As are we all.
If you were my daughter, you’d be writing that letter apologizing to Kansas Gov. Sam Brownback for the smartalecky [She actually said “smartalecky.” I didn’t just add that. -Ed.], potty-mouthed tweet you wrote after meeting with him on a school field trip.
Also, that smartphone? The one you posed with, proudly displaying the tweet in which you announced that Brownback “sucked” and added the lovely hashtag #heblowsalot? Turned off until you learn to use it responsibly.
I have to make one note about all of the pearl-clutching over Emma Sullivan’s “#heblowsalot” tweet: She didn’t actually say it to Governor Brownback. That part was a joke. The reactions to her “rudeness” and “potty-mouthedness” are of such a scale you’d think she’d run up to him and yelled, “You blow! A lot!” before running away, cackling gleefully, but she just said it to her friends using the language teenagers use when they talk to each other. Rude? Maybe. I myself will cop to being a little bit rude when I tweet about TV or politics or football, but I’ve never been ordered to write a letter of apology to Robert Kirkman, Robert Bentley*, or Tim Tebow. Crude? Sullivan’s derisive teenage tweetspeak is hardly the crudest thing ever said about the governor, online or off. Knowing Brownback, it probably wasn’t the crudest thing said about him that day.
There seems to be this belief, perhaps promulgated by a generation that passed most of its social media around in folded notes when the teacher’s back was turned, that Twitter is a bullhorn that draws attention and raises one’s voice above the fray. Folks, Twitter is the fray. While it’s true that what you put out on the Internet lives there forever, it’s also true that in a world where Kanye West ALL CAPS TWEETS to an audience of more than five million, an 18-year-old sending out a tweet to her 60 followers is the digital age’s equivalent of joking around in the food court at the mall. By raising a fuss over Sullivan’s tweet, Brownback’s aide was basically standing up on a table and yelling, “Did you hear what she just said about the governor?!” drawing the attention of a mall full of people who wouldn’t have known a thing about it otherwise.
(In this analog, Ruth Marcus is following her own daughters from Sbarro to Dippin’ Dots, listening to their conversations and ready to step in with a wrist-slap for “potty-mouthed”ness.)
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