Once again I was lured into some Web 2.0 way of communicating with friends, and once again, it just doesn’t suit me. I am not interested in telling you the minutiae of my day. I have no gene for exhibitionism. I am speaking of Twitter: It gives me the opportunity to tell you I’m at home or at work or bored or happy. And although I haven’t found my friends’ tweets boring or redundant, I also haven’t found them, well, useful. (Nothing personal, my dears; it’s just that the important stuff is on your blogs or in your e-mails, anyway.)
Twitter is for me the cyber-space version of small talk at a party. The superficial hellos, how-are-yous, with questions about who you know here, do you like this song, have you tried that green dip. Better conversation is impossible because of the din of the music and all the others shouting their “ice-breakers”. I can’t do small talk. I want real conversation, some bona fide story-telling and some laughs. If there’s nothing to talk about, then I want to be dancing. I have actually left parties because nothing engaged my brain or my feet (and to avoid eating all the green dip out of boredom). Getting drunk just isn’t enough for me.
So I’m leaving the cocktail party. I’ve had my fill of fancy drinks with umbrellas in them, the purpose of which is only to make the parade of women in black dresses and the men who ogle them a bit more interesting. I’d rather blog – the cyber equivalent of getting into an in-depth conversation over the next half hour with the stranger who went to the kitchen at the same time you did and with whom an instant connection was forged while hunting in the hostess’s cupboards for a glass without a stem for that drink of water.
Feel free to join me in the kitchen and get a break from the clamor that is the Twitter party in the living room. Leave a comment of 140 characters or more. Or less. 🙂