Without a twist...

Guess what, guys? I have a new favorite phrase to hate: "with a twist." It’s like when you run out of things to say to support why your product, idea or what-have-you is better than the rest — a splendid cop-out is to say "...well, it has a twist." Coffee with a twist, basic tees with a twist, donuts with a twist, condos with a twist, car installment payments with a twist, cosmetics with a twist, spas with a twist, Pepsi twist...OK, just kidding about the last one!

It’s the "It’s not you, it’s me" of the sales pitch world. Some may say that it’s a phrase that defines ingenuity. However, if one is creative enough to come up with such an inventive idea, don’t you think one would be clever enough to define it? I’ve found myself guilty of using the phrase. It was innocuous and it saved me when I was at a loss for words. I only realized that it was annoying when I was ordering a salad one day and I was told that the special salad of the day was Mixed Greens...With a Twist. So what was the twist? I wanted to know what the twist was before I ordered. But nooooo! What the server said was enough for me to order the enigmatic salad.

Slang is OK. Slang sort of reflects the language of our generation. However, substituting thoughts and coherent phrases with catchy terms is just plain annoying. I realize this "with a twist" thing is actually a sad realization of how we have abandoned classic and old world behavior in favor of new and mundane practices.

Things that are about to be flushed down the toilet:

Saying "thank you." A TY or smiley SMS face seems to suffice as tokens of gratitude these days. Actually, one is even lucky to receive such a message, since more often than not it’s the cold hard breeze of silence that follows after a good deed is done. From friends, family or even kind strangers — it seems that these two golden words have lost their clout. It’s often mumbled or even slurred. It seems rare that people actually look you in the eye and say THANK YOU.

The written word. Nobody writes these days. It’s all just punched texts or clinical and succinct emails. The cool glow of the LCD display of your cell phone is a sign that we’re off to Gattaca land. No more personality, the death of romance and passion, a suppression of expression. Nothing reveals more than the curl of a line as a letter ends or how the width of the lines of each letter varies as emotion intensifies. Note cards are rare and they hardly contain more than four lines. I read my friend’s parents’ love letters to each other once and boy, were they ardent, filled with such truth. Even the brevity of the telegraph messages held so much poignancy. Everyone seems to take the reticent route these days. It is true that the less said the less likely you are bound to get in trouble. However, that is sad compensation for the loss of such a heart-enriching exercise.

The art of conversation. I was in a bar last Friday and all I heard was a buzz of noise. Drivel and its idiotic cousins pervading the room. Excusable for a bar, maybe. But at a dinner, the same buzz curse seemed to plague our intimate gathering of six. People just talk about stuff. They talk about it at such a delusive level. Nothing is really discussed, everything is simply narrated and tossed, like yesterday’s newspaper. I only seem to have the pleasure of true conversation with my best friends, boyfriend and mother. It’s sad to realize that the pleasure of conversing has decelerated to a banal practice of shooting nonsense. The ultimate enjoyment of gab comes from learning something new in every sentence exchanged.

Decorum. Since when did wolves start raising the majority of us? From "Excuse me’s" to "I’m sorry"— decorum has almost disappeared like the mouse deer or Tab. A guy was talking pure crap, talking on how cool he was for making his rounds in every girl’s honey pot, and he was lauded for being honest. Uh, maybe he was being revealing and yes, honest, but this guy should not be patted on the back for his candor. A gift of modern society is our liberty to voice out our opinions without fear. But in every ounce of freedom comes responsibility and it stretches to maintaining the moral fabric of our society which is sadly fraying like a machine-washed pashmina.

Being on time. There are many occasions when I actually feel ashamed about showing up on time. Some even comment on how atat I am. Isn’t being punctual a sign of respect? You plan a dinner and expect your roasted duck to hatch eggs before your guests arrive. A 15-minute lapse is fine, thirty you need a mighty fine excuse, but after an hour you’d better pay your host’s mortgage (unless you have an Emily Post-certified reason).

This "with a twist" generation is supposed to be an unconventional and progressive turn towards the future. However, it seems to me that this rebellion against antiquated convention is taking a rather sharp turn toward social idiocy. These days the only time I’ll be saying that lazy term "with a twist" is when I’m ordering a martini.