Tuesday, October 8, 2013

A Reading from the Book of Genesis

I will follow you will you follow me
All the days and nights that we know will be
I will stay with you will you stay with me
Just one single tear in each passing year...

While I know less about things technological than I do about most other things, a few months back I broke down and opened a Twitter account.  Showing off how little I know about it, I do not have an especially clever name (how does @adamkenny89 grab you for its inherent level of sophistication).  I do not really use it for anything productive at all.  I do post the link to my blog there daily and (in the interest of true confession) when I write something that I think a particular audience might enjoy or find interesting I send the link to my blog to them directly.  For example, the piece I wrote about the 2013 NYC Tunnel To Towers Run I sent to the good people at the Tunnel To Towers Foundation because I thought they should be aware of it since it commented upon what work they do every day and what an exceptional job they do of pulling off that particular event annually. 

Other than using it to circulate my blog, I find Twitter a fairly effective way of staying atop the day's events and something that affords me the opportunity to occasionally fire off my own particular brand of humor.  Well, one hundreed forty characters of it anyway.  Saturday was one such day.  As I was half-watching the second half of the Rutgers/SMU game I was in and out of the Twitter app on my phone.  One of my favorite writers about college football is Pat Forde.  Saturday afternoon, as Maryland was getting the shit kicked out of them at Florida State (while wearing one of the less hideous incantations of a uniform that the Terps have been sporting for the past couple of seasons) Forde Tweeted about what he perceived to be the Terps' new duds and the fact that they did not make him want to vomit in his own mouth, which he appreciated.  His perceived "attack" on Maryland's unis, which clearly were the key issue of the day in a game that they ultimately lost 63-0, prompted the ire of a young man who is apparently a Maryland fan.  The guy unleashed some fury at Pat Forde, which prompted replies from other people (including Yours truly), none of which were directed towards the uniforms the Terps were sporting but, instead, the manner in which they were playing.  

About ten minutes after I sent my wholly tongue-in-cheek take on the affair, I received what I presume is supposed to be the Twitter version of the "put down":  a response from the little d-bag commenting upon the fact that I have but twenty "followers".  I laughed aloud sitting in my living room - but only after considering for half a heartbeat whether laughter or sobs should carry the day.  I knew not whether to laugh or to cry at the realization that even when limited to 140 characters, Twitter is a forum in which someone can still have nothing intelligible to say.  The Twitterverse version of "Oh Yea!" I reckon.  

His retort (giving that word the broadest possible definitional interpretation permitted by the Einstein Estate) prompted me to do a bit of Twitter research.  As of yesterday - at 2:45 EDT - Miley Cyrus had 14.5 Million Followers.  Lyle Lovett - on the other hand - has 19,700.  While I sought out law school as a refuge from hard math, even I know that the difference between those two is a lot.  Kim Kardashian had (again as of 2:45 EDT yesterday) 18.5 Million Followers on Twitter whereas Hillary Clinton's official account showed 834,600 followers.  Is Mrs. Clinton crapping all over Lyle Lovett's head?  Sure is.  But in the world of Twitter, the gap between Ms. Kardashian and Mrs. Clinton is almost the flip side of the gap between their respective IQs.    

All hail the new American system of measurement:  It is not the breadth of your character or the height of your intellect, but rather the number of people who follow your every movement on Twitter that calculates your value to the tribe?  Methinks that as some point - probably after the completion of puberty and the full descent of his testicles - my young friend on Twitter will come to realize the folly of his position.  At least I hope he does - for his own good.  If he does not, then I hope the fast-food establishment in which he shall spend the remainder of his income-producing years is one that I frequent and that he works a shift conducive to my patronage.  It would be a crime to be deprived of a person of his intellect with whom to joust.  A real crime.



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