Jumping off the Twitter bandwagon

Before going public, I had to think long and hard, because the consequences may be severe. When you reject anything new, exciting, and technologically innovative, you risk getting thrown off the hip-and-cool train.

But it's no use pretending any longer: I don't love Twitter. I'm sorry. We just don't click.

It's not that the swift, succinct social network has wronged me in any way. My relationship with e-mail has been far more strained. Twitter has never, as far as I know, infected my computer with viruses, slimed my home page with pop-up porn clips, or clogged my family's cyber-arteries with spam. E-mail has done all of this, plus losing important messages and sending me annoying notes telling me my mailbox is full and to please deal with the problem.

But if e-mail is the exasperating, all-knowing secretary you would love to fire but can't live without, Twitter is the lightning-fast tattooed bike messenger who never brings a package worth opening.

Twitter and I were first introduced last winter in a kind of speed date, when a colleague persuaded me to sign up for it, promising, "You're going to love this."

Between Jan. 28 and April 28, I logged on to Twitter 10 times. Four of them were to post innocuous comments ranting about Center City parking meters, extolling the virtues of my daughter's cats, and musing about the irony of police driving while talking on cell phones.

Another five of my tweets were to reach out for help with articles I was researching - attempts to tap into the collective consciousness for sources and tips. But Twitter's responses were random, self-centered, and boring. So I stopped returning its calls.

I totally understand why others are smitten. Twitter has won an estimated 18 million to 20 million devoted admirers in the United States and 32 million internationally. As my friend John Timpane reported recently, Twitter has given citizens in repressive nations a vital tool for communication with the outside world. For Iranians, whose election protests have been stifled, what's not to love about a tiny telegraphic device that can pierce the government's soundproof curtain?

In Philadelphia, however, silence is not a problem. To begin with, most of us live in apartments, rowhouses, or twins. Share walls with your neighbors for 20 years, and you've got yourself more up-to-the-second transmissions than anyone could want.

Twitter, of course, gives you more control. But yodeling into cyberspace to hear the hollow echo of my own 140 characters or less? I just don't have the time for this much fun.

I know. I'm turning my back on an invaluable resource. 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 (Michael Jackson, June 25) or years before the death actually occurs (Natalie Portman, Jeff Goldblum, and George Clooney, last week).

To shun Twitter also is to deprive oneself of access to the personal musings of great legislative minds. "I did big wooohoo for Justice Ginsberg," Sen. Claire McCaskill of Missouri tweeted in February, when she saw Judge Ruthie enter the halls of Congress.

Call me a fool for failing to take advantage of the greatest social network since Facebook, MySpace, LinkedIn, Classmates.com, the coffee shop up the street, the parents association at my daughter's school, the alumni groups from college and graduate school, my neighborhood gym, the farmers market, the hardware store, my address book, the Yellow Pages, my dinner table, and the dog park. Agoraphobia's a bummer, isn't it?

When relationships go bad, I usually blame myself. For a while, I wondered if the problem was with me, not Twitter. So I attended a seminar about how to make the most of the network. All I remember from the 90-minute presentation is that we were warned that it's impolite to use the network purely for self-promotion.

Note to MaxVirility, who is selling "all-herbal vmax," and Eileen & Elise, who want me to know they're flattered that a "hair-removal brand exec wants to speak to us about our 'PR/Marketing/Internet Freak' success," and the chef touting his $18 menu, currently featuring gazpacho and pork chops with panzanella: You're breaking the code of conduct.

I went to a funeral last weekend for a friend who was one of the most gregarious, social beings I've ever known. Her family distributed cards with sayings that meant a lot to her. One of them was from the Dalai Lama: "Spend some time every day alone."

Like so much good advice, that raises a question: How? We all are so tied to communication devices that they have formed a demonic union, pursuing us with exclamation points and flashing lights and ringtones wherever we go. Pick up! Pick up! Read me! Read me! Answer me! Answer me!

The last time I logged on to Twitter, it was to read the "About Us" section for the purposes of this article. You'll never believe what I found there. The third FAQ is: "Is Twitter too much information?"

Give Twitter credit for self-awareness and a valiant attempt to justify its existence with the answer: "Twitter is ambient - updates from your friends and relatives float to your phone, IM, or Web site, and you are only expected to pay as much or as little attention to them as you see fit."

Got it. For me, that will be none.

So go ahead, slide open the doors to the hip-and-cool train and push me out into the valley of the Luddites. On second thought, don't bother. I'll jump.