if you figure out exactly what the heezy you’re supposed to, like, DO with Twitter, please to let me know, sir.
I don't know what you're supposed to do with Twitter, but Twitter, for now, satisfies my need to publish tiny short-form pillbombs, small-caliber blasts of insight and sarcasm, but mostly sarcasm, the sorta stuff which — for reasons of length and content — I can't get away with on my blog but which I have to get away with somewhere.
I do this for me, not you, not because I think I have anything you need, but because authoring content of all shapes and sizes is what I need.
Which is why I don't follow anyone1. As much as I'm interested in the farty minutiae of everyone's day-to-day, I don't know that I have time for another timesucking feedreader right now. I have Twitter set to deliver any and all "@ddmeyer" replies, but I don't have much interest in the Twittersphere2 beyond my front stoop.
What's interesting about my specific purposing of Twitter (and what makes it worth even a passing mention on this blog) is that some folks find it inexplicable, even offensive. Perhaps my explanation above will render the conspiracy theories, hyperventilations, and picket lines moot, and I don't want to generalize too much here, but this all seems a bit too weird, too rich in irony, to ignore.
I realize I'm already positioning myself as the obnoxious party guest at the Twitter Mansion, but here it is on the real: as with a hammer, a fax machine, or any other tool, I'm unobliged to a) Twitter, b) the community y'all have constructed around it, or especially c) the social norms and artifice you've invested in that community.
I'm just over here, in my own shed, banging away at some nails because I find the experience satisfying. Watch or don't, but resenting my satisfaction because it isn't yours, because this tool doesn't apply identically to my life as it does yours, speaks precisely to my historic irritation with the School 2.0 sectarians.