Posted by politicalpartypooper on December 22, 2009

In 2006,Jack Dorsey created an application programming interface for sending and receiving short text messages, called Twitter.  In 2009, Twitter is one of the most popular ways for people to waste their time at the office…ahem, communicate with each other.  What I meant to say was, people are keeping in touch with friends, family, and news through their cell phones and computers, a little like Facebook or a blog, only the text is never more than 140 characters.

I have been told that tweeting (the act of sending an SMS message to all of your followers…updating them on what you are up to) is a fantastic way to network, as well.  To date, I wouldn’t know; I don’t tweet because I’m not on Twitter.  I can’t see myself ever signing up, either.

Which leads me to the gist of this post.  WTF is up with tweeting?  I’m 42 years old, and have sent precisely two text messages in my life (both to my daughter to prove to her that I knew how).  I have a facebook page, and stopped updating that about a month after signing up, because it just didn’t appeal to me.  That, and I can’t write as much as I want to, which, if you know me, is like Chinese water torture.  I like to talk, or write, and my comments or posts can tend to be long.

So I was lying awake in bed last night, my mind racing a mile a minute, about several different things.  But this post came about as a result of what I was thinking about last night.  I just didn’t get it.  I still don’t.  WTF is up with tweeting?  Why do people get such a high out of it?

Having recently become nearly addicted to an online interactive game, I guess I could see where some people might find Twitter to be indispensible.  But reading articles or blog posts around the ‘net has led me to believe that much of what takes place on Twitter, with tweets, is sheet (shit).  12:01    I’m typing this     12:07  I’m reading tweets     12:10  off to the gym     12:31  have arrived at gym, am stoked for WO    1:15  leaving gym   1:31   back at work.   1:35  i’m tired   1:42  brb   1:44  back…………………..

Or, how about following the CNN Twitter?  8:00  Tiger Woods second mistress thought she was only mistress   8:01 Is global Warming real?   8:02  Seven more alleged Tiger mistresses   8:03  more news at the top of the hour   8:04  catch Wolf Blitzer at 5:00 PM EST   8:05  Salahis on Good Morning America   8:06  Tiger pulls out of next tournament   8:07   Obama Nobel speech-Did he say enough?   8:08  Health reform bill has sixty votes   8:09  boy caught in balloon!!!!…………..

You get the picture.  How much information do we need?  And is personal tweeting more about “Look at me!” than “How are you doing?”  If it isn’t, why does anyone care how many people are following them?  And who are these people who are following you?  Are they following you because you are following them?  And what happens when you are no longer interested in following them?

I understand that we tend to lose touch with people, news, and information as we get busy.  But at what point does just enough information become too much information?  Do I really need to know that you had a long day at work, are tired, and hungry?  How is that different from every other day in your life?  How many different ways can I say, “brb”, or “I’m making supper”?

CNN’s page just showed this a few hours ago:

Tiger Woods’ popularity plummets after scandal,

No shit?  Really?  Wow!  What incredible news!  Yup.  Aren’t you glad you are following CNN on Twitter?

Okay, so I’m the Twitter Grinch.  But before you lynch me, please understand that I can see some of the benefits to Twitter.  One case that comes to mind is the news we received from Iranians during their post-election protests.  That was pretty real-time, and pretty substantial.  The trouble with Twitter is…almost everybody is doing it.  My guess is, they aren’t doing it well, but what do I know?  I have to go to the bathroom to relieve myself, and in two minutes…I’ll BRB.

This blog is my way of saying “Look at me!”…only, nobody knows who I really am.


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