Following an incidental instance of miscommunication resulting from my own inability to fully accept (and negotiate with) the havoc IM has wreaked upon the English language, I found myself longing for a new word to describe the awkward misunderstandings that often color IM convos. “What should I call it,” I mused (read: IM’d) to Eater SF editor Paolo, “when what I’m trying to say becomes lost in translation via IM?” “A ‘Hroment,'” he replied. I’m having a Hroment. Have been since day one, in fact. And just when I thought my last name had been fully exhausted . . .
[Eve studiously avoiding the camera during the Eater/Curbed improvisational holiday party at Mint Plaza on December 31st. Free WiFi: the gift that keeps on giving.]