Melissa Dribben
The Philadelphia Inquirer
“It’s no use pretending any longer,” said Melissa Dribben. I’m breaking up with Twitter. I tried to make it work, I really did. Like some 20 million other Americans, I joined the networking site, where I could post thoughts about whatever moved me and follow other people’s “tweets.” If you happened to be following me, you would have heard all about “the virtues of my daughter’s cats,” among other scintillating topics. Most of what I read from others was equally “random, self-centered, and boring.”
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Twitter, in fact, reminds me of a “lightning-fast tattooed bike messenger who never brings a package worth opening.” So I dropped out. I know—“I’m missing out on the chance to be among the millions who know a celebrity has died 15 minutes before the rest of the world finds out,” not to mention hearing that celebrities such as Natalie Portman and Jeff Goldblum have died, even when they haven’t. And by shunning Twitter, I’ll have to get by without “the personal musings of great legislative minds,” such as Sen. Claire McCaskill, who once tweeted, “I did big woohoo for Justice Ginsberg.” So call me a Luddite if you like, and push me off the “hip and cool train.” Actually, don’t bother. “I’ll jump.”
