Of chirpy little sounds, usually made by birds

And so it is that I have decided to wade back into the world of social networking (such an over used and abused word, that). Having completely given up on facebook, I decided to give microblogging a try. After all, since I love it here so much, I figured the micro version can’t be much different. But three days in, and I’m swimming around in the deep-end of a twitter feed I can’t keep up with. I’ve had my fair share of deflecting a few randoms who have tried to “follow” me. And most disconcerting of all, I find myself clicking the “compose new tweet” space three times a day, and promptly proceeding to draw a blank. It turns out I might have a case of twitter-fright. Like when you’re all set for the race, the whistle goes off, you dive in perfectly and all you need to do is keep the momentum going till you reach the other end. Except you suddenly feel like you’ve forgotten how to swim.

It turns out, twitter doesn’t turn me on as much as blogging does. Or maybe it can and I haven’t given it enough time. To be fair, its only been three days, most of which was spent trying to figure the damn thing out. Is it just me, or does any one else find it mildly creepy to have someone follow you!? It took some effort to cut through the layers and find that little check box that would shut the door on intruders, and teach them to politely ask before being let in. I’m old school like that.

Also, what’s up with the serial-hash-tagging. How can everything be pre-fixed with a hashtag? Where is the order and who filters common hashtags to get a real count of how many people are actually talking about the same thing? Like when the world went ballistic on Friday evening, I saw #Sachin, #sachin, #littlemaster, #Tondulkar. I’m an order-freak like that.

Then it took me a good long while to figure out who I should follow and how I can keep track of their feeds. Except the feed jumbles them all up and I felt like I was reading a really badly organised newspaper every morning. Ideally I’d like my current affairs separated from the random news. And my bloggy buddies with their blog updates (with those weird, shortened, misleading url thingies) separated from the regular friends who converse with each other on twitter. What’s up with that? Isn’t it a bit like shouting out to the whole wide world, annoying a whole bunch of people in process, and somewhere along the way getting your message across to the intended recipient? Yeah, I’m anal like that.

I like to keep things segregated, sorted. Life is easier that way. And I can actually read stuff the way I’d like to. Instead of feeling like I’m sinking with nowhere to hold on to.

So yes, maybe saying I have decided to wade is a bit ambitious. Because I’ve barely stuck my toes in and already I feel overwhelmed. Kind of like when the cold water hits you and you feel a surge pass through your body. So there I was, assessing the scene, gauging the temperature, wondering whether I should dive in or stay out, but before I could decide, someone had pushed me in. And so here I am, thrashing around, desperately looking for the closest ladder to climb out of the deep-end.

Take me to the baby pool. Where the little babies splash around, with inflatable arm bands to keep them safe. I feel like I need to learn the ropes again. All this anti-social-networking has made me rusty. Or maybe its the fact that I don’t get twitter.

There! I’ve said it. I don’t know what to do with it. And it does nothing for me. On the inside, that is. I was having more fun watching from the sidelines. When I didn’t have my own profile. And handle. And followers. When I was could walk in and out of tweets by celebrities, politicians, film-makers, sportsmen and the like. I found it far more interesting, engaging and informative.

This attempt to jump in without knowing quite what to do, has left me cold and shivering. I guess you have to get in and swim. Stay moving to stay warm. So while I figure it out, I’ve got to keep trying I guess. Except, like I said before, I don’t have much to say. Or perhaps the truth is, I have far too much to say. 140 characters just doesn’t cut it.


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