Here's betting you didn't know today was National Inventor's Day (and if you did, well, here's betting you didn't expect to be reminded). That the holiday falls on Thomas Alva Edison's birthday is no coincidence. In addition to giving us the electric light bulb, the man patented 1,093 devices (many of which, certain authors write, could have been stolen).

While
his contributions to science and our daily lives may (depending on whom
you ask; see above) be immeasurable, though, the day seeks also to
honor those other
inventors who drastically improved our means of communication.

Morse, for one. We owe Morse great deference. After all,
where would we have been without the telegraph? We certainly wouldn't
be texting with such fervor. It's unlikely we'd be
texting at all.

But
sometimes, just sometimes, that heightened
communication can go awry, confusing you far more than you would have
been had you kept it to the not-yet-neolithic land line or cell phone
conversation (and let's please not forget the potential behind using
the ever
reliable semaphore
system).

Before I commence the tale of two texters, I'd like to add a
disclaimer: some of the ideas I harbored during this time are silly,
absurd even, but yes, yes, hindsight, etc., and I know this now.

It
all began at a friend's innocent little holiday party. While the guests
were as decked as the halls were--eyes a glitter and ears
bejeweled--they were mostly people I knew from high school but hadn't
seen in years. Though Peter and I had never been more than class
acquaintances, we had a nice time catching up: I filled him in on
some of the larger events occurring in the past seven years, and he
regaled me with tales of his European travels.

I
told him of the party I'd be hosting a couple of weeks later. He called
the phone I'd left in the host's kitchen, one I was too lazy at the
time to retrieve, so that I would have his number. Mary and Joel, Erin
and David later did the same, and I put names to numbers as
soon as I left.

But somewhere in that process, I made my first mistake.

I texted him the next day, saying it was nice running into him, to which he replied "Pravene! Nice seeing you too."

"Pravene."

Ah! I thought, he, like so many of my other contemporaries was
attempting to distance himself from an "All-American" up-bringing by
adopting the mannerisms, words and expressions of the countries they
had recently visited, on which they had also developed wistful crushes.
Not that I thought Peter was like that, but...who knows?

So,
believing "pravene" to be some Russian or other eastern European term
of friendly endearment, I made little of the word, accepting, as well,
that my Google search came back unhelpful as a result of its inability
to really translate to the level I would (sternly now) wish and expect
of it.

Several days before my party, I texted Peter along with a
few others, letting them know that I would be meeting at such and such
time, at such and such place. He responded kindly with an "Ah Pravene!
Thanks so much for the invite. I would love to come."

When the
get together successfully came and satisfyingly went, and I saw no
signs of Peter, I made little of the fact, figuring that he, like I
often did, had said he'd like to attend but just couldn't make that
happen.

As a couple of weeks and the new year rolled by, I
texted a hello, to which he wrote an enthusiastic "Pravene! How are
you? We must meet up!" Again, I thought, "pravene," alright, he's
really sticking with this. Ok; if it makes him happy.

A little
more than a month after that holiday party Peter texted me a burbling
"Pravene! Congratulations on the Chicago job! That's so exciting!"

.......Chicago job...

Only
then did my very slight and only very recent doubts crystallize into a
dawning comprehension that something else besides the evident could be going on here, something that had not been
clear for...four weeks now.

"Pravene?" I wrote. "No, no, this is Deborah Stokol."

"Wait...you're not Pravene Muniyappa?"

"Absolutely not. Is this Peter Furer?"

"No! This is Joe Yusin from Phoenix."

?!

Joe Yusin. From Phoenix. Of course. How could I not have known.

And
how remarkable. Two strangers had been texting each other for a month,
thinking that communication easy, efficient, connecting two old
acquaintances or two old friends--one in Phoenix, the other in LA.

Pravene is not a Russian word, but an individual of Indian descent. Ah. But who is Pravene.
Is he a she, she a he. What is the relationship those two share. And
had they been together the same night that I had been chatting with
Peter. How did Joe plan on getting to Pravene's party. Well,
perhaps he visits often. Perhaps they're close friends. But if they're
such close friends, why doesn't Joe have Pravene's number?

I
still don't know where the digi-glitch occurred. I still don't have
Peter's number. And I'm not a Luddite, but who knew that kind of
ease-encouraging communication could become so richly, confusingly and
amusingly mis-communicative?

Perhaps this was a victory. It
certainly felt like an anecdotal gift. And maybe it didn't break
communication down so much after all because I texted Joe today and
found out he was a USC undergrad and med school alum. We could be in
touch anytime (and no, not because he went to USC); I can ask him about Phoenix or Pravene or Chicago and
how this all came about on his side. Maybe I'll do that.

And if I do, I can further thank the complex minds who made such antics possible. Happy National Inventor's Day.