overtwitterers

Maggie Mason wrote an excellent article for The Morning News: Writing My Twitter Etiquette Article: 14 Ways to Use Twitter Politely. I highly recommend it. I started to comment on it on her blog post twitter etiquette, but I realized I had so much more to say about it than was appropriate for a comment. Plus, it really is a "bugs me", so it's better this way.

Here's the start of my comment:

I'm most bothered by a derivation of the don't-pause-between-tweets set — the sunrise-to-sunset twitterers. I'm talking play-by-play running commentary from "Good morning twitter!" to "Good night twitter!". I've had to unfollow people that I really do like in real life because of that. Come on! No one on earth is *that* interesting! If you were truly that interesting, you wouldn't have that much time to twitter.

Let's be honest. If you were that interesting, you'd be me. I'm kidding! I am fully self aware that I am not that interesting.

But here's a full, true-ish-to-life example, in case you don't know what I'm talking about (or are one of these people, in which case, I'm so sorry, I don't want to hurt your feelings, but you're crushing my will to live, a lil' bit. It's not that I don't love you. I just need some room to breathe.):

"Good morning, twitter!"
"Fixing cereal for breakfast"
"Heading to work"
"Stuck in traffic"
"I'm at work now. Ho hum."
"Going for Chinese food for lunch"
"Can't decide: general tso's chicken, or general tso's pork..."
"Mmmm. Lunch was delicious. I got the chicken"
"Back at work. Now I feel like a nap"
"I'm already hungry again!"
"Getting afternoon coffee"
"Work is over, finally!"
"Driving home"
"Stopping at grocery store"
"Fixing green beans for dinner"
"Dinner was good. Gonna watch Mannequin 2 now"
"Getting ready for bed"
"Goodnight, twitter. Sweet dreams!"
"I can't fall asleep"
"Fixing myself some warm milk"
"For real this time. Good night, twitter"

Seriously?!? Every day?!? Do you really think anyone out there cares that you are currently, say, clipping your toenails? That the universe is waiting with bated breath to find out that you are... sitting down... picking up your fork... chewing... swallowing... digesting... taking a breath? I don't need to read every mundane second of your life. I have my own life for that.

I want to hear funny things you overhear, bizarre/hilarious things you see, that ridiculously clumsy embarrassing thing you just did, where you are that would make me jealous, funny things you have to say, snarky commentary, or "join me for dinner/drinks at [wherever]."

Unless you are inviting all of twitter over for dinner, or into your bed, keep it to yourself! Unless the dinner you're cooking caught your kitchen on fire and a fire truck came, not interested! Here's a good rule of thumb: If you are twittering more than 10 times a day every day, you better be funny or insightful or the Dalai Lama. Scratch that; you better be Joel McHale. If 20 times a day, you might want to get a hobby. Consider journaling.

If more than that (dear god - more than 20 times a day?!? should someone even have to tell you this?) think hard if your tweets are truly of interest to anyone other than A) yourself, B) your spouse, or C) your parents. Are you using twitter as a record of your life? That's not what twitter is for. The question on twitter should be: "What are you doing that's interesting?"

As a matter of fact, I don't think it should be a question at all. It should be:

If you only have one take-away from this excessively long and self-indulgent blog post, let it be this:

MODERATION IN ALL THINGS. ESPECIALLY TWITTER.

the california DMV

Hello there you assholes,

Not only do I have to spend two weeks working on the phone with you to prove that my insurance never lapsed which means my vehicle registration never should have been suspended, I have to go to a DMV office, in person, to renew my registration because of your fuck-up?

The fact that you didn't send me a new letter with a "Renewal Identification Number" (RIN) is not my fault. The fact that you REQUIRE it in order to renew online or by phone, and I can't call in to get it, is FUCKED UP. I have to go in and stand in line. Because you don't make same-day appointments. And you close at 5pm.

Oh wait! A shining ray of hope! You have self-service terminals?!? I did not know that. And I can renew my registration on them? Hooray! They're open 24 hours a day, everyday? I cannot believe my eyes... wait.. only the ones that start with a W are 24/7? All others are... only available during business hours? AND they require a RIN? Double-mother-fuck!!!

Let me explain to you dolts the purpose of having a SELF-SERVICE terminal. It is so I don't have to deal with you "I'd rather be sitting in my trailer with my feet up, chain-smoking cigarettes, yelling at my 12 kids under the age of 12 and 17 dogs, with a car up on blocks outside" S.O.B.s. And I want to do it when none of you are even there. SELF-SERVICE is, by it's nature, supposed to be 24/7, for the convenience of those who ACTUALLY WORK between 8am and 5pm.

But you would know nothing of convenience, or manners, or a helpful attitude, so who am I kidding.

This means that since my registration expires TODAY, I am fucked, because I'm a responsible green citizen who took the shuttle to work, so I can't get back to the city on another shuttle until 4:45.

And better yet, it means that I GET TO PAY YOU TO FUCK ME. Isn't that just peachy. "Here is an additional 10% of the outrageous fee you were going to charge me. What's that? Oh, 'Bend over...', of course. OK."

NOTE: This post is brought to you by the official "stuff that bugs me" club.

SF public transportation

Friday night was a doozy. I hope I'm beating JR to the punch.

We went to see Eddie Izzard, and he was incredible! SO funny. We'd had an incredible night until it was time to head home. We went down into the Muni station, but Muni only takes quarters. All we had was $5 bills. There was a change machine, but it only makes change for $10 and $20 bills. (What?!?!)

So we had this conversation with the most useless human being ON EARTH (the lady in the Muni booth):

JR: "Where can we get change?"
Useless: "You could buy a bunch of BART tickets..."
JR: "What do I want with BART tickets?"
Useless: "If you'd listen, sir, I'm trying to tell you! Buy them until you got enough change to take the Muni."

Me: (Partially in my head, partially under my breath to JR, and partially to Useless): "Really? That's your advice? Buy BART tickets we don't need to be able to ride your stupid Muni??? 'Cause I'm gonna crawl through that tiny window and choke some sense into you, useless, lazy, no-good cog in the twisted works that is SF Public Transportation!"

JR had to drag me back up the stairs to the street at that point, because I was getting a little loud. We go looking for an ATM, and get $20 bills. (Being in the Tenderloin, that is no small or safe feat.) Triumphant, we go back down the stairs. We put the $20 into the change machine, and it spits out... Four $5 bills. WTF??? How is that a change machine?!?! Ah... If you read carefully, it's a "bill changer" that only takes $10s and $20s. But Muni doesn't take bills, and BART doesn't take bills, so I ask you again... W.T.F.!?!?!

After a few more choice words from me to the station in general, we trudge back up the stairs to take a cab. Since it's the Tenderloin, there are no free cabs to be seen. We cross the street for better luck, and some guy jumps out in front of us with a whistle, telling us he'll hail a cab for us. No thanks - I'm perfectly capable of hailing my own cab; I'm not gonna pay some predatory conman to be my taxicab middleman. I'm still fuming about the fact that we have *thirty dollars in cash* and we can't get on public transit for lack of 12 quarters, so I'm ready to tangle with the conman. So as to avoid getting stabbed or something, we cross the street again.

It took us another 15 minutes to hail a cab. But we had the nicest, safest driving cab driver we have ever had in San Francisco. What a relief! After the night we had, we decided we deserved a late night stop at Orphan Andy's 24-hour diner in the Castro. That definitely improved both our moods. There's nothing like a place with decent diner food and hilarious, rambunctious queens waiting tables to brighten your day.