Twitter Me Not

Dear Friends:
I know that you live interesting and exciting lives, lives filled with such drama and humor and pathos that it would make an excellent reality show. I know that if Shakespeare was to to come back from the dead, he'd consider writing your life as either a light comedy or a grand historical drama. And yes, there are a few of you out there who secretely would love to be immortalized as a tragic hero or heroine. But please, please, please, do not ask me to follow you on Twitter.

Listen, I've done what I can to keep up with technology. I have a MySpace page. I have a Facebook page. I sometimes engage in IM and I email with abandon. I like to think that, for a 52 year old man, I've kept pretty up to date.

But Twitter--this is going too far. It's not the technology that I object to--I think the power of Twitter to organize a revolution such as the one in Iran, or to get everyone on track for a party, or to socialize are all wonderful. But, really, do I need to know what you're doing every day? Do I need to follow your twittering about town, constantly engaged in your wonderful triumphs and the myriad of people who love you and are doing good things for you? In other words, do I need to hear you brag three to four times a day about how much better your life is than mine?

As Bartleby the Scrivener was wont to say, I choose not to. I will give you a glimpse of what my twitter would look like pretty much every day so that you can paste it into your cell phone and glance at it whenever you wish:

5:30 a.m. IN the gym. Some good looking girls here. None of them look at me. I don't blame them. If I could change the mirror, I wouldn't look at this fat old guy either.

7:00 a.m. Eating my yogurt and banana and listening to Stephanie Miller. She's rude, crude and funny. How come we never met? Another woman whose life I could have ruined by my existence.

8:30 a.m. IN court for a motion. Court denies my motion and hints that maybe I need to think of a profession where I don't have to do any legal work. Client looks at me and regrets his choice in lawyer.

9:00 a.m. IN the office playing solitaire. Woo hoo.

10:00 a.m. Just won at solitaire. Do I make calls or play another game? Your vote counts here.

12:00 a.m. Lunch at home. Watch the Daily Show. Jon Stewart is rude, crude and funny. We could have been buddies in another life. Another person whose life I could have ruined by my friendship.

1:00 p.m. Back in the office. Had an appointment with a client but he's late. Now I get a call. He's hired another lawyer. Back to solitaire.

4:00 p.m. Where did the time go? Push for the next hour to get stuff done. It gets done. Somehow.

5:30 p.m. At home. Maybe I should try to find something around the house to eat for dinner. Look in refridgerator. All the food I bought yesterday has been eaten. Forgot that I live with a teenager. Going out to eat.

7:00 p.m. Back home. Watch Countdown with Keith Olberman. He's in high dudgeon tonight over somethings stupid someone said. Again I am thankful I never went into politics. I would give ol' Keith material every night.

10:00 p.m. Watch Sportscenter. Did the Angels win? Dodgers? Lakers? And if they did, would that make my life any better?

11:00 p.m. To bed so I can get up at 5 a.m. to go to the gym. It'll do some good someday. In the meantime, I'll dream about...well, never you mind.

3:00 a.m. Awake worrying about motion I need to write and get out in two weeks. It's too early to start drafting motion but never too early to worry about it.

5:00 a.m. Back in gym. So soon?