Twit

So I've gone and signed up with Twitter, solely to throw a vote or two in the Shorty Awards for best Twitter feed (I'm hooked on MarsRovers.) I still don't Get It Fully, as the kind of people with which I exchange messages don't have hyper-developed thumbs from life on a smart phone's keypad. I know this has been brought up before within our circle, but being neither a celebrity in need of ego boosting nor a robotic probe in need of Congressional funding, I don't see what normal mortals use the service for.

It's been pointed out that once upon a time, in select parts of the world, mail service was far more frequent than today, providing an analog (or analogue) for email. I refuse to believe this is like tweeting -- mail is a personal one-to-one correspondence with no length limits, Twitter is a simulcast of tiny info-bursts, with no clear recipient in mind. I'm just now realizing the brilliance of the service's name, as wandering through the site brings to mind the cacophony of tromping through an exotic bird enclosure, with each brightly-plumed resident trying to out-shout the others in search of a mate. Maybe I'm looking at Twitter all wrong. Maybe I should be using this a a means to disseminate my DNA, if you know what I mean. My wife may take issue, though.

A little quick searching makes it appear that the "hashtag" #typosphere is previously unknown on the service. (A search of #typewriter finds many a keycutter, I don't recommend hunting there if you're squeamish or prone to anger. Sadly, I'm both.) I'm certainly not one to encourage a me-too attitude -- just because I'm jumping off a bridge doesn't mean you should do it -- but if you're already out there in the jungle amid all the other twits, give a shout to #typosphere and maybe we'll all land in the same friendly tree.