I don't Tweet. I don't even like saying the word "tweet". It makes feel like a goddamn canary. I don't use Twitter therefore I don't Tweet. I don't think I ever will. You can use the argument that I am not "embracing the new technology"(to be said in a nasally, scratchy and extremely irritating voice). Tough t-bones. I don't Tweet because I don't wanna and you can't make me.It's bad enough that I blog. Not the act itself. It's the word again. Blog. Sounds like the skin fold underneath a fat belly. Eww! There's a pimple on my blog! I don't have to justify my blogging to anyone, but sometimes I have to rationalize it for myself. My original intent was to use blogging as writing exercises, to maybe kick start my so-called "important" work and keep my skills alive and kicking. Well, that's gone by the wayside, hasn't it, kids? Check my posts this year alone and they barely add up to a double digit. Nice workout there, Richard Simmons. Then there's the undeniable fact that clearly 90% of my blogs have been the equivalent of Hank Kingsley's Thoughts from The Larry Sanders Show.
"I sure do miss The Cowsills. That mom in the hot pants sure was sexy!"
I think that's the cause of my hesitation most of the time, the fact that I have nothing to say, but force out a blog anyway. (That's disgusting) My work suffers due to a lack of commitment. Therefore my blog becomes a blahg. Deep...very deep...like a cavity, I'm deep.
Then there's Facebook. Remember that kid that lived down the block from you when you were seven, the one who picked his nose and ate it on Wheat Thins? He wants to "friend" you. Do you "like" air? Eek. It's not a world of adults, is it? That's fine and dandy since I am and always will be in arrested development (not the TV show...real life...Come on!). My inner child will always be alive and well when my outer shell deteriorates into a Slim Jim. And I fully admit that both blogging and FB have been advantageous, personally (though it's carried a heavy burden here and there with patches of very thin ice) but not necessarily professionally where I hoped it would help promote my work. (My books, y'know? If you're interested, click here. Or here. Or even here.) The jury's still out on that since I am still learning. (You think after five years, I would have at least gotten a clue...)
On the FB, I've fallen into the same trap. A smart-ass comment here, a snarky observation there. Not much ado about anything at all. Oh, I enjoy communicating with friends and family far and wide, catching up with their lives and actually discovered some quite wonderful things in the process. I've particularly enjoyed reading the postings of those that know how to work this day thing the way I should be, a balancing act of both personal and professional. But I seem not to be able to step onto the tightrope, preferring to heckle from the audience below. (Yeah, Facebook is really death defying, isn't it?) I guess I could concentrate more on the Book and lay off the Face. In other words, quit reading and commenting on someone's choice of latte and circle in on something tangible. Yeah, that's right. Tangible on the Internet. I said it.
But I ain't touchin' the Twitter...well, not that one. (Ain't I a stinka?) For one thing, I don't text. Not now, not ever. Tweeting is text blogging. Texting is evil. Those who use or perpetuate the use of this instrument of the Devil should be condemned to eternal damnation. Not later. Now. ASAP. Oh, and LOL. For another thing, Ashton Kutcher is basically the poster boy for Twitter. I cannot do anything that Ashton Kutcher does. I've been saying this for over twenty years now, even before anyone knew who Ashton Kutcher was. In 1990, I said "I can't do anything Ashton Kutcher does." People said, "Who the hell is he?" I said, "You'll see!" I was right, wasn't I? Somehow, I just knew...
And it's not that I can't use Twitter, I just won't. I could Tweet very easily. I could give you 140 characters worth of worthless crap every hour on the hour from now until the restaurant at the end of universe closes, but I couldn't live with myself. Besides, what would I have to say? Does anyone really need a meaningless running commentary of my very existence from my waking moments until I close my eyes for the evening? Isn't this just one more distraction and misdirection from life itself? And what can be said about someone who eats up valuable time to give his useless opinions about the futility of the social networking phenomenon? Absolutely nothing.
So there you have it. The long answer to a question nobody asked.
Thufferin' thuccotash.
