Saturday, October 26, 2013

I'm Such A Lousy Twit

There are few from my past that can say (at least if you count only those above room temperature or attempting to do so with a straight face) that I've ever had a problem in expressing my opinion.  There are many in fact, who knew me before I began my efforts for the Toledo Free Press or even the technology of this blog, who would have told you that they thank God daily for the available technology, since before its invention, it was their dubious duty to at least attempt to keep me from expressing my thoughts and opinions constantly, and in annoying detail.   (And I was thought to be such a quiet child at least at one point in my life.)   You would think therefore, that someone cognizant enough of the technology of multiple forms of Internet communication to have had a blog for years and be writing an online column for a weekly newspaper, someone who regularly communicates with the world around them through the magic of Facebook or Linkedin, would be savvy enough to take the use of Twitter in stride.  In this of course, you would be utterly and completely wrong.

In my own defense (and as I have previously mentioned), let me say that my smartphone is much smarter than its owner and should have known enough to prevent me access to such nonsense.  Let me also mention by way of explanation that the 9-3/4 digits that remain marginally available at the ends of my upper extremities are somewhat thick, twisted, and crippled from an unfortunate combination of 30 years of abusing them while defending myself during hockey games and an almost equal (but only partially overlapping) period of battering them with bookbinding and newspaper machinery that I was apparently all but wholly incapable of getting out of the way of.  As a consequence, my efforts at producing something resembling intelligible English on small electronic devices are only slightly better (and more frequent) than those of my simian counterparts from the famous 'Infinite Monkey Theorem'.

You can only imagine the chagrin, social embarrassment, and self-loathing that I feel as I admit that .... (sorry, this is hard for me) ... not only do I appear to be no damn good at 'Tweeting'; but that perhaps because of this ineptitude in the process, I have little interest in future attempts to do so.  Oh, I recognize that this is little more than an admission of the onset of social leprosy (no offense to lepers) that will no doubt see me branded with a Scarlet 'T'; or the acceptance of a physical impairment brought on by old age (and perhaps even senility ... which would cause me to forget my branding), but I don't much care.  I must admit however, that such because of the lack of such ability or desire, I've discovered that it's apparently now but entirely impossible to perform even some of the most basic asocial functions, like properly following ones favorite TV shows, celebrities, or a even network news program.  

This is not to say that I don't have a Twitter account.  I do.  Of course the number of people that I'm following and that of those following me barely reaches the microscopic level in the great sea of Twitter accessibility, but this should not be unexpected when the hard drive on my computer sends up a puff of cobwebs and dust on the few occasions that I attempt to access the requisite software involved.  I do access it however, usually when I'm sent an email that tells me that people I know have things that they would like to tell me in the 'Twitterverse'.  Unfortunately (and invariably) however, I discover that the 'tweets' mentioned in these email actually have little or nothing to do with me and far more to do with a bit of self-aggrandizement on the part of my 'tweeting' acquaintances.

Don't get me wrong here!  I have absolutely nothing against the concept of self-aggrandizement (regardless of how little good that it's done me over the years).  No one who spends as much time as I do in the self-aggrandizing practice of writing understands its need more.  I am beginning to believe however, that like my temporarily overcome addiction to the consumption of large (if not epic) quantities of CH3CH2OH; it's one of the dangers out there in the great big wide world whose charms are all but lost on me, having cost me far too much already.  Like their chemical counterpart, the far too frequent sounding of the 'look at me' alert is now a particular perilous one for me.  

The more that I scribble for public consumption, the more's the chance that I will unknowingly or unwittingly fall prey to the siren's song of thinking that some part of the staggering stream of nonsense coming out of my verbal fire hose is in some way actually 'important'.  This danger, for those who haven't yet experienced it, is that such conclusions often lead the victim further into a maze of the misguided misconception of in their own importance.  In such ways are professional politicians, dictators, and fools made.  While gladly accepting my position amongst the latter rather than the former, I am all too aware of the dangerous line I tread in my journeys.

Of the 'Seven Deadly Sins' in fact, it is that misplaced pride that I must most fear.  (No wait, considering my eating habits, perhaps I should fear gluttony instead.  Or is it vainglory.  Wait, where does pride become vainglory anyway.  Anyway, maybe it's sloth I should fear, or at least it could be if I wasn't too damn lazy to do anything but lay around and eat.  Greed ... no.  Not that I couldn't use the money, but I'm probably too slothful to even count the things I covet.  Lust ... well yeah sure, but not so you'd notice, though I'd be willing to try it given half a chance.  Now that I think of it though, realizing that it's not Lust has me bordering somewhere between wrath and despondency.  Fortunately I'm too slothful to throw a temper tantrum or kill myself.  You know what, this is far too complicated and confusing.  I started with pride and I'm going to stick with it.  Where was I?)  These days it seems that far too much of my life is spent in the unreasonable and often unwise practice of 'Look at me'.

So unless someone can give me an overwhelming reason not to do so, I think it's about time I gave up not only on the use, but even on the ownership of my Twitter account.  With all of time that I spend in the virtual world and on the other social networks I'm involved with, I believe that something must go in order to regain some small part of my non-electronic existence.   It's not that I have anything against you Twitter, but I don't seem to have thoughts important enough to share on a 24-7 basis, to understand the need for sharing them even if I did, or the ability to do so properly on the devices the world provides to do so.  Let's face it.  I'm just bad at tweeting.

Besides ... since I speak lousy electronic shorthand, the 140 character limitation has always annoyed me anyway.

What do you mean 'twit' is not the proper term to use for someone sending a 'tweet'?  Do you mean to tell me that in spite of the apparent appropriateness of the term, that I didn't even get that part of the damn lingo right!  Whatever ... I am so done with this.

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