About the author...

MWhere I’ll be:M

Birch Bay Public Market

Friday, May 10 through the end of summer, Cathy and I will be selling her hand-made soaps, lotions, and toiletries, along with my photography, note cards, calenders, books, etc.

Come see us!

Across the street from the C Shop

4825 Alderson Road, Birch Bay, Washington 98230


I had an automated blogroll here, powered by Google Reader, but Google, in its near-infinite lack of wisdom, killed Google Reader. Prior to this murder, all I had to do to put a blog on my blogroll (or to take it off) was to place it in a Reader folder called, appropriately enough, "blogroll" (or, of course, to remove it). I use The Old Reader now for following blogs, but it seems to have no way to something similar regarding the blogroll. If you know of a way to do this, please let me know.

Is Twitter Becoming the new Facebook?

Yesterday, Twitter turned off UberTwitter.

(And a couple of other mobile clients, apparently)

For those who don’t know, UberTwitter has been the only client actually usable on a BlackBerry. There are a bunch of pretenders to the throne, yes. Forget them. Forget them all. Especially BlackBerry’s own piece of trash. I’ve tried them all, and the only one that was usable at all was UberTwitter, and now Twitter has shut them down.

There’s a reason I don’t use Facebook, even beyond their scary notions of what constitutes privacy.

True, I only got off of Facebook when I visited a website for the very first time ever and was greeted by a message aimed directly at me, personally, telling me they had set up an account for me based on my Facebook profile. This in spite of the fact that I had Facebook’s privacy settings set as tightly as I could and still have any excuse to be there. In spite of the fact that I wasn’t even signed in to Facebook at the time.

I deleted my Facebook account immediately after I exited the (extremely) offending site and added it to my “never ever in a million years” list.

But even before that, I wasn’t on Facebook much.

Because you do have to do that – you have to be on Facebook. It’s not something that you can do whenever, wherever. You have to go there, and do that. You go to Facebook, and you try to get caught up on who said what, who iced whom in that stupid Mafia thing, who posted which pictures. Then you miss something, and you have to go back and read this big long post, and everybody else is already off on something new. It’s like reading blogs without an aggregator. Oh, no – did I forget Language Log? What about Luke Bergeron’s blog? Did I check that one today?

Add to that the fact that 99.9% of what’s on Facebook is ads and/or the silliest and most useless “games” ever written, and there was simply no reason for me to put with them creating accounts for me without my permission or knowledge.

Now Twitter is apparently trying to make me be there, do that in order to be on Twitter.

Sit at your computer. Open up (not Twitter, not ever. They wish.) Tweetdeck and sit there and watch it go by. Want to go read something? Want to write? Want to make a cup of coffee? Fine. See ya!

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again and I’ll say it till the day I die: Twitter only makes sense if you can stick it in your pocket and take it with you. As a be there, do that situation, Twitter makes no sense at all.

I’m waiting oh-so-patiently for UberTwitter’s new morph, UberSocial, to appear.

So far, all I get, either on my BlackBerry or on my computer, is a series of 404s. Puzzling ones, that don’t seem to make much sense, like “Can’t find that page on pict.me” or some other place not obviously related to the link I just clicked.

So that’s why you can’t reach me on Twitter right now. Sorry. Unless I’m sitting here, doing this, your tweet is not going to reach me. Three DM’s since yesterday, and I’m sorry to all three of you for the delay.

Thank you, Twitter. We all bow to your mighty iron fist. Can we have our mobile clients back now?



Comments are closed, but if you're not a spambot, you can email your comment to me, and I'll post it here.