Just the other day, I received the following “direct message” via Twitter from a tweeter named Cary:
“Any particular reason you don’t follow Lisa? I know, this is weird.”
To which I replied:
“Nope. Sometimes I just don’t take the time to think about whether I’ll reciprocate or not.”
And I went back to working.
At the end of the day, I decided to follow her, and I got this message from Cary:
“Thanks! There was a complex in the making…”
And this message from Lisa:
“thanks for the follow,(sic) we have been twittering about you all day!”
Really? All fucking day? I looked at their archived tweets. Sure enough, they’d been publicly (to their followers, at least) speculating all day as to the rationale for the lack of followership from a litigious rodent. On a weekday. When I clicked the evidently coveted “follow” button, a tired reference to “muskrat love” appeared on my screen.
The next day, I un-followed both of them. I follow Twitter on my blackberry, so if you write too frequently, I can’t keep up with the other folks I enjoy, and I’m not going to follow you. It ain’t personal.
Incidentally, Cary and Lisa stopped following me a day or two later. I like to think it was a much-discussed, tandem decision about which they both derived much satisfaction. I hope the phrase “this’ll show ’em” was typed.
My response: EAT A DICK. Because if you only add friends to a 140-character messenger service so that you can prop up your ego by piling up strangers who might give a damn what you’re doing, your time can better be spent chomping a phallus. Just not mine.
And by the way, Lisa, a semicolon goes between independent clauses, not a comma.