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...Pigs do fly." - In a Twitter message shortly after Obama announced Fugate's FEMA nomination (New York Times...
...felt the pull of Twitter too. There's a Famous Writer I like who Twitters. I follow her. (She also blogs and Facebooks, or whatever the verb is.) She Twitters wittily about her dog and her meals and her friends. Sometimes she Twitters about Twittering. I like it. When I get a tweet from her, I feel a bit like I'm in her Famous presence--like she's a distant sun warming me from across the universe, one precious little sunbeam at a time. (I'll leave her identity a matter of speculation. Tweets are public yet also weirdly...
...life, the less interested I am in my own. I'm in danger of paying more attention to her dog and her meals and her friends than I do to mine. My powers of concentration, never formidable, are deteriorating. I've always got one eye on Famous Writer's Twitter feed, waiting for the interruption that will distract me from my own, nonfamous existence. I think I'm in danger of mistaking my connection to Famous Writer for an actual human relationship instead of what it is--a slow drip of basically trivial data that I've been using...
Maybe some people can handle Twitter, but I've gone cold turkey. I'm almost at the point where I can take a long walk and not want to beg my iPhone for the details of Famous Writer's breakfast. But now I'm worried about her. What does Famous Writer get out of all this? Does she have to Twitter to feel like she's important? If I could send her a tweet, I would say this, in well under 140 characters: Just remember, the un-Twittered life is still worth living...
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