Rogue Ink

June 10, 2008

Twitter. The Honeymoon is Over.

Filed under: Blogging — Tei @ 7:56 am

After the ridiculous lovefest that was yesterday’s post, I feel I owe everyone a round of snark. So we set forth into the anticlimactic linkfest that was Twitter.

Everyone was talking about the Twitter. I read the Wired article and made a noise that sounded very much like “Pleh.” I read the New York Times article and felt justified in my snobbery (bless you, NY Times, for indulging my superiority complex). And then I got to blogging, and it all went to hell in a handbasket. James and Harry were talking about giving in to the Twitter. Naomi was talking about how NOT to use Twitter, and when Naomi lays down a gauntlet like that, you are honor-bound to pick it up and smite her briskly across the face with it. In the most loving way possible.

The point is, while I may not be a sucker for the printed media, I am evidently easily persuaded by the digital bloggery. Twitter became that guy in your class who you hadn’t thought was cute until you realized everyone else had a crush on him. I caved. To Twitter I went.

In the Beginning

All was sweetness and light. Twitter said delightfully funny things, it introduced me to all the people it knew. We talked for ages, in little 140-letter vignettes. The Twitter cared about my business and helped promote my blog – so sweet. The Twitter wrote me haikus. It is possible this is because the Twitter was incapable of sonnets, but I was not to be troubled by such trifles. I was enamored. I braided daisies into crowns and sang love songs, people. The Twitter was so good to me.

Then There Was Turmoil

Twitter stopped communicating with me. Someone would send me a message and three minutes later I’d get it. I would find myself with only part of a haiku that I was sure had a preceding part, but I couldn’t find it, and Twitter couldn’t find it, and the Tweet ‘and then fell off a snow bank’ really needs an introduction. I realized very suddenly that Twitter possibly had a drug problem, or was off its medication. I would have been concerned, but the other problem was that I was getting tired of the Twitter. Its conversation had ceased to sparkle. It was repeating stories it had told on our first date. It was boring me to tears.

Then There Was Smiting.

Twitter started to boot me randomly out of the house. Other people too. The Tweet galaxy was all full of people calling into the blackness. “Hello! Are you there? I’m not there. I’m here.” We began to sound like bad Emily Dickenson imitators. “I’m Tweeting – in the Twhirl. Are you – Tweeting here – like me? Are we both – fucked – and speaking – to no one? – Stupid Twitter. I – want bacon.” Then Twitter got all passive-aggressive decided it couldn’t handle my shenanigans and wiped all my old Tweets, which was really just uncalled for. It started to play games with my head, and then I would yell, and it would go off and sulk and not talk to me for days, and we continued in this destructive cycle, neither of us willing to admit that we were just not meant to be. No we were not.

Then There Was the Flood.

I dumped the Twitter. We had a lovely little affair, but it was just one of those things. Just one of those nights. Just one of those magic flights. And now I’ve begun to quote Cole Porter, which just goes to show how damaging this relationship was. It hurts a little still. Inside.

I may sometimes go back to the Twitter, but it will only be to use it shamelessly for blog promotion. Yes, it’s cruel to do to an old flame, especially when you know it secretly still wants you, and you know perfectly well it can’t have you back. That is just the way it is, though.

On another note: Heading over to the Twitter randomly for the first time in about a week, I discovered that James does not, apparently, love me every day. Why, James? How can this be so? What day was ever a wrong one with me?

That’s the other thing about Twitter. It’ll rat you out. Is it any wonder I dumped it?

Subscribe. Lambasting to be continued.

May 22, 2008

Hi, My Name is Tei, and I’m a Widget Addict

Filed under: Blogging — Tei @ 4:03 am
Tags: , , ,

Actually, neither of those things is true. My name is actually Taylor Catherine Lindstrom, and I am to understand that ‘widget’ actually refers technically to those applications you use on a website. However, it is easier both to refer to me and the problem I am about to describe by our simpler pseudonyms (ooh, alliterations that doesn’t LOOK like alliteration! I love it!) and so, damn it all, that is what I am about to do.

Feedburner. Why is it a mathematician?

I have discovered my Feedburner likes number sequences. The first time I looked at my subscribers, I had seven. Then I forgot Feedburner existed until some other blogger mentioned that their subscribers had hit twelve kajillion, and I checked it, and it said fourteen. Then I forgot again, and someone mentioned it again (does anyone sense a pattern here? No, besides the number pattern, don’t be a twit), and then I had twenty-eight subscribers.

My plan is to take an amnesiac pill every time I check my blog stats, rinse and repeat. I figure I’ll erase about half my memories and motor skills in the process, but my subscribers will equal the number of people with internet access the galaxy over. Worthwhile trade-off, no?

Incidentally, I’ve noticed that other bloggers like to casually mention the number of subscribers they have, like they were keeping track of their golf handicap. “I got three thousand today, not bad for a Saturday. What say we go get a martini and mock the poor sap in the golf cart?”

Blog stats. Why do they think they are an Etch-a-Sketch?

I think my blog stats no longer reflect the actual number of visits to my blog. I think that some goblin uses my blog stats for a toy and is painstakingly attempting to reconstruct the skyline of the mountain ranges on the West Coast. To which I say to him, that’s all well and good, but I happen to think the journalism terms post was damned funny, and you’re cramping my mojo by telling me that only 200 people came around to take a look at it.

Goblin: “Ooh, looks like today we’re drawing Hell’s Canyon.”

Me: “I hate you, you slob-nosed green menace to tiny child-princesses and elves.”

Twitter. Why does it always know when I’m at lunch?

I like the Twitter, I do. I don’t quite get the way that some people find me, because I personally don’t sit around just waiting for someone to say something witty so I can follow them. This is partially because I find the random most intriguing, and I know this does not necessarily bode well for the long-term. Some guy could have been reading his grocery list piece by piece, but if all I get in the Tweet that I see is “Medium-large cabbages, the purple kind” – I’m intrigued.

But I do follow some very interesting and funny people, and they all seem to have delightfully witty and intriguing conversations. When I’m asleep. Or eating macaroni and cheese. Or finally turning off all social media to get some work done, for the love of all that is sacred and righteous in the world, by which I mean ‘chocolate’. I come back. Delightful commentary is still on the screen. And now I want to play, but it happened two hours ago and now everyone is gone, and I’m all alone, reading the Tweets over and over again, the way you listened to that message your teenage boyfriend left you when you were thirteen. It was so sweet. Maybe he’ll come back. Maybe. If I just stay by the phone long enough. But no. The moment you go to bed, you know what will happen, and so do I.

James and Harrison are going to debate which of them has better biceps, and I am going to miss it, and I will never be able to throw in the surprise write-in vote for Naomi, and she will be pissed. Check out the contenders here and here, ladies and gentlemen. And . . . all you others. Also up for grabs: are those their real biceps, or are they making gratuitous use of image archives? Curious minds want to know.

What are you addicted to? Stand up, we’re all friends at the Lusty Weevil. We’re here to help.

Subscribe. Otherwise you will break the numerical sequence, and my math friends will be sad.

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