Every workday I take the 16Y express bus, the one that runs in south Arlington along Columbia Pike and into the District. After four years, it has become ... well, people say, "like a family" but I'm not sure. Maybe more of a fraternity. Or something. The experience affords me the opportunity to observe human behavior. Like the woman I sat next to one morning who stuck the point of her umbrella in my side, and when I asked her to move it, got bent out of shape and was complaining to her friend on her cellphone about the creepy guy next to her. Hey, fellas, don't you hate when that happens to you?
Every now and then I wish I could send a message (or, in the aforementioned case, a cry for help) of 140 characters or less in a wireless bottle to the Twitter universe. So...This is fair warning to the seventy-eight followers I have in my Twitter account, as well as on TweetDeck. I now have the capability to "tweet" -- Oh, Lord, how I hate that term! -- from my mobile phone. I know people who send a succession of ten or fifteen messages out, as if every unpublished thought needs to be published. Before you all hit the "unfollow" button, I'll wait until I actually have something to say.
It could happen.
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