FYI

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The "at" Is Silent

Leif has brought up a mechanical concern with Twitter style that has so far gone unresolved by anyone in any sort of position of power. I call that a power vacuum, and I'm here to step in.

Leif wrings his hands:

My head almost went all Scanners while typing the “a @gowalla.” Strunk and White, where are you when I need you the most? Is it “a @” or “an @”?

The correct way to do this is to keep the "@" silent, and I'll tell you why.

Let's take Erica Mayer's tweet

My buddy @jonberrydesign is at the #Olympics working in graphic design! You should follow him, he's a swell dude <3

Do you pronounce this, "My buddy at-jonberrydesign is at the hash-Olympics"*? I don't. When I sign up for Twitter, I pick user names that don't involve "at" being said at the start. My Twitter handle is Punsultant. I am not the at-Punsultant; nor am I running the at-MNBeardOff.

The "@" indicates that the string of letters immediately following it is a user name. Similar symbols include the apostrophe, which indicates possession or acts as a replacement for letters within a word; the period, which indicates the end of a sentence; and the quotation mark, which indicates speech from someone other than the narrator. These symbols are called punctuation and are not pronounced.**

My point is this: "@" is punctuation that Twitter has invented. Find me a reputable style guide that says punctuation should be pronounced and I will start saying "at-username." Until then, the "at" should remain silent.


*I would like to compete in the hash Olympics.

**Sometimes quotation marks are pronounced when reading aloud. I don't care.

Winter 1, Winter 2

Do you ever notice how winter before New Year's looks different from winter after New Year's? True, the Christmas decorations are taken down sometime in January, but that's not exactly it. I could never really place it until a few days ago, when I saw a man in a stylish coat and scarf.

After the first of the year, we stop giving a shit about how we dress, because it's just too damn cold.

Before the first of the year, people are still excited about wearing their nice pea coat, a stylish scarf, and some sort of jaunty hat. But once January gets at full tilt, and all the way until March, it's like a race to see who can wear the most layers. This results in lumpy, waddling, sad-looking Minnesotans.

I don't think the fact that spring is just out of reach helps things much, either.

formspring.me Volume I

What is the air speed velocity of an unladen swallow? European.

According to Wikipedia the Barn Swallow,

It is not a particularly fast flier, with a speed estimated at about 11 m/s, up to 20 m/s and a wing beat rate of approximately 5, up to 7–9 times each second

(Side note: let's try to keep the questions actual, and not clumsy references to 35 year old movies.)

How is it that you prefer Nutty Bars over Pearson's Nut Rolls? Isn't that kind of anti-Minnesotan of you?

OH MY GOD. They are totally not the same thing. Not even close. I love a Pearson's Nut Roll. I think you reveal your ignorance of delicious snacktime solutions by confusing these two delicious yet TOTALLY DISTINCT items.

Which beard/mustache/facial-hair style is your favorite?

This question was asked by Brianne, and is quite excellent. For wearing, my favorite facial hair style is currently a standard full beard, trimmed to Emily's specifications. In the past I have enjoyed pre-war German-style mutton chops (before it was cool) and the Abe Lincoln chin strap. In the future, I would like to go as Martin Van Buren for Halloween, and the Chester A Arthur beard is also hilarious and wonderful (which means I might try it for a day).

What is the best calculator pound for pound?

I would turn to one of these British calculators for calculating pounds.

what day is it?

Today is Wednesday, January 27. Today is the birthday of William Randolph Hearst, Zephram Cochran himself James Cromwell, Kieth Olbermann, and the death day of William Nolde, the last man to die in the Vietnam War. It is also Hump Day, six days after my anniversary with Emily, and 267 days until my birthday.

War elephant or tactical rhinoceros?

Rhinos are built for war: they are heavily armored, they have those massive horns and a strong neck. They're also fast: they can run at 25 miles per hour, which apparently elephants can do too. But honestly, a rhino is going to be able to turn much faster. In battle, I'll take the rhino any day.

False Hope

Today it's supposed to be 42 degrees in Minneapolis. It's January 16.

"Awesome!" you might think. Nope, not awesome. This sucks. This is so damn stupid. I hate the January Thaw.

See, in Minnesota, our winters are brutal and last from November to April. That's pretty close to half the year. When you put spring and fall in there, that doesn't leave much room for 85 and sunny. So when it gets close to springtime, when things start melting a bit, I get really excited. Winter is exhausting, and by the middle of January I'm ready for it to be over.

Enter the January Thaw.

Every year around this time, the temperature spikes by 30 degrees, things start melting, and my springtime reflexes activate. The woooooshhhhhhhh of cars driving through puddles, the sparkling of water droplets from snow melting, the thinning of snow in places. All of these are indicators of spring. But actually, spring is fifteen weeks away. Fifteen weeks! That's 105 days. That's nearly a third of a year.

So, give me 25 below, please. No more of this 40 and sunny. I need 25 below zero right now, so every bit of hope in me is securely frozen in place, not ready to move for... ugh... 105 days.

MaBeGroMo: The End

I realize that it's half way through the month of January by now, but I would be remiss if I did not finish out my MaBeGroMo updates.

For the month of December, I did not trim my beard. It started like this, moved in this direction, and this was the final product:

Look at how manly that is! It's so manly that Hercules crapped right in his pants and had to put on a dress so all residual crapping due to the extreme manliness of this photo would just fall to the floor--because it was inevitable for months.

A Young Santa

When Emily and I go to restaurants, children will often stare at me. My best guess is because they see me as a young Santa.

So, to fulfill my promise of a mid-month MaBeGroMo photo update (which is to say, this is 16 days of growth), I will let you be the judge. Young Santa:


But this picture is shadowy. It does not do real justice to the fullness of my beard. As a favor to you, I have highlighted where my beard ends and the shadow begins. I think you will be impressed:

Social Media and the Expert Opinion

I run the social media program for a nonprofit in St. Paul. This has been a rewarding experience and I have learned much. But there is one thing I am struggling with and would like some advice on.

My nonprofit deals with some technical and political issues. And because I have been engaging our followers on Twitter, this means I have recently had to provide answers to some questions that are over my head for both technical and political reasons. I'm not going to leave questions unanswered (that's horrible practice), but I'm not going to BS someone. So I go to the appropriate expert staff member for the answer. I've been able to get appropriate responses within about 24 hours, which, when at-replying someone, is fine.

But now that it's the holidays, and now that we are taking some stances on some sensitive issues, I find myself frustrated. Hard questions are being asked (which is exciting!), but I have no expert staff around to help me answer them, because they are taking some much deserved paid time off. Meanwhile, hard questions go unanswered. What is a social media practitioner to do?

My instinct has been to email the appropriate staff with the question (as per usual) and to make a note to myself to follow up later. But I imagine a time will come when the person asking the question simply doesn't care any more.

Minnesota Comic Chad Daniels on the Tonight Show

On Tuesday night a man from Fergus Falls, MN was on Conan O'Brien's Tonight Show as the comedy guest. I always love when comedians are featured instead of bands.

This dude, Chad Daniels, was funny in a very generic way. He told jokes about his family in a cadence reminiscent of Jimmy Carr (who was also on Conan this summer, apparently), which worked. And while I laughed, this man has done nothing especially notable. He told jokes about how his children annoy him, how he wants to abandon them, and how they are idiots. Honestly, I liked it way better when Louis C.K. did it, like, ten years ago.

But, even so, it's definitely worth devoting five minutes to enjoying, if only for the fact that he is from Minnesota and he was on teevee:

Dream Workplace

Sort of in response to Conner and then Emily's posts about what sort of bar they'd like to operate, and in light of this morning's commute, I would like to share some of my thoughts about the kind of office I'd run if it were up to me.

Armchairs. I always find I do my best work when I'm sitting in one of my armchairs. I would like to bring this into my work environment.

Bigass windows. I love to look out a window, and that enjoyment is increased with the size of the window. Also, natural light is a natural source of happiness and relaxation. Natural light is important.

Full kitchen. This is for breakfast. You can't buy a decent breakfast for less than $10, and I'm not made of money. (Alternately, since the idea is that perhaps I am the proprietor of this office, I didn't get rich by spending $10 on breakfast.) I will roll into the office 30 minutes early and cook biscuits and gravy for myself and all my coworkers using the full kitchen.

Liquor at 3 pm. Let's not be prudes, here. Sometimes I work better when I have an ounce or two of Scotch in me. Sometimes productivity rises midway into a Guinness. And hey! Why not do like the Red Stag does and put a shot or two of espresso in that Guinness? Relaxing and stimulating. This is what we all need at 3 pm, and it's the prudes and jerks of the world who prevent us from having it.

Downtown. My plan is to stay in the Twin Cities, and the public transit system in the area is exceedingly downtown-centric. So, my office will be directly at or within three blocks of most major bus lines, which my house will also be at or within three blocks of.

In Defense of Jimmy Fallon

I would like to take a moment to pose a complaint about Jimmy Fallon on his television program, and then totally refute myself.

Have you seen Late Night with Jimmy Fallon? He sucks at interviewing! He doesn't even let his guests talk. He just jokes around.

YES BUT

Have you ever seen a guest on a late night talk show? They are all vapid actors (save for Brian Williams, Al Roker, Will Ferrel, and Harrison Ford). They suck! Who wants to hear about the cute thing their baby did? Nobody, that's who.

So when Jimmy Fallon takes over the interview--even if he is only mostly funny--and gets the three mentions of the movie or TV show in, I say good work. That is moving things forward in the late night talk show realm.

Give Me a Break, I Got Hit by a Car

In an effort to A) populate this blog with good writing, B) share some of my favorite works published elsewhere, C) maybe drum up some interest in starting a comedy writing workshop group because I miss the old writers meetings from when I worked on the Times New Roman, I am going to be publishing several of my old comedy pieces. Enjoy.

This piece was published in the June 7, 2006 issue of Boston's Weekly Dig.


Last week, I got hit by a car.

Don’t worry, I’m fine. I was walking to Northeastern from my apartment in Mission Hill, and I was going down Wigglesworth (teehee) Street when I saw the T. It was just sitting there, with its door open, saying, “Art! Come ride me! It’s not far to campus, but you might as well be sitting comfortably.” I considered the T’s offer, and decided that indeed I should sit comfortably, as sitting is one of my favorite things.

So I bolted across Wigglesworth (teehee) Street, careful to check to see if there were any cars coming, and sure enough, there were. However, in my haste to catch the T before it left, I performed my car-check only after I had already committed myself to a full-out sprint into the middle of the street.

I decided I could probably jump and let the oncoming car pass under me, à la Mario dodging one of those bullets with a face, but the car was too fast. I slid up the hood of the car, coming to a momentary stop on the windshield; then physics had its way with me, and I was deposited onto the street.

I did a quick mental once-over of my entire nervous system, and nothing was telling me: “Over here! This is where your death-inducing injury has occurred!” I was fine. Nothing was broken, nothing was fractured, nothing was bleeding. Only two parts of my body were remotely in pain: my Primary Impact Zone, the upper right-hand quadrant of my back where I hit the windshield, and my Secondary Impact Zone, my left shoulder where I hit the street.

Wait a minute. I ran into the middle of the street without looking both ways, got hit by a car (as I was warned would happen every day of elementary school ever), and then what? Nothing! What the hell!? I’ve had worse injuries falling off my bike. Onto a bed of pillows. Pillows that feed you candy somehow.

I’ve come up with a few possible explanations for this remarkable turn of events. First, it is possible that I am invincible; after all, I am a 21-year-old man. Second, it is possible that the driver was a puss and didn’t accelerate when he saw me run into the street, but instead slowed down (what a baby). Third, the car that hit me, a Toyota Prius, was probably so wussed-out—since it uses hybrid-electric power and a higher mixture of ethanol instead of burning only pure, delicious gasoline—that it couldn’t do any damage to anyone, ever. I mean, had I been hit by a Hummer or something of equal manliness (I’m kidding, I know there is nothing as manly as a Hummer), I would have been squashed like the pedestrian bug that I was.

It was probably a combination of these elements that allowed me to stand up, brush the dust off my pants, and head directly to my girlfriend’s apartment, where I proceeded to kick her ass at Monopoly (apparently, I was on a winning streak against cars that day). But damn it all if the T didn’t leave before I could catch it.

Yes, I Once Put Bits of Churro in My Beard

There has been some unease about my MaBeGroMo ambition of letting my beard grow for a month. Namely, Emily is worried that I will put bits of churro in there.

"Ha ha!" you might be thinking to yourself, "That Emily! Always with a witty remark, she." Yes, except her concern is not a nonsequitor or other silliness. Her concern is rooted in factual history.

When I was 16, I had a full beard. (Hell, when I was 15 I had a full beard, but this story takes place a year later.) The problem with giving a 16 year old full facial hair privileges is that he will abuse them by growing a chin beard out to four inches long and try to impress his friends with the all the different foods he can fit in there. I don't remember the exact number of churro bits I got in there, but it was in the vicinity of many many.

MaBeGroMo Picture: Day 2

Yesterday I announced that I will grow my beard for MaBeGroMo. I also promised that a picture was forthcoming, and I do not lie. This picture was not taken on Day One of MaBeGroMo, but it's close enough. I give you my unusually long-looking head and The Beard on MaBeGroMo Day Two:


You can expect a MaBeGroMo update mid-month, and then a photo from the 31st.*

*We'll see if Emily lets me achieve the extra goal, set forth by Dyer, of going all the way until Valentine's Day. We have an anniversary in there somewhere, so I'm thinking probably not. But we'll see!

Macho Beard Growing Month

Today, my beard blog subscriptions exploded with the news. (All two of them.) Specifically, this is the fifth year of what Dyers.org has proclaimed Macho Beard Growing Month, or MaBeGroMo. This is in response to the teenage-girl like giddiness everyone had over NaNoWriMo. Did you finish your novel? Was it any good? No and no.

According to Dyer, there are a few rules to MaBeGroMo. You can read them in full here, but to summarize:

1. Take a before picture.
2. Don't shave for a month.
3. Take an after picture.

Be it resolved that, for the month of December, I will not shave my beard, so that it may be macho. My picture is forthcoming.

To the right you will find a MaBeGroMo banner in solidarity with this very important month, complete with witty pun, courtesy of Dyers.org.

If you are unsure, please read Dyers.org's helpful Beard FAQ.

Hate Crime Versus Terrorism

I would like to take a break from the silly for a moment and talk about a serious semantic issue that really bugs me: When is a crime terrorism?

Two years ago, Congress passed hate crime legislation. My problem with this legislation is that is differentiates a hate crime from terrorism.

Wikipedia defines a hate crime as:

Hate crimes (also known as bias-motivated crimes) occur when a perpetrator targets a victim because of his or her perceived membership in a certain social group, usually defined by racial group, religion, sexual orientation, disability, ethnicity, nationality, age, gender, gender identity, or political affiliation.

If we compare that to Wikipedia's attempt at a definition of terrorism, we (I) see overlap:

Terrorism is the systematic use of terror especially as a means of coercion. At present, there is no internationally agreed definition of terrorism. Common definitions of terrorism refer only to those violent acts which are intended to create fear (terror), are perpetrated for an ideological goal (as opposed to a lone attack), and deliberately target or disregard the safety of non-combatants.

Both of these definitions, at their core, translate to: "A person or group of people from a specific group is targeted for assault to send a message to the group at large." The message is usually terror.

I realize this is one area where semantics is of the highest importance. To call something terrorism that was simply a random act of violence would create unjust and disproportionate penalties for petty thugs.

But we should not be so hesitant to call out terrorism when it happens. There are all kinds of terrorism, both domestic and international. Just because a person is white and just because he hates abortionists does not make him not a terrorist. When a person hates homosexuals and scrawls threatening messages on their property to incite fear (another word for terror), that is terrorism.

In short: hate crimes did not need their own legislation because there was already legislation on the books covering these "different" kinds of crimes: they are called anti-terror laws, and any hate criminal should be persecuted under these laws.

America's Next Mighty Caesar

In an effort to A) populate this blog with good writing, B) share some of my favorite works published elsewhere, C) maybe drum up some interest in starting a comedy writing workshop group because I miss the old writers meetings from when I worked on the Times New Roman, I am going to be publishing several of my old comedy pieces. Enjoy.

This piece was published in the October 2005 issue of the Northeastern Times New Roman.

When I was in Rome recently, roaming if I wanted to, I came across a few pieces of a statue carved in the image of an old Roman of some sort. I’m not sure whom it was meant to portray. Maybe he was a Caesar.

The sheer height this stone guy must have been! You’d have to measure him in days, not feet.

That got me to wondering: Why don’t we build things that spectacular any more? Is it one of the many regrettable side-effects of the abolition of unpaid indentured servitude? Perhaps. Or maybe it’s because we don’t have anyone to build monuments to any more.

Consider it. We no longer have mighty Caesars. We don’t even have Pharaohs. We have piddling “presidents” who are “elected” “periodically” by the “public.” There is nothing mighty about that.

I believe monuments are no longer built on the scale they used to be because there is nothing to monumentalize to that scale. All our leaders are half-hearted and lack the commitment needed to be truly great enough for a large monument.

But you know what? You know who doesn’t lack the commitment for glory? Glory on a moon-touching scale? Me. That’s who. I know how to whoop people with blunt and sharp objects. I know how to oppress the poor. I know how to dictate commands to secret police. And I look rather dashing in a flowing toga with a crown of leaves. I have all the qualifications to be the next Mighty Caesar. America’s next Mighty Caesar.

Elections will be a thing of the past as I hurl America into the future. There will be no need for them, because I am willing to rule until the time of my death, whereupon I will be gracious enough to appoint a successor with my full confidence to carry on my legacy.

Taxes will no longer be an issue. I will eliminate all taxes and instead require a tribute of 50% of all material assets. This generous allowance on my part will endear me to the people. However, I will set out the military if needed to keep people from giving more out of their great reverence for me. A line must be drawn.

America’s divisive foreign policy will be a debate of the past. I will have a foreign policy everyone can agree on: It’s ours and we’re going to take it.

I will also solve several problems you didn’t know were problems. October will become Arttober. The streets will be torn up and filled with delicious mounds of salami, and mailboxes will be stocked with mustard for convenience. I will go farther than making clothing optional; I will make it illegal. Except for old people. And fatties.

Then, and only then, will I be ready for my monument. We will dig up the entire state of Kansas (will you miss it? I know I won’t), and from its dirt form clay, and with that clay build a true-to-life representation of my bulging muscles and rugged, manly good looks ten million days tall! Then, with the top ten best sculptors in the world, we will carve my face into the moon so the entire world will always remember the Mighty Caesar Art.

All hail Mighty Caesar (me)!

A Longer Beard Does not Make You a Champion. A Cage Beard Does.

Today, Emily sent me a video from the 1991 National Beard and Moustache Championship in Tacoma, WA. When the video first started, I figured here's a guy whose girlfriend let him grow his beard for six months instead of two. He's got a long beard, sure, but it's all scraggly and unkempt. Maybe that's how these people roll, maybe not. I know for a fact that my beard is significantly more luxurious than that, and if all they need me to do to win the prize is grow it out for six months, show me where to sign up, I'll happily take their prize.

But then I got schooled. I got schooled hard. If there's one lesson I've learned in life, it's this: There is always someone more badass than you. All I will say is: Beard Gate. Behold:

Travel Abroad

In an effort to A) populate this blog with good writing, B) share some of my favorite works published elsewhere, C) maybe drum up some interest in starting a comedy writing workshop group because I miss the old writers meetings from when I worked on the Times New Roman, I am going to be publishing several of my old comedy pieces. Enjoy.

This piece was published in the February 2005 issue of the Northeastern Times New Roman. The photo used here was the photo originally intended to be used with this piece, but was not the photo used in publication.

As a college student, you will probably be doing a lot of travel over the next three or four years to Europe, Asia, and Canada. World travel is the best gift you can give yourself (after perhaps a 4-wheeler or a PlayStation 2), but before you embark on your journey, you should know a little more about how to travel. If this is your first time traveling, you will probably want to travel somewhere in Europe, because if there’s any reason to travel to a foreign country, it is to closely emulate the environment you’re used to.

First you are going to have to decide on a destination. As an experienced world traveler I can tell you all European cities are the same, so get out your map of Europe and a dart.

So you’ve hit Vienna. What’s that? Oh, it’s in Austria. No, Austria, no kangaroos. No, not the other England. You know what? Just throw your dart again. Ah, good, Rome.

Rome is the cultural political fashion history capital of the world. All you need to know about Rome to understand its vast historical significance is summed up in the B-52s classic Roam If You Want To, which both Hillary Duff and Mary Kate and Ashley Olson have cleverly used in movies about Rome.

You will need to buy your airline tickets. Let me tell you, international business class is the only way to fly. If you can’t afford business class (and you still want to go), you can always fly what airline companies quaintly call “economy class.” Let’s just say supply is never more than demand.

When you arrive at the airport (at least 24 hours in advance for international flights), you should check your luggage (otherwise it can’t get lost), find your gate (and number and a letter?! Information overload!), and sit patiently. You’ll undoubtedly get restless sitting at the gate. This is the perfect opportunity to get started on your vacation shopping!

The airport is full of reasonably priced shops filled with friendly staff. Here you can buy anything from a Snicker’s bar ($7.00) to extra luggage (5 souls). If shopping is not your thing, you can watch (but not listen to) one of the many airport TVs showing a program you’d rather not watch.

Once you’ve boarded the plane, sit patiently through the flight crew instructions (yes, they still do that) and get ready for an excitement-packed flight! If second-run family movies aren’t your idea of a good time, you can always enjoy your complimentary issue of Sky Mall, the on-board catalogue of items for purchase. The selection in Sky Mall is vast, including puppies, houses, and mail-order brides.

After the eight hours of whacky fun (a.k.a. your flight) you will deboard the plane. Now you are in Rome! You will wait patiently at the luggage carousel until everyone else has left with their bags. Then you will report to lost luggage. Here you will discover that your bags have gone to Vienna, where the airline company though you had intended to go. They also will not be able to get your bags back until three days after you return home. Don’t worry though, you didn’t come to Europe empty-handed! You just arrived there that way.

The bad news is now you don’t have any luggage (don’t you wish you had bought extra at the airport?), which means you don’t have any clothes. The good news is: wardrobe overhaul! If you can’t afford Italian designer prices, don’t worry, Italians have second-hand clothing stores too.

Once you arrive in Rome you will probably want to see the sites. Don’t waste your time on things like the Coliseum or the Roman Forum, you have probably seen plenty of pictures of these things already. It’s not worth the 10 Euro to walk through something you have already seen pictures of, even if it is old.

My suggestion is that you rent a car and drive to one of Italy’s many topless beaches. Don’t worry, you don’t have to take your clothes off, you can just sit and observe with your binoculars from afar. I must warn you, however, there is no bouncer or other approval process for admittance onto the nude beaches. This means old ladies with droopy racks can take their shirts off. Yuck.

But Art! I don’t speak a word of Italian! How will I get by? One word of advice, my friend: Italians love when you talk down to them, especially in English. But if you’d rather make the effort to speak Italian, here’s a simple trick: just add “O” to the end of every word. Youo willo beo talkingo Italiano ino noo timeo!

I have found that Italy is best enjoyed from indoors, especially the inside of a hotel room. With such exciting features as CNN World, miniature bottles of alcohol, and a bed, hotel rooms are non-stop thrills. If you get homesick while in Italy, don’t worry. Just go into a McDonalds; their employees barely speak English too!

Although they wish they could, Italians do not accept American Dollars. This means you need to find an exchange booth and exchange your real money for Euros. Just think of them like Disney Dollars: they are all sorts of pretty colors and the conversions don’t add up nicely so you spend more than you think you are spending. By the way, all Europeans prefer it when you refer to American Dollars as “real money.”

By the time your trip is finished, you will probably spend most of the money you have. When you finish shoving and breaking everything to fit into your new suitcases, it is time to go to the airport and get back to real civilization.

On the airplane you will be asked to fill out a few customs forms for reentry to the US. These forms are simple, but if you do it wrong you are obviously a terrorist seeking entry for devious reasons. You will be detained indefinitely.

In Defense of the New Retweet Feature

Another something has changed on the Internet, so wouldn't you know it, everyone is upset. But the latest major Death of the Internet--the retweet reconfiguration--is a positive change. It is a positive change for more than one reason:

• It preserves the author's intent by preserving their tweet exactly as they wrote it. How many times have you had to truncate someone else's tweet to accommodate for their user name? The original tweeter picked their words carefully, and although it has become an accepted practice to remove select words to make room for retweeting superfluence, that's actually terrible citation practice. As a writer, I love the preservation of intent.
  
• It draws attention to new personalities. More times than I can count I've scanned a tweet and replied to the person who posted it, only then to realize they were retweeting someone else. Putting someone else's user picture, username, and full tweet in my stream forces me to pause and consider it, which is the (presumed) intent of the retweeter.
  
• It does not violate your personal space, so shut up. I've heard that some people find this new feature intrusive or otherwise violating of their personal Twitter space. This is total bullshit. Retweeting has been around since Twitter has been around and it was not considered a violation. Retweets have always been content in your stream put there by people you choose to follow. This has not changed in any way: the content is tagged as "retweeted by so-and-so." Honestly. It's the same thing.
  
• You add nothing of value to a retweet. Another major complaint about this change is that retweets are no longer able to be annotated. But here's the thing: do you really add value when you add "love this" "check this out" or "smart" to a retweet? You do not need to add an extra text to endorse a retweet. You are retweeting it; that is an endorsement. And if you really need to add your own commentary within the tweet (have we forgotten there are venues for commentary outside of Twitter? Maybe you could blog it!), they did not somehow deactivate the old way of doing it. People will still know what you mean if you type "is this you in this video lol RT @username blah blah blah."