts of beer (it's all anybody drinks in this town, seriously), I more than ever wish I could master the art of drunk writing. Not drunk texting or e-mailing; people who know me are well aware of my demonstrated mastery in those fields. In college, I actually had to put Post-Its all over my laptop before going out to remind myself not to send e-mails when I came home drunk. I've matured a little bit since those days.

I'm always envious when I talk to people who say they do some of their best work when drunk and/or high. Coleridge and Poe had their opium; Bukowski, whiskey; Aaron Sorkin, cocaine. A med student once told me that if Sorkin were her patient, she'd feel torn between her responsibility as a doctor to tell him about the myriad medical risks of cocaine abuse and her impulse as a West Wing fan to tell him to stick with the blow.

The truth is, my writing is terrible when I'm not sober. The other night, after some enjoying a few beers with some fellow students at the Tam, I came home tipsy and decided to write a poem. The best thing about this poem is the title: "Wherein I contemplate the possibilty [sic] that I have a drinking problem." The poem itself is completely incoherent, though I did devote an entire stanza to the glories of brunch cocktails. (I have yet to find a solid Bloody Mary in Beantown.)

I often come home from a night of drinking with the best intentions to write and be productive, but I inevitably end up sprawled on my bed watching, for the 1,000,000th time, that episode of Law and Order:SVU where Det. Stabler goes undercover as a pedophile ex-con.

Mmmm, yes.

I have only tried to write stoned once, in college. The poem was about spiders. Correction: "arachnids." I remember thinking that was an amazing word when I was writing the poem.

I keep thinking I might be able to tap into a secret reservoir of creativity if I could just compose sentences while not fully in control of my faculties. I certainly become an amazing dancer when I'm drunk. Check out my hot moves:


Fierce, no?

Democracy's downsides

Many thanks to Tim Cooper, for finding this and sending it to me:


This sign is in the front yard of a house in Barefoot Bay, FL. (Yes, that's actually the name of the town; only Backwards Swamp, FL would be more apt). The owner of the house and creator of the sign, Andy Lacasse, is apparently a registered Democrat, but hates Obama. Or at least thinks Obama wears impure fabrics.

Look, I totally think voting is an important civil right, but sometimes, when I hear about the Andy Lacasses of the world, I long for an oligarchy.

This, by the way, is Andy:

To read about the entire sign controversy, click here.

Also, I know I've been a little delinquent about posting regularly....a little birdy called Grad School has been pecking the shit out of me lately, but rest assured, I will get back to a better schedule.

Right after I finish making my handmade sign that will say
"McCain = Half-Wit Poly-Cotton Blend."