Immersed in the Twitterverse

A few months ago, I signed up for Twitter, utterly convinced that the project would be abandoned in a matter of days. Even my username-- the ever-intimidating BB_Gunz-- was a joke (its origin being my bling-sporting, rap-happy alter ego from Halloween 2008.)

How wrong I was. 7 months and 630 tweets later, I'm turning into somewhat of a Twitter fiend, and I'm not sure how I feel about it.

On the one hand, it's gotten me off of AIM, where I wasted away countless hours in high and school and college glued to my computer (who knows how many books I could've finished with that lost time?). For the most part, tweets have replaced the function of away messages, and even instant messages. IMs are a time-consuming effort, and full-time employment leaves little room for one-on-one online conversations after staring at a screen for the greater part of the day at work.

With AIM falling out of the picture, Twitter keeps me connected with friends and classmates-- people who have been busier than ever with grad work, jobs, and travel ever since the end of undergrad life-- sometimes even moreso than Facebook does (gasp!). But how?

Well, frequent tweets come off as less irritating than frequent Facebook status updates, since the sole purpose of Twitter is to tweet, whereas Facebook arguably serves more purposes, including photo album storage and an event invitation feature. We also usually tend to follow those friends on Twitter that we feel closer to (remember those 10 kids from freshman orientation you still haven't de-friended yet on Facebook? Me neither), and thus care more about what they have to say.

Twitter has also become the first place where I get my news in the morning. As I'm shoving Cheerios down my throat at the kitchen table, I can flip through a convenient mobile Twitter app on my iPod Touch. My favorite news sources-- the NY Times, NPR, the HuffPost-- are all on Twitter (though I still browse the regular Times & NPR homepages from a desktop computer on a daily basis. Twitter can't possibly cover all the good stuff.)

Thus, obtaining information via Twitter is quick and easy. Information is neatly packaged into 140-character units. Updates are short, sweet and to the point. Drawing upon "brevity is the soul of wit," Twitter users strive to entertain and educate their followers in a manner that's concise, humorous, and most of all, memorable. It's interesting, and often impressive, to see how people express themselves when given such a tight space-- it may even bring out their literary best. Tweeting, or "micro-blogging" as some have dubbed it, is perhaps our newest popular art form.

On the other hand, Twitter is yet another one of those addicting digital drugs. The instantaneous, up-to-the-minute tweets popping up in my feed leave me thirsty for the latest news and friend-related updates. But a mere taste isn't enough-- I find myself wanting to share my own news too. The result: signing in more frequently, tweeting more often. In the realm of cyberspace, Twitter is a massive black hole right in the middle of it, and I'm getting sucked in.

Not to mention that my previous comment calling Twitter an "art form" neglects the juvenile, incoherent babble that graces the pages of numerous D-list celebrities. The tweets of reality stars like Tila Tequila and Snooki aren't much different from what you'd find on the wall of a bathroom stall. These are the people with legions of followers numbering in the hundred thousands (and sometimes millions). And they contribute to what many eager tweeters consider to be the main draw of the Twitterverse: civilians stalking celebs.

Personally, I don't follow too many celebrities on Twitter (the count is at two with Ellen DeGeneres and Coldplay), and perhaps this is part of why I'm not entirely hooked. I also tend to tweet far less on the weekends or stray from Twitter altogether, choosing instead to spend time with my significant other (who I miss very much during the tweet-filled workweek. Is Twitter use a kind of coping mechanism for the lonely long-distance relationship? That's an essay for another time). Additionally, I try to limit myself with a max number of tweets, which is normally somewhere between four and eight. More than ten just seems like too much for one day-- once I hit the double digits, I back off. I don't want to flood my friends' timelines with drivel, which leads me to my last cautionary measure: avoiding the mundane (i.e. "Just woke up. About to use the toilet. Sweet").

Thanks to Twitter, just about anyone can publish their thoughts to the world. It's a gift, but many don't think about it that way. Using the written word to communicate to the masses used to be an amazing honor, and I always made that my mantra as an amateur student journalist. It all comes down to the fact that tweeting is, essentially, whatever we make of it-- in short, you are what you tweet.

Aimless Navigation: Wandering a Lost Digital Landscape

AOL Instant Messenger (more commonly and fondly known as AIM) is collecting dust. Since chat functions were built directly into popular sites like Facebook and Google (via Gmail's)-- and also since Twitter took over the world of social media-- AIM is becoming more and more obsolete (and so is AOL). There's no need for an AIM away message on your laptop all day when you can instead simply send out a new tweet, informing your entire fan base (if you're lucky to have one) where you are and what you're doing, if you choose to use Twitter for that purpose.

I remember how magical AIM was back in 1999 when I created my screen name and signed on for the first time. The concept of instant internet communication through IMs, compared to the waiting game of sending and receiving emails, literally blew my 7th-grader mind. Over the years, AIM became far more than a communication tool; it strengthened existing friendships and provided a safer, less awkward way of connecting with my numerous teenage crushes. (Whether or not all that hard work IM-flirting paid off is an entirely different story.) The point is that AIM signified a social revolution for my generation, and its gradual disappearance feels strange and different to me. But the times, they are a-changin'.

Both AIM and Xanga (one of the earlier weblog communities) played a crucial role in my high school social life while growing up in the early 2000s. As an outlet for venting about the woes of adolesence, my Xanga page was both a blessing and a curse. How could someone say so much yet so little at the same time? It's easy when you have an audience of teenagers eager and willing to read and comment, reassuring that all those empty words weren't for nothing.

Actually, the act of posting to my Xanga page as a 17-year-old was not unlike my behavior as a 2-year-old, right after my parents brought my twin brothers home from the hospital: there was a lot of jumping up and down, banging on our cookware with a large rubber spoon, screaming "Look at me! Look at me!" In other words, talking (or shrieking, rather) merely for the sake of being noticed. As high schoolers, our emotionally/sexually frustrated selves sought to be recognized and appreciated just as much as a jealous older sibling. We craved connection without the risk and fear of rejection, and the safety net of the web was there to catch us when we fell.

Let me get one thing straight: I don't regret having a Xanga, because I would have suffocated even more than I already was without one. It's also a hoot laughing at my saptastic, angst-ridden entries (and also embarrasing, but mostly endearing). But while Xanga and AIM did the trick, sometimes I wonder what my high school experience would have been like if sites like Facebook and Twitter had existed. Part of me wonders how easy it would have been to stay in the loop about friends, photos, parties and crushes. Perhaps I wouldn't have felt so isolated from my peers. Maybe I could have found an online community to come out to before the pressure and pain of lingering secrecy did me in.

On the other hand, I probably would've grown up too quickly. There's no doubt that my parents certainly would not have approved of their 14-year-old daughter's membership on one or more social networking sites. I'd probably feel the same too about my own kids-- I already find myself gasping and tsking at profiles of junior high schoolers on Facebook. (A minimum age requirement of 18 would be safest, but it's just too easy for anyone to get around that by lying.)

I'll never know how my life may have turned out if I'd been sucked into the Twitterverse at an early age. Despite being perptetually "in the know," it's quite possible that I wouldn't have felt any less lonely. What happens when you flip through the TV listings on a Sunday afternoon? There are about a thousand channels, yet nothing's really on (until you thankfully come across a rerun of your favorite show). A Facebook friend list isn't too different. Out of 860 faces, I can count the best and truest on one hand.

Stranger in an Unstrange Land

In May 2009, I donned a cap and gown and sealed the deal on my Villanova University undergraduate education. Four months later, I still feel as though that moment didn't quite happen.

No, I'm not crazy. Of course it happened. (Who could forget the surprise speech from Coach Jay Wright?)

What I mean is that the moment is still fresh in my past-- in our past (hi there, Class of 2009). Fresh enough such that I don't exactly feel like a graduate just yet. True, I have a job (knock on wood), but not enough time has passed to make me any more of an "adult" because of it. Simply put, I am a recent college graduate.

Therefore, when I visit my beloved alma mater-- which I have already done several times since my official exit from undergrad life-- I still feel like a student. And I have more than a few younger friends who are still blissfully caught up in college, so why would I not pay them a visit when I can? Makes sense to me.

Well, it doesn't seem to make sense to some other people. What I've discovered in the midst of this post-Villanova abyss is that even recent college grads like myself are often viewed as outsiders, foreigners, even as invaders when we reappear on the Main Line.

Example: It's a Friday night and you're in town headed to Brownies, a Villanova senior's favorite place to spend happy hour. You fork over five bucks, grab your cup and enter the bar. You're about to dash over to the buffet line before it gets ungodly long when you quite literally bump into an old buddy from the Class of '10.

Almost instantly, these few words are emitted from this person's mouth:
"What are you doing here?"

Ah. Except they really come out sounding more like this--
"What are you doing here?!"
or "What are you doing here?!"

Wow, that was awkward. This phrase is usually coupled with arched eyebrows, and a look of complete and utter confusion.

I'm sorry, but I don't understand. In the span of just a few months, has my alumna status also labeled and subsequently denounced me as a "creeper?" Is it really so strange to come back to visit more frequently than once a semester? (i.e., Homecoming) And shouldn't us recent college grads cherish these visits to our alma maters while we can, while we still have friends who go there? (Honestly, after the Class of 2011 graduates from Villanova, I won't have much of a reason to be at Main Line bars unless it's for a reunion-type event).

I'm not going to have a random acquaintance or crappy Facebook friend make me feel like a weirdo when I'm back at my school. I won't allow it. Truthfully speaking, your real friends will be thrilled to see you again, and make you feel just as welcome as you should be.

After all, wasn't it just yesterday when we were playing beer pong on a Monday night and ordering from Domino's at 3 AM? Yeah, I thought so.