With serious amounts of layoffs and cutbacks at my work, I've had to take on new jobs and responsibilities (Creative Director work part of it). Oddly, for a rather anti-social person like myself, one of my new duties is investigating the varieties of social networking sites and media out there.
This means I've spent far more time on MySpace, Facebook, LinkedIn, and other sites of this nature than I would ever have done so on my own. One such site is Twitter.
Twitter, which most of you should have heard of by now, is a "microblogging" site. This means that much like texting, you get 140 characters per message to make your pitch. For most people, this just ends up with lame crap that ain't worth reading because it's nonsensical crap. It's like hanging out with people you don't really know and hearing all their shorthand comments for in-jokes. Tiresome, mysterious without allure, and impenetrable.
However, one of the things I've been doing with Twitter is trying to find a way to set it up for The Wife so her kids can subscribe to her Twitter feed (Twitter posts are called, embarrasingly and annoyingly, "tweets," which is a term I will fucking roll over and die seventeen times before I use non-ironically, thankyouverymuch), and get their homework notifications -- BAM!-- right there in their cellphones.
Now, of course, back when I walked to school in seven feet of snow with shoes full of broken glass, we didn't have none of this dang fool technology folderol, but ya gotta roll with the times and do whatchagottado to keep the naifs' eyes on the ball. Next The Wife will come up with some fashion to incorporate the Wii in discussions of "The Celebrated Jumping Frog of Calaveras County."
So that's how I come to have both a professional Twitter feed (for rather neutered posts about recruitment advertising related articles and zzzzzzzzz...wha- shit I fell asleep talking about it myself) and now a personal Twitter feed (and a doppelganger that I set up to try to get messages sent to my cellphone). Having used the site for all my work related laziness-disguised-as-seeming-productivity, I am now prepared to pass the same kind of half-ass effort on to you, my faithful readers.
Want to know what I think about Proust right this very second? Well, maybe I'll say something about it in my Twitter feeds. Who can tell? That's just the kind of wild and crazy hoss-shit I plan on getting up to with all this stuff at my finger tips.
So, eyes leftward again and behold yon link for my actual true and real Twitter page. Embrace its other inutility. Glory in the hyped banality. Revel in magic that Virginia Woolf only thought about with a double-headed jelly dong. Or something.