…by the Associated Press for this article.
No shame in bribery,
…which is why I’ll be deleting my account this Friday.
I realized this fact today only because Twitter sent me a notification congratulating me on this supposedly glorious milestone. Unfortunately, it backfired, because seeing that number made me feel sick to my stomach.
Thirteen years is a long time. Thirteen years ago, I was still living in a house in Milwaukee with my girlfriend and a roommate. Mr. Fabulous was my only pet, and she was essentially still just a puppy.
Since joining Twitter, I moved to L.A. with my girlfriend (and adopted two cats, Meatshake and Heisenberg). My girlfriend became my wife, then a few years later the mother of our two children. We moved to Chicago and bought our first place together, and adopted three more cats: Exhibit Q; Bad Guy, and Robot. Sadly, Meatshake, Mr. Fabulous, and Exhibit Q have now all left us.
Over the past thirteen years, friends and family have gotten married and divorced. They’ve welcomed newborn babies into their lives, and some of them have died far too young. (The friends and family, not the newborn babies.)
So yeah, a lot can happen in thirteen years.
And that got me thinking: Over the past thirteen years, how much time have I killed on Twitter? So I did some math.
For the sake of argument, let’s say I spent, on average, five minutes a day on Twitter. It’s probably a lot more than that, but let’s just say five minutes for some easy math. Five minutes a day is 1,825 minutes a year. Multiple that by thirteen years and you get 23,725 minutes. Divide that by 60 and you get just shy of 400 hours. Divide that by 24 and you get 16.5 days of nonstop Twitter scrolling.
I’ll round that up to 17 days, but I’m sure the actual, more accurate number would be more than double that. Maybe even triple.
That’s 17 days I could’ve spent doing literally anything else. Playing with my kids, listening to music, taking photos, writing, traveling, calling some of those friends and family on the phone and having an actual conversation. You can do a lot of shit with an extra 17 days.
The thought of hitting my 15th or 20th or 25th Twitter anniversary scares the shit out of me. How many more minutes and hours and days can I waste if I stay?
But that’s just part of it. The other part — the bigger part of it, to be honest — is that, like Facebook, I hate who I am on Twitter.
Many of you know I’m quick to let assholes know they’re assholes, and I don’t suffer fools gladly. But the question I’m constantly asking myself is, do I have to? And the answer is always the same: nah, it’s not worth it. They’re not worth it.
So yeah… thirteen years seems like a good time to take a bow and exit the stage.
So thanks to Twitter for reminding me about just how much of my life I’ve wasted on its platform. I couldn’t have pulled the plug without you.
Two social media platforms down, one to go,
When we met, I was 17 and lived in Room 206 in our college dorm. She was 18 and lived right above me in Room 306. Yes, we were admittedly dumb and immature kids, but we hit it off almost immediately.
Over the past 27 years of our friendship we’ve shared nearly everything.
Love and hate.
Wins and losses.
Joy and sorrow.
Because of our close friendship, I was fortunate enough to meet her mother, Teresa, many times over the years.
I stayed in her home. She cooked me meals. I made her laugh.
Last November, Teresa came down with Covid. By mid-January, after living alone in the ICU for more than a month, Teresa was gone.
The last time we spoke was over FaceTime last June, when Michelle dropped off Robot and Bad Guy. I said something stupid. She laughed. Michelle rolled her eyes and probably pushed me out of the way. That was kind of our dynamic.
Like the daughter she created, Teresa was a smart, kind, and beautiful woman. She was quick with an invite into her home, and just as loving as your own mother once you got there.
She is missed.
Learn more about Teresa, and Michelle’s loss, here.
And then, please, for the greater good of all humanity, do something Teresa never got the opportunity to do: go get vaccinated.
Lasagna with hard-boiled eggs is remarkably delicious,
Back when I was living in Columbus, Ohio my friends and I started a quote wall. Whenever a bit of brilliance (or otherwise) poured out of someone’s mouth, somebody would yell “Quote!” thus nominating it for Quote Board status. The quote then had to be seconded by someone (it almost always was), and then it would be written down to be forever immortalized on the Quote Board.
This is the modern-day equivalent of that classic piece of my past.
QUOTE BOARD:
“Oh, that is a sexy garbage bag.”
– Beth, 7/8/21
Goddamn right it is,
…Excessive Drinking Rosé During the Pandemic.
And immediately I was like: “Go on….”
My liver be crying,
Back when I was living in Columbus, Ohio my friends and I started a quote wall. Whenever a bit of brilliance (or otherwise) poured out of someone’s mouth, somebody would yell “Quote!” thus nominating it for Quote Board status. The quote then had to be seconded by someone (it almost always was), and then it would be written down to be forever immortalized on the Quote Board.
This is the modern-day equivalent of that classic piece of my past.
QUOTE BOARD:
“I keep my butthole closed so things can’t get in there. Like bats.”
– Justin, 4/26/21
Even I make it onto the board every once in awhile,
