In the 90s, people like Robert Putnam decried the dematerialization of meaningful relationships as a consequence of the move to online socialization. Today, we know that this is not true. If I were to meet Robert Putnam today, I would take him mini-golfing, so as to the have the opportunity to declare, “Nice putt, Putnam.” Then I would tell him, “You were wrong, Puttnam. Online interaction doesn’t degrade the social fabric. That’s because the social fabric never really existed. Everyone was already a lying bastard trying to sell your kidney on the black market; the internet just helps us see it.”

As Exhibit A, I present to you a recent interaction I partook in regarding the popular Internet “microblogging” service, Twitter. Twitter lets you add / remove “followers,” and be “followed” by others accordingly. As far as I can tell, this is it’s primary feature. Occasionally there is also a cartoon whale on the frontpage, and from what I can tell, this is the second most important feature. Truly, the internet is a place where you can make money by giving people lists to add each other to, and showing them a whale. Perhaps we’re all cetaceaphiliacs at heart.

Needless to say, Twitter is very popular. I myself have quite a large list of followers and followees, and have spent many delightful hours observing the whale (sometimes making up stories about him — together we roam the great sea of my dreams.) Occasionally Twitter does something else, though, and this is its tertiary feature: exposing treachery, as it did in this case.

At a recent pub outing, I had a nice chat with a fellow named Jeremy (no real names.) Jeremy was another Twitter user, quite an avid one in fact, so as a matter of course we exchanged Twitter IDs. This is a pretty common exchange amongst geeks these days, and implies a certain level of established trust; to give someone your Twitter ID is to say, “I am comfortable with my ID being on a list you’ve created.”

That night, I went home, and happily tipsy on a few pints, I logged into Twitter and made myself a “follower” of Jeremy. All good, I thought. Society is ticking along grandly. We’re all friends, and by the next year there probably won’t even be anymore wars anymore. Didn’t someone just make a website where you can click a link to donate a dollar to not having anymore wars anymore? There you go, problem solved.

The following morning I woke up, and booted up my Macbook. I have an application installed, Twitterizer, that starts up on launch and alerts me about changes to my Twitter status. As a rule, I check Twitterizer religiously. It displays two numbers: the number of people I’m following, and the number of people following me. I have dual monitor setup, so each number is displayed on a separate screen, in 1000 pt Verdana.

On a great day, the difference between my number of followers vs. followees exceeds 5. On a good day, it’s around 3. On an average day, it’s one or two. On a somewhat lame day, the numbers are equal. On a truly miserable day, the difference is negative. On this day, it was negative one. The reason was clear: I had “followed” Jeremy, but he had not “followed” me back.

“You bastard,” I growled under my breath. Suddenly, I was sick to my stomach. I left my bowl of Frosties unfinished.

That day at worked, I checked Twitter compulsively. Surely, I thought, he simply had not yet had the chance to follow me. He would do it any moment now, like the reasonably civil human being that he surely is. Surely he won’t risk a breakdown in social mores. It would be anarchy. Babies having babies, et cetera. At 2PM, I started to hyperventilate. At 3PM, I was a cool brick of composure, an icy ocean frozen to the seabed. Jeremy, I realized, was filth.

But the most agonizing part — the truly unabashed slap in the face of all that is good and decent — would not come until that evening.

For that evening was the evening of the monthly meeting of the Perth Twitter Zeppelin Army, a group of Twitter enthusiasts and the occasional marine biologist. Walking onto the patio, I saw all the usuals — and then I saw Jeremy. He was the opposite end of the row of assembled tables, speaking to someone. For a moment, as I entered, he looked up at me, and our eyes locked: but instead of the frozen eternity of firey turmoil I expected, I saw only pleasantness in his gaze. Flummoxed, I sat down. What could it mean?

Surely — surely he added me before coming here, I thought. I pulled out my iPhone, and opened Twitterizer for iPhone. But instead of the two numbers that I expected to see, I saw only the whale. But where once the whale’s mien was mirthful, he now wore a malicious grin. By a deft trick of artistry, he seemed to flipping me the bird with his fin. Atop him a speech bubble read, “YOU DISGUST ME.”

My friend Adam, who had been peering over at the screen, looked up at me. “It’s a new feature,” he informed me helpfully.

Incredibly, I raised my eyes to see Jeremy sitting down before me. He was carrying a jug of beer and a few glasses. As he started to pour, he spoke in that jocular manner to which Australians are so well accustomed, “How’s it going? Dave, right?”

He put down a filled glass before me. Incredulous, I simply stared at him. My blood seemed to drain away. But then it refilled, brimming with vitriol and some kind of extremely hot pepper sauce that’s quite nice if you use just a bit of it.

I stood. I picked up the glass, and in a motion so flawless and graceful I seemed to have been created by God specifically for this moment, I threw the beer into his face, and I shouted,

“YOU SON OF A BITCH, YOU’VE RUINED MY ENTIRE GODDAMNED LIFE.”

There are those would say I went too far. But those people do not understand Twitter.

This entry was posted on Monday, September 22nd, 2008 at 9:00 am and is filed under Life. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.