Nit-Twit

I am a twit. Er...a tweeter? A twitterer! Yes, that must be it. Anyway, I'm on Twitter now. Have been for a few weeks. This will come as a surprise to most of you who know how much I dislike Facebook. But it was actually my dad who (unwittingly) convinced me to join. It's like this; everything that makes me nervous about Facebook (farms, mafias, awkward "friendships" with people I haven't thought about for 20 years, etc.) is nonexistent on Twitter. And you only have 140 characters (not words, mind you) in which to express your thoughts. (Actually, that can be a bit of a bummer sometimes-- I'm not usually at a loss for words.)

But as wonderful as that all sounds, my twittering days are about over. I find that it's far too much like talking to myself. (And I can talk to myself without the help of a social networking site-- for Pete's sake, I blog!) You see, you gotta have a little something called followers. It's like the difference between speaking with a group of people, or talking to yourself while the group of people quietly ignores you. And perhaps the group ignores me because I have a very hard time being remotely serious. Every time I attempt to tweet something profound and spiritual, my mind automatically wanders to things like underwear and tripping-- or tripping on underwear. I suppose people are looking for more quality content to be stuffed into that tiny 140 character capacity than I have to offer.

Whatever the reason, I will finish out my 1-month Twitter experiment and then quietly recede back into real life-- where my "followers" find me charming, winsome and have to obey my every command. (That's the benefit of having children, you know.)