Follow Me

It may be stress.  It may be boredom.  Whatever the cause, I've found myself somewhat addicted to Twitter of late.  It's such an odd, yet interesting, phenomenon -- this ability to "follow" all sorts of folks (and other entities).  Suddenly, there's this (perhaps false) sense of intimacy, as one peruses the various and sundry tweets issuing from the keyboards of celebrities, quasi-celebrities, journalists, humorists, and assorted "regular" people.  It's a bit like low-dose Reality TV.  Only...in some aspects, more real.  I imagine certain high profile tweeters have publicists and such overseeing their Twitterverse output.  And clearly, for those whose livelihoods (or egos) are heavily dependent on public perception and interest, there's a necessary degree of calculation as to what they are "broadcasting."  But, for the most part, it serves as a relatively un-filtered peephole into the lives and minds of others.  Which is kind of creepy in some respects.  But I guess if they're putting their stuff out there intentionally, it's a little less so.


I've accumulated an eclectic assortment of followees, ranging from BravoTV "stars," to AI contestants, to political pundits, to newsies.  It makes for an interesting feed, that's for certain.  Fukushima followed by filming of the latest Ford/Idol commercial, followed by Operation Odyssey Dawn, followed by Giggy the Pom's latest trots down the red carpet. 

I've also invested far too much energy into learning how to integrate Twitter and Facebook and my iPhone. Presently, I have 4 or 5 different apps warring with one another to assist in that endeavor.  I don't know that my inner tech-geek will ever be fully sated.  Although, I'm thinking the one that keeps sending me random textvertisements needs to get the boot.

What's a little odder is the random requests received from others to follow me.  Facebook is one thing -- there, interest is typically prompted by actually knowing (and presumably liking) the person whose status updates one chooses to browse.  Not so much in the Twittersphere.  I haven't yet decided how I feel about that.  On the one hand, I'd like to think that, from time to time, I actually have semi-interesting -- and, more importantly, humorous -- observations to share with the rest of the world.  On the other, why would anyone who doesn't know me from Boo give a rat's patootie what I think of the weather, geo-politics, or this year's crop of crooners on AI? 

In any event, Twitter's "following" concept has combined with the long-intended migration of my blog from its original racy URL to its new and improved (and more appopriately descriptive) locale and inspired this morning's edition.  Yes, folks, I've moved.  Not far.  But for those of you who became official followers of "Sex and the Septic Tank," the address has changed, and you'll have to re-follow the new one (if you so choose).  On the bright side, I figured out how to adjust the settings so that you don't have to register or "sign in" to post a comment (which never seemed to work very well). 

Lastly, all this thought and talk of following brought to mind an oldie but goodie I've decided to share on this fine Sunday morning: