Last night I failed to attend the first meeting of Sacramento-area Twitter-users. (To read how attendees thought it went, go here.)
My announced reason was that I prefer most of my Twitter follows just the way they are: imaginary. But the real reason was that I expected it would be a whole pub full of human beings I didn't know but would be expected to talk to. And that my end of every conversation would be one long repeat of this: "Hi, my name is Pam. Yes, I use Twitter! Yes, ha-ha, old people do know how to get online. I know, right? Should you be drinking that? Don't they card here?"
Plus, I don't watch Battlestar Galactica, so what would we have talked about after I'd checked everybody's driver's licenses?
I'm kidding. I'm not really this curmudgeonly. Please do not mail me red hats.