Seriously, I hate Twitter. I hate the idea of Twitter. In fact, as I hop on my hypocrisy broom since I have a column and a blog, in this age of blogs and Twitter and Facefook and MySpace, it may be time for many folks to shut up.

There’s a reason we aren’t telepaths: I don’t have to hear your every thought, especially when you think it. Too many of us as is don’t take the time to sit with our thoughts, to mull things over, before we open our pie holes. No, we feel something in the moment and then blog it, let your mouth get away from us (or rather, our fingers get ahead of us as we come down with a case of keyboard courage).

Maybe I’m just disappointed by the level of conversation. More likely, I see myself as a professional writer and with the Internet being largely a medium of words (and porn), I tend to cling to the pipe dream that as written communicators, we should be able to present our ideas and opinions in clear and precise ways. Of course, the other edge of that writer’s sword that I’m swinging is that writers have ego enough to believe that what they write deserves to be read. Unfortunately, Twittering everything that pops into your head gives plenty of room for people to see the shallowness and vacuity of those thoughts.

It’s easy to shoot yourself in the foot on the Internet. As we vomit our gossipy messages all over the Internet, heedless of the mess we make, we forget two things: one, careless words can’t be unsaid, even more so on the Internet; and two, the Internet is forever and we don’t realize that nothing is truly deleted.

Maybe I’m just a curmudgeon who can’t idly flit away a day updating folks on his mood. Keep in mind that I don’t text message. I don’t believe the language of Shakespeare should be reduced to OMG C U L8TR, but that’s a rant for another day.

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