I’ve been terribly caught up lately in the Twitter Game. It’s only been since February 14th when I really began to get serious; however, now I think it’s driving me nuts. What was meant as being a means of social interaction has turned into an obsession: a quest for being retweeted by all my idols, and mainly by the Rolling Stones.
At first my interest was in casual-passing, commenting on a subject or two: Mick Jagger’s recent performance at the White House was a “Gas, Gas, Gas”; Keith’s appearance at the Pen Awards in Boston with Salman Rushdie, Chuck Berry, Leonard Cohen, Elvis Costello, Paul Simon and a host of others was sensational; but the best was Keith’s using his guitar like an ax for smashing a stage invader over the head in a video clip, going back to a Stones’ concert in Hampton Colosseum, VA, in 1981. The lead guitarist praised his Fender Telecaster, saying, “It’s a working-man’s guitar . . . ; you can hit people over the head with it, and it’ll still stay in tune.”
Salman Rushdie is another twitterer who would make me flip out if he retweeted me. Like the Rolling Stones, Mr. Rusdie is up there on my heroes’ list, which is growing thinner by the day. I even went so far as to reply on one of his tweets, saying he looked debonair in a picture taken at a designer-shirt photo-shoot with other literary luminaries.
Avril Lavigne is one with whom I would love to socially interact. Her avatar just looks so cute when it pops up on my twitter bar, as she is another musician whom I admire; but I always have to say something to acknowledge her, which usually makes my fingers become all tongue-tied, typing something stupid like a nervous schoolboy would while attempting to flirt with a gorgeous lady. I think she must ignore me.
Getting back to the Stones, I follow them also and can’t help but join in their revelry, being all of their tweets show up on my Twitter time line; nevertheless, I’m now dead-set for showing up with the myriad of other tweeters who have been retweeted by said twitterers. I’ve tried a bunch of stuff, but ended with no cigar. When they asked who still had their records on vinyl, I tweeted the following:
I though that was pretty cool, mentioning further in my tweet that the records were obviously well-played; but nooooo, not worth a retweet. Next was the offering of a relevant verse from their massive catalog of tunes, but in less than 140 characters; so I tweeted in the following at exactly three o’clock in the morning: “it’s three a.m., there’s too much noise; don’t you people ever wanna go to bed?” I even attached the following photo to the attempted retweet:
A lyric from “Get off My Cloud”; a picture of clouds taken while tooling down the A18 in Belgium; and everything was tweeted at the stroke of 3 A.M. I thought that was rather clever, but dagnabbit, nada again. I figured it would have to take something to catch their eye.
The ensuing retweets by the band showed pics of tattoos, decals stuck on cars, or various places which displayed the tongue-and-lips logo as shown at the top of this tirade. Wasn’t it Poopdeck Pappy, the character that portrayed Popeye the Sailor’s long-lost father, who utilized a thinking cap with the light bulb on top? When he suddenly got an idea, the bulb would flash while making a beeping sound; and in a rackety old voice he would say, “I’ve got it.” Well, I thought I had it too with this next picture I would tweet to the elusive retweeters:
The caption for the above photo taken at Mardi Gras in New Orleans read, “Honkey Tonk Woman.” Nothing was conceded: zilch, zero, pow, zoom to the moon, Alice, I give up;
OK, I suppose I should consider folks like the Rolling Stones, Salman Rushdie, Avril Lavigne, the Who, Bruce Springsteen, Rolling Stone Magazine, or the many others with whom I like to banter, have hundreds of thousands, and even several million tweeters telling them how wonderful they are, showing up ad infinitum on their time lines. How do they keep up? Bless their little hearts!
My next tirade will most likely deal with being followed by Cyber bots.