Twitter twattle

Half back of a matchbox, half workshop discussion feedback section at the work away day.

That pretty much sums up my Twitter experience so far.

Back-of-matchbox-like in its relentless dedication to the succinct clever quote; workshop discussion feedback-y in its reverence to bullet-pointed summations of the big stuff. The stuff generally beyond control of worker bees to begin with; a reality overshadowed by enough flip-chart papered enthusiasm to provoke ordinary decent lethargic and bitter people to break into spontaneous applause at the end.

Suspending enough disbelief in the order of things to endure an exchange of woeful wisecracks with the super boss in the lunch queue is one thing; hovering over the reply button to your heroes on Twitter, quite another. It’s like nodding to the super super boss up ahead but inches from the lasagne or curry (the truly powerful), only to discover they are waving at the super super super boss three worker bees behind. I’m kidding myself the away day lunch queue is as effective a leveler between folk as it fancies itself to be.

It’s all part of the Weird Evangelical Group Effect (WEGE), first observed at gatherings of neighbours round the touring Child of Prague for a few jams of the rosary back in ’70s Ireland, and subsequently while wearing uncomfortably tight underwear. Every group gathering since those early glory-bes has required a suspension of  disbelief of one variety or another. And Twitter is no different, if slightly more bizarre and colourful in its composition.

School. Work. The ferry to Scotland passenger list. The Brethren of Bono Basher Begrudgers. The Order of Mars Bars. Cheese Appreciation Societies. Repeal The Righteous Campaign. Come Dine With Me Fanclub. Friends of the Stephen Fry Seeking Missile. It’s always the same: the cool flourish, the charismatic are drooled over (by me, cooly), and every so often a guest speaker accidentally lands beside me in the lunch queue and all the best laboured-over one-liners in my head sound like an exclamation mark just farted when released. Round of applause at the end though.  We all really connected.

So, back to the relative chaos of my own desk I retreat thereafter. Vowing to not let it deteriorate into such a mess as before. A fews post at a time, if at all. Forget slow blogging. Welcome to Cluster Blogging. In which spurts of mouthing-off are punctuated by relatively more peaceful periods of silence. That is, if I succeed in suspending enough disbelief in myself.

matchbox

An early Twitter feed from the 1970s

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12 thoughts on “Twitter twattle

  1. I don’t like Twitter. I do not get it. I will just be literal and non-metaphorical here ‘cos I feel like a midweek, plain-speaking rant. Twitter seems to be 1. a rabid frenzy of following so that strangers will follow you back (no reason, just because Twitter is all about the high numbers); 2. a sycophantic slavish desperation to be touched by a Twitter celebrity / your favourite Clever Famous Person by having a Tweet acknowledged, thus achieving some tragic tiny bit of Twitter celebrity for yourself (you MUST also like and retweet said celeb’s every shite offering); 3. a frustrating endless hideous quest to coin the genius (stupidly short) quip that goes viral; 4. nearly forgot: repeated embarrassing, sheepish tweetings of your blog stuff so someone might look at it.
    Folk tell me it’s great for the news but that seems to get obliterated by a tsunami of drivel on the home feed. Twitter’s brilliant, they tell me. Yeah I’m on it for some reason and trying hard to like it, but it’s the weirdest social media platform yet IM humble O.

    • This. (That’s my nod to the grindingly irritating short-hand declaration of emphatic support and righteousness so beloved of twitters.)

      Reading between the lines, what I think you’re saying there is that Twitter is a loada shite. Can’t but nod along to all of that. Can I be your sycophant? I heart it you when you rant ‘lol’.
      My favourites are those who talk to themselves and are quite OK with that. Some folks’ internal dialogue is quite funny. They’re in the minoriy though.
      The shameless re-tweeting of blog stuff doesn’t even work, even when it’s posted again three more times.
      When I first stuck my screen round the door, I got the impression that everyone in Ireland was best mates with everyone else. If my real friends got wind of me offering unsolicited advice, tedious hair-splitting arguments and/or hugs to someone I’ve never met, they’d brain me. (That excludes you, birdie, if you’re reading)

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