In which I am on Twitter

Six years ago this month, I posted this on the blog:

I confess, I am tempted to Twitter. I haven’t succumbed yet, but I know it’s just a matter of time. I haven’t even gone to the site yet because I am certain it is a sucking vortex and just by clicking into it, I will be doomed to tweet forever. And honestly, at forty I ought to be immune to peer pressure, but when my friend Jerusha noted that “all the cool kids are doing it” I had immediate eighth grade flashbacks and an almost uncontrollable urge to listen to the Go-Gos and dig out my pep squad uniform. (Oh, dear Lord, I just realized I remember the ENTIRE fight song, complete with hand motions, but I have lost my multiplication tables past my fives. There is something VERY wrong about that.) So, I wonder–do you Twitter? And what do you tweet about?

Since I took the plunge and began to tweet, I’ve become very attached to Twitter. It’s my favorite form of social media. The endless spam-stream makes it impossible to keep comments open here; the maddening algorithms and sheer ickiness of Facebook mean I keep my presence there to a minimum. I’m on Pinterest, but I delegate the pinning because I know if I go over there myself, then IT will become the next sucking vortex consuming my life. But Twitter is oddly real. The ‘virtual cocktail party’ metaphor works beautifully there. It’s a fast-moving stream of chat and information, inspiration and connection. I’ve met some truly lovely people, had one or two harrowing moments, and learned more about myself and the world than I would ever have thought possible. Twitter is the platform that taught me that the people who say online friends aren’t ‘real’ have rocks in their heads. I’ve been lucky enough to meet some of my twitter pals in real life, and they’ve been wonderful, and while I’ve dabbled in other platforms, I don’t see anything taking the place of Twitter for the foreseeable future. It’s the online equivalent of Central Perk, a place to hang out and catch up. But without the muffins.