Tagged: twitter

Marc Summers TWEETED AT ME.

Oh my goodness gracious.

Oh man.

OH MAN.

WHAT IS HAPPENING, INTERNET.

So I don’t know where the fine line is between having an obscure internet blog and getting tweeted (twatted? Twote?) at by celebrities is, but apparently I have crossed that line. Because guess what internet. I have been twoted by Marc Summers.

If you follow this blog at all, you will perhaps recall that I went to a food festival in Puerto Rico called the Saborea at which I was hoping to encounter Marc Summers. I did not meet/ see/ interact with him at all during this event and I wrote a blog post detailing my disappointment at not having met Marc Summers. That’s where the whole situation was put to rest, and I promptly forgot about the entire affair.

Skip ahead to last week on Thursday. I checked my Twitter early Thursday morning right before teaching a yoga class, which turned out to be a terrible idea. I do, in fact, have a twitter. I am also terrible at Twitter. I probably only check in to Twitter about once a month, maybe. I do not know what compelled me to Twit that morning.

Imagine my immense surprise to find, then that Marc Summers, THE Marc Summers, DOUBLE DARE UNWRAPPED MARC SUMMERS AKA MY CHILDHOOD IDOL, had TWOTE AT ME not once but TWICE.

TWICE. I WAS TWATTED TWICE.

The first twit (sorry. Deep apologies. Do you live there?) had taken place 6 days prior, the second (can I call you?) 4 days days, exactly corresponding to when the True Story of How I Didn’t Meet Marc Summers parts one and two were released, and after a little sleuthing, I discovered that Past Me had apparently linked my WordPress and my Twitter to tweet every time a post goes live. So I guess that explains that.

I should not have to explain the mental strain and excitement this put me under. I was, quite literally, speechless for a period of about ten minutes, which, while understandable, is unhelpful if you are teaching a yoga class.

Quickly, however, the excitement turned to panic. How do I respond to a celebrity on Twitter? I am not one of those super smooth people who can just tweet at my idols like it ain’t no thang. I am not suave. I cannot restrain my excitement to 140 characters (I mean, obviously. I do have a blog for that.) If I was a celebritwotter, Masaharu Morimoto and Alton Brown would never have empty inboxes.I mean, they probably don’t already, because they’re super famous people. Also if they tried to contact me I would figuratively keel over and die (reasons why I’m single #25- I’m a stickler for the proper use of the words literally and figuratively).

Anyways, my Gran was over that day, and I told her about the whole thing, and she asked me why I was getting twote by a man who was far too old for me who was probably a creeper on the interwebs like the type she saw a thing about on the news the other day.

And so then of course I was all like Gran, Marc Summers isn’t a creepy stalker, he is a national treasure, but she did have a point about it probably being a bad idea to put my phone number on the internet, so I tweeted him my email instead:

photo

Anyways, I haven’t heard from him since, but my fingers are crossed.

Justin Bieber is not a douchebag.

This week, a really terrible twitter trend, #cutforbieber,  has been circulating involving fake twitter accounts of supposed Beliebers cutting themselves over Justin alleging smoking pot. This makes my soul hurt.

I admit it, I used to be critical of the Biebs. It’s weird how in our culture these days it’s considered cool to openly dislike and criticize someone or something. Doesn’t anyone else remember how we all used to make fun of hipsters and then we all slowly, silently became hipsters as we continued to make fun of mustaches and skinny jeans? I want to know how many of my friends claim to dislike Jbiebs and secretly have “Beauty and a Beat” playing in a loop on their radios.

I think we’re all missing the point here. Justin Bieber is being victimized and bullied by trolls for no good reason other then the fact that he has a stupid hair cut and sings trashy pop songs. Honestly, the vast majority of the people on the top charts these days are singing repetitive, catchy, dippy songs, and they all have funny hair.

It's too easy.

It’s too easy.

Let’s just put this into perspective. Bieber was discovered when he was 14. By the end of that year he had gone on a world tour, hit the billboard charts more than once, and sung at the White House. When I was fourteen, I got an A in art class at school, went to my first ever dance, and got a cat who I now loathe.

Since 2008 when he was discovered, the Biebs has won several music awards, traded one bombshell girl for another bombshell girl, put a movie out about his life, and created the second biggest twitter account ever. My biggest accomplishment between 14 and 18 was not tripping up the steps to the stage during graduation… oh wait, nevermind.

Cut the kid some slack. Sure, he’s got a bit of an attitude with the paparazzi. Can you honestly tell me you never flipped anyone off during your teenage years? Even if it was (sorry Mom) behind a closed door after they were already downstairs? If I had annoying bitches trying to follow me around and take my photo all the time, I’d pull a Mean Girls and shove someone under a literal bus. Okay, he broke up with his one true love forever, Selena Gomez. I once broke up with someone because he was a bad kisser and his braces cut my top lip. We dated for about 45 minutes in total. World Record.

Look, all I’m saying is that the next time you wanna make an ill-intentioned joke about JBiebs, or TSwift, or Honey Boo Boo or whoever, just look in the mirror and ask yourself if you did anything worthwhile in the past week besides fit an entire Twinkie in your mouth at once. If the answer is no, get your damn hands off the keyboard, take a shower, and go make a contribution to the world, because you may not like the Biebs, but you sure as hell can’t say he isn’t trying his damnedest to make somebody’s day a little brighter.

Even if he does still dress like Flava Flav’s reject nephew.