Crap. I signed up for a new account at Twitter.com; almost unintentionally. Sort of. I sign up for a lot of stuff, just to check it out and then forget all about it until I have to unsubscribe from the service’s mailing list. So I have a new rule this year, a resolution, if you will: If I can’t have the username “Mercy” or “Jenna”, I don’t sign up. I didn’t expect it to be available on Twitter, but it was. So here I am, stuck with a potentially addictive service.
What does Twitter do? It seems so simple and lame: you text message or IM the answer to the question, “What are you doing now?” The first thing I had to ask myself was, who cares what I’m doing? The answer to that question is: no-one. So I have free rein to “post” whatever I like, no matter how jejune, without it mucking up my blog. I also get to add friends and whatnot, so I can see what they are doing. That’s the addictive part: I can indulge my obsession with frivolous ephemera. And add my own. Neat, eh?