To Tweet or Not To Tweet

To tweet or not to tweet- that is the question.

Hamlet never really got me, or to be more accurate, I never really got Hamlet. But I believe that when Shakespeare wrote it he was unconsciously referring to Twitter.

“A man who dares to waste one hour of time has not discovered the value of life.”- Charles Darwin.

I’m inclined to disagree. Mostly because I’m inclined to disagree with essentially anything Charlie D. has to say. But moreover, because I believe wasting time is one of the most marvelous gifts a human, who has or hasn’t evolved from an ape, has been given the luxury of doing.

The trick is to find just the right way to achieve this. And we have.

We evolved from email, Hotmail, AOL, Juno and Yahoo!- the works. Which soon gave birth to instant messaging, chat-rooms and abbreviated awesomeness. Attempting to stand erect we moved upward in cyber evolution to bigger and better things, namely, MySpace. Until finally we were literally repulsed and forced to relinquish our pages to people more deserving than we. An assortment of overly pierced musicians and girls named after sweets. Candy. Lollipop. Gumdrop. In efforts to recover from our stint in MySpace and wash away the remaining grime we traded in glitzy pink pages for clean, blue and white Facebook. Ah, Facebook. Initially the site may have been reserved for stalkers and people who got their jollies from stalking but eventually we all admitted we liked stalk and from time to time, we enjoy the occasional position of a stalkee. So we stuck around for countless site makeovers and updated privacy settings (which actually served to make it all that much easier to get stalker-happy) until our ADD flared up again and we downloaded Skype. Still unable to wash down our ADD with a little blue pill, Twitter came along. All green and birdie, and status friendly.

Ergo the timeless question,

“To Tweet or not to Tweet..."

And the answer…

http://twitter.com/mushkagreenberg

:)

Cheating On Israel

I feel like I’m cheating on Israel.

On my domed Old City apartment, my whispering cobblestones, walls that beat with the heart of man.

On my Aldo gelato. Late night karaoke. Upstairs at Sideways. The romantic Xmas lights at Mamilla. The dangerous beauty and mystical mountains.

With a country that has scarlet creeping up her cheeks, fifty blue freckles scattered over her pasty white skin.

So basically, I’m cheating on Israel with a much dumber, less hot country.

If you’re going to cheat, I figure, now that I’m some thousand miles and one ocean away, it should be with a much cooler, hotter country. Like Greece or Africa.

I’m not really very experienced in the art of two timing. I tried it once before with two cell phone carriers. I ended up paying two very large bills. And come to think of it, having two phones never did make me feel like “The Man”.

It occurs to me as we cross over Reykjavik that there really is no turning back- unless, of course, I pull out my tefillin and get all Britney in the aisle. But I don’t want to make a scene.

I can’t help but wonder though, what possessed me to leave the greatest place I’ve found so far in the world, aside from Six Flags?

It comes down to two things. Or twenty little things, to be precise. My phalanges. Yes, my phalanges. They’ve have been starved of attention for nearly five months and if you must know, they craved the TLC of a delicate Asian.

So now I’m cheating. And I can’t tell if it’s worth it. Is it? Is it ever? The question has to be, why cheat when you have everything back home?

...Aldo gelato. New Deli subs. Late night karaoke. The Kotel. Upstairs at Sideways. Romantic xmas lights at Mamilla. Chevron. The paradox of safety and danger both racing down my spine…

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