More Twitting

Ah, I get it now.

A month ago I signed up for Twitter as a means to vote in the "Shorty Awards," a.k.a. a hunk of engraved lucite given to notable twits in various categories -- the Twitter Oscars, it's been called. I saw it as a way to show a little love to the few tweets that I actually do read on occasion, namely those "by" the various interplanetary probes sent out by NASA/JPL, especially the pair of rovers on Mars, operating years beyond their original mission and design. (I'm a space and science geek on top of everything else.) So anyway: signed up, and put my toe in the water, expecting to find it a barren wasteland of 140-character blips from people calling themselves "Snooki" who want to know yo where my ho's at or whatever.

Well, it is that, truly, but then so is the blogspace and the Internet at large. (This is the point when I usually slip into the "I remember the 'MAKE MONEY FAST' Usenet wars" story, but I'll spare you.) In fact, the Internet is pretty much a "seek and you shall find" proposition. I had no idea that the nascent typosphere was out here lurking in the shadows, until I stumbled on Will Davis' portable typewriters site, and then the Yahoo! group, and then Strikethru and Monda's blogs. I'm glad that I fell into it, and broke my own (unspoken) rule of "I won't have a blog, I don't see the point, I don't know who would even bother reading it, grumpy grumpy, stay off my lawn." Now I'm pleased to be in your virtual company, and am finding a lot of similarities with you folks, despite geography.

Well, I was wrong about Twitter, too. It can be a means for shameless celebrity-watching, which I'll own up to: I'm following the MythBusters, and Wil Wheaton, and Conan O'Brien's daily tweets (depressing and funny!) and a few others. And I'll admit, that it's a bit like eavesdropping on a conversation at a party, but then the likelihood of me even being at a genuine in Real Life party with these people is slim to none, so I'm enjoying it. (To be fair, the MythBusters are just across the Bay from me, and I could realistically go all creepy-stalker on them if I wanted to. But they also have guns and explosives, so... no.) And then I stumbled across Rogert Ebert.

I "know" Ebert from his days reviewing movies on TV, and from his excellent reviews and Q&A columns now posted online. I know about his cancer battle, and read the recent Esquire profile, and for fun, looked him up. And this is where I realized I was wrong.

Yes, Twitter can be an extended game of "Yes, and..." where jokes (and one-ups) zip back and forth among friends and strangers, in a sudden ephemeral cloud of words, and yes, it can all-to-often be an outlet for inane "I just ate a sandwich" updates. I've been guilty of a couple of these myself, as the guilt settles in for not updating "enough," as if there were a minimum participation level that I was failing to reach. It's all of these things, but it's also a chance to listen in on short bursts of thought from people like Roger Ebert, and Neil Gaiman, and Stephen Fry, and the like. Your tastes might very from mine -- Ebert is almost furiously liberal, based on his responses to Tea Party folks and Sarah Palin -- but chances are you'll find someone out there to listen to. For someone like Ebert, whose living is based on the written words, it's a pleasure to watch someone work, confined within the limits of the service. (He compared it to a word game: packing the most meaning in the least space.)

So there, I was wrong. And I'm willing to own up to it. But I'm still not following anyone named "Snooki."

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.