I was involved in a text-message conversation with a faraway friend earlier when the judge walked in to hand me some mail (yes, the judge gets my mail instead of the other way around, haha; he likes checking mail for goodies). As he sifted through the mail in front of me, he looked up and said, “Are you tweeting?!”
“No, I’m responding to a text message. I absolutely refuse to get on Twitter,” I replied.
“Good. You’re in the old-fashioned world, like me,” he said with smug satisfaction, the man who only recently learned how to get the screensaver to allow his work to magically reappear, and still has not grasped the concept of being able to have more than one program open at one time in different windows. It’s endearing, and I like running back to chambers to “rescue” him when his work disappears, which is usually caused by a pop-up window from another program blocking the original window. He’s a genius in all the traditional scholarly respects. I wonder, though, what his exposure to Twitter is. Maybe it was something like what happened at the last Lake concert we went to.

The lead singer of No More Kings paused in between songs to smile at cheering crowd lounging on blankets and beach chairs drinking wine in front of the sparkling lake at sunset. “It’s really beautiful here,” he observed. “Wait, hold on, I gotta get a picture of you guys.” He whipped out a cell phone from his pocket, lined it up with the audience in front of him. We laughed and some people in the front posed. “This is great, I don’t usually get photos of a really good-looking crowd, ya know? We have some beautiful people here.” He was tapping away on his phone. Without looking up, he explained into the microphone as he pushed buttons, “I’m tweeting this right now. This photo is going up on my Twitter…there it goes…okay, it’s up.” And THEN he continued the concert. That’s the first time I felt like I missed out on something. But not enough to sign onto Twitter.