Let me give you a few of this week’s greatest hits from my personal Twitter.
“That tiny little piece of passive voice in ‘American Pie’ always gets me. Flawless song otherwise.”
“Thank you Netflix, for getting me. ‘Displaying Emotional 20th Century Period Pieces Based on Books’.”
And let’s not forget the all important, “Bud Foster: a Kangaroo,” because that makes sense.
See, there’s a reason why I have a private Twitter.
I liken my Twitter experience to a less annoying, more rapid-fire Facebook-status-posting spree. Whenever I have a novel idea, I smack it up on Twitter to inform my friends of my genius, in 140 characters or less, of course.
Now, there are plenty of good reasons to have a professional Twitter, but just not for me. My friends hardly want to look at seven back-to-back tweets of pictures of my dogs, let alone future employers or random she-said column stalkers.
For me, Twitter is an outlet to let my quirky, perceptive juices flow. It’s also a place I can shamelessly retweet things about Hokie football, a Chaucer parody account and someone who calls himself Pimp Bill Clinton (I also frequently retweet the real Bill Clinton, but for different reasons).
This is going to sound like an incredible tweeting faux pas, but sometimes I even deny followers. It’s not that I don’t think people would benefit from hearing my opinions on various subjects at all hours of the day, but more that my followers list is a highly-exclusive, cultivated group of people I wouldn’t mind hearing intricate details of my life. Or what song’s currently stuck in my head.
There are even a precious few people I follow, but deny requests to follow me in return. If you find yourself on this particular list, be flattered. These are people I care about, but respect too much to let them think less of me for tweeting things like “Male Siri has a hot voice.” Not that I tweeted that or anything.
So here’s a challenge for you, three people who are reading this column. Try to find me on Twitter — I dare you. Try to follow me. You’ll most likely be denied, and consequently Twitter-stalked in return. Don’t take offense though; really I’m just sparing you from tasteless midnight Flannery O’Connor jokes.