A girlfriend told me that before she tweets, she poses the question: What will my great-great grandchildren think? This question might seem bizarre, except for the fact that the Library of Congress is archiving our tweets. The New York Times explains here.
I'm not that concerned about the fruit of my loins judging me. But sometimes I'll pose the question: How much will this upset my father? (My mother has learned to roll with my punches. Nothing I say shocks her anymore. It's kind of annoying. Plus, she's not on twitter.).
After I tweeted this...
My Dad called. "Ellie, why are you tweeting about gass?"
"I was yelling up the staircase to the Husb. No response. And then, I heard this little toot. And I realized that if I could hear that, he could hear me."
"Ugh. Now, people are going to look at your husband and think: Farter."
Another time, my Dad said, "I don't care about all this minutia you people post on Twitter. I unfollowed Lance Armstrong cause he'd never shut up. You're lucky I still follow you. I mean, I broke it off with LANCE ARMSTRONG."
I have some friends obsessed with Ancestry.com. They'll dig up who was on what boat, who fought on what side of the Civil War, who married his cousin. It's weird to think that future generations will be able to dig up our twitter feed.
What would I want to tweet to my great-great grandchildren?
- That little dog in all the old photos is Chubs, the best dog that ever lived.
- If you lose my wedding ring in a nasty divorce, I'm rolling over in my grave.
- Your great-great grandfather was not a "Farter". He was a great man. And our marriage worked cause he learned to tune me out.
- Sorry about the environment. At least I recycled.
- And I apologize for not setting you up with a trust fund.