I Have Got To Get It Together, People
Guys. Guys. Look. C’mere. Guys. Look.
I need to tell you something.
The “tweets,” guys. You know. The “tweets”? My research? Something’s wrong.
All the “tweets” seem obvious, now. It’s like a switch was flipped, and now all the “tweets” seem normal and obvious and there’s no deeper truths and onionic layerings and subtle double switch-backs like I’m used to seeing everywhere.
Something happened in Pittsburgh. Something happened to me in Pittsburgh.
Before Pittsburgh there was beauty and truth and social networtainment.
After Pittsburgh every tweet reads like one of Guy Kawasaki’s interns pecked it into a Blackberry with his pointy, needle-like beak while the smoothest of jazz played in the background, muffling the sound of his master’s painful death wheezes.1
So now I’m locked in the bathroom of my apartment with my MacBook siphoning2 WiFi from my downstairs neighbors3 while Kip bangs on the door and tries to reason with me.4
I keep looking, over and over, at the last two weeks of “tweets” and I just don’t understand what happened. Was it all the smoke I inhaled at the Twootenanny? Was it the head injury I suffered in the rest area bathroom on I-79 that I have successfully concealed from Kip until he reads this?5 Was it the fifth ibuprofen I accidentally took for the resultant headache? I know you’re only supposed to take four at a time, but I was having trouble counting and I didn’t even notice until Kip did my end-of-trip travel inventory and debriefing three days later.
But that doesn’t matter. Everything’s falling apart. My research. The book deal based on my research. The fancy over-sized I-told-you-so card I made for my ex-wife that says, “Guess what, Jerk-Lady, I got a book deal based on my research.” It’s all falling apart.
Well, it’s a real pickle, but ol’ Professor Starky has dealt with worse problems.6 I’m going to spend the next week meditating, which seemed to work before.
I guess I’ll let Kip into the bathroom now.
1 “For while Twitter lives he shall never die; and while he lives so too will Twitter always; and in this way the two are linked forever, lo though he may live unto a thousand years and/or a million followers, whichever shall come first.”a
2 Because Kip already turned off my apartment’s WiFi so that I couldn’t go online and post something “stupid.”
3 SSID: I Peed On Your Car. They’re not nice people.
4 He thinks I have sleeping pills in here, but I let that prescription lapse three years ago when I realized I could get the same drowsing effect with an Oreo cookie, a moment of quiet self-reflection, and a bag of popcorn popping in the microwave. Two or three bags and I’m out like a light.b
5 That’s right, Kip, I didn’t fall into a puddle of ketchup like I told you. I’m sorry. I hope you learn to trust me again someday.
6 I’m having trouble thinking of one at the moment.
a From the Book of Guy, in some fake Twitter Bible I just made up. Holy shit, I’m getting my lit agent on the phone right now. This dude is so easy to make fun of. α
b A light that doesn’t have a dimmer switch, or a clapper. Just a switch. But not one of those old fashioned ones; they make too much noise. When I go to sleep it’s soundless and beautiful, like a Yugo exploding in space.
α I wonder if he’ll write the intro.