To Tweet or not to Tweet, that is the question - in less than 140 characters of course.
My God how I’ve come under pressure this week to join the rest of the world and share with Twitter users (Twits?) every useless thing that happens to me. I don’t like it. Do you really want to know my every bowel movement, how many odour eaters I’ve bought and how I make my porridge in the morning?
I’m not a Luddite as I feel I have embraced social media – I blog, I use Facebook, etc - so I think I’m committed to technology. But it’s not good enough for some who think you can be just a little bit pregnant. These technology midwives tell me I have to go the whole way and join Twitter in order to enjoy what today’s technology delivers. It’s not enough to be boring in just a few places, I apparently now have to bore people on every social outlet.
The latest pressure has been caused by my wife starting to Tweet this week. @debgreenwoodqvc started sharing her words of wisdom on Monday, encouraged by her employers at QVC. This now makes me the only member of my household who doesn’t wear a bra, use fake tan, or Tweet. My two daughters have done it for a couple of years, though God knows why. I can’t imagine the world is dying to know about spot cream and the Jonas Brothers.
But now I’ve reached rock bottom. A guy who set up the Twitter name #thefakepaulcoia is following my wife, and I feel I’ve slipped in to a Wes Craven movie with reality just a thing of the past.
What would I share on Twitter, and how often are you supposed to post these things? Today for instance consisted of me buying a table and chairs for the garden, liaising with the Middle East to finalise a price on a job I’m doing, going to Costa for a hot chocolate, and pulling out a few weeds from my garden. Would any of that get me followers? If so, they’re not the kind of people I would want as followers.
Stalkers maybe, but not followers.
On the other hand if I share with you that I flew somewhere exotic, bumped in to a famous showbiz pal or took in a private live performance by an artist, all of which I do regularly, then I sound up myself and boastful. So what do I do?
Facebook seems to me to be about my limit. I posted on that this week that I might start Tweeting, and asked if it was a good idea. Almost all replies said Twitter was rubbish and to avoid it, apart from one lady who encouraged me to join, ending with “....but just ignore the nutters”. Eh?
Facebook seems sociable and friendly. Because you can use lots more words, everyone can communicate better. I also had over five hundred messages on my page on Tuesday wishing me a Happy Birthday. That seems kind of nice and uplifting. Much better than “Hpy bday 2 @paulcoia. Av a gr8 day. Njoy yr cake and prezs.”
So, I don’t really think I have to give this any serious thought at all. I can say I’m modern and embrace social media without Tweeting. Tulisa, X Factor judge, Tweeted yesterday “F*** all the F*****s who diss me. Kiss my a**. #F***em”. I don’t need Twitter to hear that kind of stuff, I can watch the Sopranos which is much more entertaining.
I think I can be just a little bit pregnant, unlike people who are so addicted I am sure they would Tweet during conception. So, I’m going to avoid Twitter, at least until the fake Paul Coia starts getting a serious following. Which, please God, will be never.
Monday, June 25, 2012
Sunday, June 17, 2012
Rockin' Pneumonia and the Boogie Woogie Flu
Greetings from my sick bed, and apologies for the untidiness as you look around my bedroom. The carpet of tissues and those dirty socks stuck to the curtains will be removed as soon as I’m back on my feet, which I haven’t seen for days as they’ve been playing hide and seek under the duvet.
It’s been about a month since I wrote my last blog. Actually, that’s not true. It’s a month since I published my last scribblings but I’ve diligently written every week since then yet found myself stuck in places where I couldn’t get on line, so maybe I’ll keep them and slip them in at a later date when no one’s looking.
I was very flattered by the flood of enquiries asking where I’d gone to. Well, not so much a flood as a stream after a particularly long and parching drought. But that email really cheered me up. Thank you mum.
In fact, since we last “spoke” I have flown back and forth to Glasgow, Dubai, Oman and Portugal spending more time in the sky than the ever present rainclouds over the UK. I have hosted charity events, media training sessions, produced and directed a video, done voice overs, and caught pneumonia. I didn’t so much burn the candle at both ends as set it on fire with a flame thrower then threw it in the oven and chucked the whole stove in a furnace just to make sure, so I’m guessing I deserve a bit of illness.
I just wish it could have been acne or athlete’s foot instead.
As far as I know I’ve never had pneumonia before. I think I’d have remembered the coughing and pain, and just how crap daytime TV really is.
Every fibre of my weight depleting body screams that I should “man up” and just get
on with it, but I can’t get my head off the pillow, which will make for an interesting hat when I finally emerge. Maybe I can add some ribbons and a small parasol on top before my holiday. So far I have lost six pounds in six days on the pneumonia diet. It’s like Weight Watchers but with more phlegm.
As a showbiz ham I’m practising multiple roles for the upcoming Christmas season, doing my best impression of Sneezy and the other dwarves who didn’t make the Walt Disney cut including Wheezy, Spluttery and Coughy. If Snow White pops by to cheer me up with her pal Happy, I’m sticking a GPS in her handbag and alerting the woodsman to follow her with his axe.
The problem with illness isn’t the discomfort, it’s the boredom. No one’s invented a pill for that yet. I tried crosswords but couldn’t focus. Sudoko was a failure because I couldn’t count past three, and the book I’m reading about an atrocity during the Balkans war somehow had that “feel good” factor missing. Instead, as I’m trying to get my latest quiz show format commissioned, I lay back and thought up new TV show formats. The only one I think has a chance is “Embarrassing Bodies: The Musical”.
I’ll be back next week, or maybe I’ll be in hospital instead being treated in The Drama Queen Wing for terminal over reaction.
Either way, it’s time for more antibiotics.
It’s been about a month since I wrote my last blog. Actually, that’s not true. It’s a month since I published my last scribblings but I’ve diligently written every week since then yet found myself stuck in places where I couldn’t get on line, so maybe I’ll keep them and slip them in at a later date when no one’s looking.
I was very flattered by the flood of enquiries asking where I’d gone to. Well, not so much a flood as a stream after a particularly long and parching drought. But that email really cheered me up. Thank you mum.
In fact, since we last “spoke” I have flown back and forth to Glasgow, Dubai, Oman and Portugal spending more time in the sky than the ever present rainclouds over the UK. I have hosted charity events, media training sessions, produced and directed a video, done voice overs, and caught pneumonia. I didn’t so much burn the candle at both ends as set it on fire with a flame thrower then threw it in the oven and chucked the whole stove in a furnace just to make sure, so I’m guessing I deserve a bit of illness.
I just wish it could have been acne or athlete’s foot instead.
As far as I know I’ve never had pneumonia before. I think I’d have remembered the coughing and pain, and just how crap daytime TV really is.
Every fibre of my weight depleting body screams that I should “man up” and just get
on with it, but I can’t get my head off the pillow, which will make for an interesting hat when I finally emerge. Maybe I can add some ribbons and a small parasol on top before my holiday. So far I have lost six pounds in six days on the pneumonia diet. It’s like Weight Watchers but with more phlegm.
As a showbiz ham I’m practising multiple roles for the upcoming Christmas season, doing my best impression of Sneezy and the other dwarves who didn’t make the Walt Disney cut including Wheezy, Spluttery and Coughy. If Snow White pops by to cheer me up with her pal Happy, I’m sticking a GPS in her handbag and alerting the woodsman to follow her with his axe.
The problem with illness isn’t the discomfort, it’s the boredom. No one’s invented a pill for that yet. I tried crosswords but couldn’t focus. Sudoko was a failure because I couldn’t count past three, and the book I’m reading about an atrocity during the Balkans war somehow had that “feel good” factor missing. Instead, as I’m trying to get my latest quiz show format commissioned, I lay back and thought up new TV show formats. The only one I think has a chance is “Embarrassing Bodies: The Musical”.
I’ll be back next week, or maybe I’ll be in hospital instead being treated in The Drama Queen Wing for terminal over reaction.
Either way, it’s time for more antibiotics.
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