Twitter: I'm not sure whether to vomit or get some of my dot.com buddies together to create a service called Shitter that allows us all to keep up on the bowel movements of our favorite celebrities, preferably as an audio file, but obviously limited by technology to 140 seconds.
If we ever thought that Big Brother would be surreptitiously forced upon us by an Orwellian government, rest assured that we have not gone kicking and screaming to the Gulag, but have willingly offered up all the personal information the Corporation could have ever desired.
5-7 sentences is a mere pittance of a response, so I'll focus on this part:
“The information we subscribe to on a feed is not the same as in a deep social relationship,” Boyd told me. She has seen this herself; she has many virtual admirers that have, in essence, a parasocial relationship with her. “I’ve been very, very sick, lately and I write about it on Twitter and my blog, and I get all these people who are writing to me telling me ways to work around the health-care system, or they’re writing saying, ‘Hey, I broke my neck!’ And I’m like, ‘You’re being very nice and trying to help me, but though you feel like you know me, you don’t.’ ” Boyd sighed. “They can observe you, but it’s not the same as knowing you.”
She has about 400 people she follows online but suspects many of those relationships are tissue-fragile.
Tissue-fragile? You think? It's not even that fragile. Tissue is physical. She put these personal details out into the twittersphere and is now complaining about the responses?
In the interest of fairness, I noted positives about Twitter:
One page 5 of 6, the New York Times actually started to mention some advantages, like its haiku-length, but my 140 characters just ran . . .
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