As many folks have mentioned prior to this, I am pleased and happy to point out that I have more followers on Twitter than Donald Trump. I have more likes. I have more Twitter. By one hundred percent. This feels pretty satisfying, and I confess that I performed the Happy Dance in my living room when Mister Trump was relieved of his social media account. Accounts.
And it strikes me now, as a participant in online exchanges such as the one you are currently reading, that I would feel a sense of loss if I were suddenly unable to participate in these shenanigans. For the record, I am not that invested in the metrics. On this I won't quibble. Much. I do pay attention to those occasions that I have direct connection to those who read my words. The comments section, or the occasional email I receive that tells me that I got something right or wrong, or jogged someone else's memory into a different gear. And there are also the periodic giggle I am able to elicit from my wife as she reads my words.
I am also completely guilty of running across the room to show my son the funny thing that his dad has just typed into Twitter. This raises a certain level of chagrin from my son's native tech capacity. He's just as happy to give me a virtual heart when he gets around to reading my pithy comment or patented snark.
But I'm not the duly elected of the free world, am I? The idea that for the past four years we have all been held captive by the late night/early morning ramblings of a spetuagenarian. "Did you see what Trump tweeted?" Or "Can you believe that he tweeted that?" As if this were some sort of political forum. It's not just for cat videos anymore. We elevated his rants to a level of policy. For all his disdain for traditional media, he made great hay out of the platform upon which most folks share their thoughts on breakfast cereal. Or funny things their pets did. Or complaints about kids these days. Or adults.
But running a country from the two hundred eighty character limit found on Twitter? Professional journalists have had to satisfy themselves with scrolling through all the all capital, misspelled, erratic musings of a former game show host to try and divine the direction he was steering our ship of state.
Right into the place we find ourselves now. With right-wing idjits climbing, crawling and crashing their way into our nation's Capitol. Most of whom took their time, as they stormed the limited barricades they encountered, to post pictures of themselves on - well, you know.
Time to rethink our collective presence on social media.