why twitter matters

one thing that makes me giddy about the future are the books that will be written by veteran journalists who were lucky enough to go from typewriters to computers to the web.

look at this insane collection of tweets by LA Times sports columnist Bill Plaschke.

regardless of whether you love or hate his columns, look at him tell the story of the climatic ending of tonights dodger game.

twitter makes you get to the point. twitter brings out the poet in you.

and unlike blogging, twitter makes you think about every. single. word.

pro journalists are the best writers in town. which has always bewildered me as to why so many of them have been so late to blogging and tweeting.

they should roam those enviorns like Godzillas stomping through Tokyos.

today i was busy doing something so important ive forgotten what it was and i had something lame on tv, definately not the dodgers.

but for some reason i stumbled across Plaschkes twitter page.

and for some other reason i kept refreshing it.

and just like some poor sap stuck working the night shift, i followed the game through his tweets, and it was so nice.

“sorry folks, the park’s closed.

the moose out front should have told ya.”

because of my perfect age, the last date i had in high school was at the movies to see “Sixteen Candles”. i was 17.

then when i got to LA i had one of my first dates at the movies and we went to see The Breakfast Club. later id see Ferris Bueller and it made me a little less homesick for my sweet home of (suburban) Chicago.

back in those days there werent a lot of films made in or about the midwest and for that reason alone all mid westerners adore john hughes and mourn his early and sudden death. but i can understand why his popularity was world-wide.

bro knew how to write about teens without condescension, he understood how to portray the days styles without being too trendy (conveniently ignoring Ducky at this point), and clearly had an ear for new wave music that would stand the test of time.

working in a newsroom is a weird and wonderful experience. but it gets real sad when you learn that someone so tied to your youth has gone. it was definitely not the email i wanted to read. but when my boss asked me to write up a post for the Comments Blog, i obeyed, gladly, especially when she asked me to include a bit of a personal note in there.

i have a terrible problem

it’s a problem with time. and it’s pretty much the only thing i dont like about whatever small percentage of Scorpio is in my system.

but for some reason i am late to the things i most want to be at.

sometimes super late, like an hour or more.

sometimes im so late i wont even go.

other day all these hot babes, fresh outta college, were having a hot babe party at their huge house they share in the hollywood hills. booze, music, freewheelin like bob dylan. i had attended one of their bashes before and loved it, and all night i prepared and loved preparing for it: i showered, shaved, figured out what to wear.

the whole time i was sipping on my favorite flavor of bartles and james and listening to all my latest jams.

10pm said the invite. 10pm i wasnt even close. 11, midnight. nothing. nearing 1am i started to get sleepy and decided not to go! WTF!

then the other day i had tickets to a rock show. my truest and i were to attend. very excited about both things. and still – late as f.

when i worked at E! we had a rule about “talent”. never tell them the correct call time. and whenever in doubt, dont tell them anything, tell their handlers. to that point, any time one of us did something dumb or spacey we’d call each other Talent.

if you saw my car, youd know im so far from being talent. although at this point in my life i could definately use a handler. but i digress.

other night i had a lovely dinner planned with a beautiful woman of exquisite taste. we had planned an eve out in venice at a restaurant that’s open till midnight. even though i had been thinking about the dinner all night, when i got home i worked on my fantasy baseball, i answered some lust letters, i even changed the sheets of my bed. then i thought to myself that it was too nice not to take in a few miles jog. so i went running. then i saw the gate to the track at the new high school was ajar.

so i went in. i always wanted to run there and for some reason it was open and filled with people using the field. it was beautiful, and proof that i should run at a more decent hour, instead of after midnight like clapton like i usually do.

i ran once around the track but wanted to run twice around there cuz i was feeling so good so strong and the anticipation of hanging with this lovely person fueled me that much more.

when i got off the track i texted her a new time. she called when i had just gotten home and was about to jump in the shower. she was all you suck busblog. and canceled.

i wanted to be mad at her, but how could i, it was my fault. completely. and part of a self destructive pattern. one i had full control of.

a long time ago i learned that being late for things is the most selfish thing one could do. and we all have perfect control over it.

then the irony of ironies, with my sudden free time, i clicked on Real World and the punk rock dude got kicked off the show, thrown out of Cancun, because of excessive tardiness for his “job” there at the resort.

unlike the pierced drummer, my issue is i really love the pre-. i dont mind the actual event, indeed, usually what actually happens is as good, if not better, than i expect. i just get super caught up in the anticipation. its almost as if getting in the car and making it on time *ends* something, which is crazy because it actually is the beginning of the thing i am excited about.

trust me, when i die, i wont be missed.