I Tweet. Therefore, I Am.

To tweet, or not to tweet … That is the question. 

I do, but spend as little time as possible on Twitter. It’s not that I don’t like my fellow Twits. Having a social media presence on Facebook and Linked-In and on two blogs is quite enough for me, thank you. So adding Twitter to an already-busy life was not exactly something I embraced with joy, but something I had to do, the same way people “have to go” to cocktail parties.

When someone told me Facebook was “so yesterday,” I tried Instagram. But when I learned I couldn’t post without taking a photo downloaded from my phone, I said “Uh-uh.” 

Did you know it’s now possible to determine exactly when and where an online photo was taken with a cell phone, and from that information, to get the coordinates to locate you and that cell phone? I didn’t either, until I saw it in a documentary.

I deleted my Instagram account almost immediately after that. The instructions to create the account were hard and my brain is soft. I didn’t have the patience to take and download all those photos. Thus, I became a Twit.

Tweeting is a form of marketing. Just ask Donald Trump, who believes tweeting reinforces his “brand.” Imagine walking around  as a “brand” first and a “person” with a heart, soul, and conscience second! Imagine surrendering all or even a sliver of your privacy to be able to say: “Me! Me! Look at me-e-e!” 

Social media is “me”-focused: This is a selfie of me. This is a selfie of me and my boyfriend. This is a selfie of me and my wet hankie, after my boyfriend broke up with me. This is a selfie of me.

Social scientists have plenty to say about how social media has changed our outlook and culture. Let them yada-yada-yada about that. They’re qualified and I’m not, other than to state the obvious - that social media has positives and negatives. 

I’m guessing that - by isolating us - social media is a major cause of depression. I’m also guessing that - by uniting us through shared connections - social media is a major cause of happiness. And ... I’m guessing social media is addictive (“How many Likes has my post received?”), which is a no-brainer.

Addiction tends not to be a good thing. Those “Likes” are the reward pellets Mr. Rat receives for posting a baby animal photo or a yummy food photo or a this-was-me-25-pounds-and-10-years-ago photo. We all “Like” those photos. We could all use a whole lot more of them in our lives.

But hey! My mother used to pick up the phone when she wanted to connect with someone. She knew fast enough if someone “Liked” her or not. I’m a fan of social media, but rarely phone anyone. The world has changed. 

As for Twitter ... Why do I feel like a bird brain when I tweet? Is it because I feel like I’ve just stumbled into a cocktail party conversation without one clue what anyone’s talking about? Am I the only Twit wandering around cyberspace talking to people I don’t know, never will know, and whose names I’ve already forgotten? 

Here’s a not-untypical scenario. Let’s say I send a man a “Like” because he’s posted photos of his good-looking puppy. Spoiler alert: Sometimes a puppy is just a puppy.

And let’s say this man acknowledges my “Like” by “Following” me ... Does this mean he’s a creepy stalker or does this mean he merely “Liked” my “Like”? Does etiquette require that I acknowledge his “Follow” with another “Follow”?

I almost never “Follow” anyone except literary agents or other writers, so I’m sure as heck not going to “Follow” some dork with his puppy on display. I do the polite thing, which is to “Follow” him for a day or two before quietly dropping him.

This is The Compleat Idiot’s Guide to Twitter. It’s actually The Incompleat Idiot’s Guide to Twitter. As usually happens to me at cocktail parties, I have no idea what more to say. Besides, the light’s perfect just now … I want to take a selfie.

© Nicole Parton, 2019