Beware of the Slouch who answers your Tweet
This is the first of two columns raising Couch Slouch concerns about the Internet. If I get tossed off the World Wide Web, I can only hope the real wide world will take me back.
On Twitter, I have more than 2,900 followers. One problem – I don’t have a Twitter account.
On Facebook, you can read this exact sentence: “Norman Chad is on Facebook.” This is rather disturbing because, well, I’m not on Facebook.
And on MySpace, you can find four different MySpace pages – complete with photographs – citing my various biographical information, likes and dislikes. Will the real Slim Slouch please stand up? None of the four is me.
Even if I had been a fan of the newfangled social networking sites, this burgeoning online identity theft would’ve turned me against another of the Internet’s unrelentingly dangerous byproducts.
(At MySpace, each of my pages lists a different age: 55, 53, 50 and 26. Boy, if I could only be 26 again; that’s, like, 2½ divorces ago! I do like this: On one of the pages, under the question, “Who I’d like to meet,” the answer is, “Not really anyone.” Hey, maybe that is me.)
I first discovered I was on Twitter when friends and colleagues started e-mailing me, “I didn’t know you were on Twitter.” So I went to Twitter and there I was – my name, the usual unflattering photo and tweets galore.
As it turns out, my Twitter account is simply stuff I say during ESPN’s World Series of Poker telecasts. That’s it – somebody is just watching the endless reruns of poker, writing down my “witticisms” and posting them online on a daily basis.
This would seem rather benign, except…
1. Many of the quotes are inaccurate.
2. What if something slanderous or offensive is posted inappropriately?
3. Shouldn’t an individual be able to protect his own name by not allowing others to pose as that individual in a public forum?
So I tried to contact Twitter.
After a few futile days, I felt like Indiana Jones searching for the Lost Ark.
At Twitter, you can click on a “Contact Us” tab. I am challenging anyone – and offering $1.25 – if you can actually find a way to contact Twitter at its contact page.
I finally found a form under “Customer Support” that I filled out, detailing my problem.
I received an automated response that read in part, “Your request made it to Twitter Support. Someone from our support team will review it as soon as possible.”
Two days later, I received another automated response: “Hi. Thanks for the mail and sorry for the delay in response. Are you still experiencing the problem that you have reported? Did you check our known issue page? We might be aware of the problem and must be working on them! Here is the link…. If your problem is not listed here, please write back to me and I will be more than glad to assist you!”
Even though I appreciated the two exclamation points – such enthusiasm! – I quickly saw what I was up against; frankly, becoming pen pals with An Automated Response seemed like an e-postal dead end.
I also sent an old-fashioned snail-mail letter to Twitter’s San Francisco headquarters, but considering I didn’t even have a name to address it to, I may as well have put a message in a bottle and dropped it in the Crimean Sea.
To be sure, Twitter is here to stay. The 140-character format, launched in 2006, attracts 60 million Tweets a day. Heck, the Dalai Lama – @DalaiLama – is on Twitter, Tweeting spiritual tidbits.
(By the way, where did they come up with 140 characters? Uh, 140? That’s like the 24-second shot clock, or pi; I would’ve gone with 99 or 139 – sexier numbers, shorter Tweets.)
At this point, I figure I no longer can fight my own pirated Twitter account. I should just sit back and see what I have to say.
Besides, I’d like to have 5,000 followers by my birthday, whenever that may be.
Ask The Slouch
Q. Rolling Rock was bought and you stopped drinking it. Now Pabst Blue Ribbon has been bought – your move, Mr. PBR. (Joe Hinton; Potomac, Md.)
A. Everything near and dear has either been sold out from under me or walked away on the eve of my second, or sixth, anniversary. So I’ve learned to drink alone, though I’m hopeful that Toni – a.k.a. She Is The One (And Then Some) – sticks around, cooks a nice coq au vin and remembers to chill the PBR, pending my investigation of its new owners.
Q. Can you explain America to me in 25 words or less? (Chris Haynes; Hayward, Calif.)
A. Capitalism is one big casino: The big banks are the house, and the house never loses; the rest of America is just rolling the dice, and, eventually, most of us crap out. But that’s 32 words.
Q. In tennis, players – upon winning the match – always seem to fall to the ground in joy and disbelief. Did any of your ex-wives have a similar reaction upon leaving the courthouse? (Dan Zenner; Sturtevant; Wis.)
A. Pay the man, Shirley.
Norman Chad is a syndicated columnist. You can enter his $1.25 Ask The Slouch Cash Giveaway. E-mail asktheslouch@aol.com and, if your question is used, you win $1.25 in cash!