What the #FF?!?: My First Follow Friday

Twitter, to all intents and purposes, is sort of like a secret society, which you are slowly inducted into through public humiliation and hazing.  Okay, maybe they don’t make you run through the streets naked while chanting “BANGARANG, RUFIO!”, but you certainly have to make a complete fool of yourself until you’re well-acquainted with the guidelines and slang terms of Twitter.

@….Mention…Re-Tweet…Tiny URL…Small URL…Hashtags…180 Characters…Trends…Following…Followers…Lists…DM…PM…and there’s probably a BM, too…the list goes on and on…

I pride myself in knowing almost all these terms, and today, I take that last step in becoming fully initiated in the Twitterverse:  I will finally use a hashtag, and I will know why.

Hashtags are applicable labels to your Tweets which sort of act like tags on blog posts.  They organize ideas/thoughts/trends/topics all over Twitter so that you can search for, say, #ripePeruvianmelons, or #ChristianBaleRants.  You simply apply a "”#”, or a hashtag, to your topic, and boom…instant organization.  You are now a responsible Tweeter.

Most topics are pretty straight forward (#parenting, #beverages, #movies).  However, there has been one hashtag that has continually perplexed me, and it’s time I put a stop to the madness.  I present for your examination…the elusive hashtag:

#FF

So, you’re probably asking “What the FF?!?”, especially those of you who do not Tweet or cannot Tweet due to a pre-existing medical condition.  “FF” stands for Follow Friday, Friend Follow, or even Followable Folks.  Allow me to open your eyes, ears, and other orifices to what #FF really means, through the use of a brilliant comic from my new favorite website, The Oatmeal (copyright Matthew Inman, 2010):

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The 12 Movies of Christmas

My favorite movie, of all time, is Home Alone.

Not my favorite “Christmas” movie…my favorite movie…of all time.  You know, the one with Macaulay Caulkin, the robbers, and the house full of Mousetrap-like inventions?  Yep.  That one.  It’s held the title of my #1 Film, for many years now, beating out tough competitors like Shawshank Redemption, Hook and Clue.

I don’t place Home Alone at the top of my film queue for cinematic reasons.  No actors merited any Oscar Awards for their performances, and the only Oscar Nomination went to composer John Williams (and very rightly so).  It doesn’t stand amongst films like Braveheart, Memoirs of a Geisha, or Saving Private Ryan, but it does possess an immense amount of nostalgia for me.

Home Alone, for me, became the movie to watch during the Christmas season.  It was amongst the first movies I saw in theatres, and it eventually found a very special place in the life of my family.  Every year, we’d get so excited to pull it out of its VHS case (still have it), and even though the years took their toll on the video cassette, we didn’t seem to mind the faded color or distorted sound.  The lights would dim, the 21st Century Fox anthem would ring out, and the opening title would float into my ears, making me remember Christmases of ages past.

It’s a “quotable movie” for me.  I have a few that I can confidently sit down with and, word for word, re-enact the whole film.  My favorite scenes in the film are the ones which evoke memories of laughter with my family.  No Christmas season is complete without a viewing of Home Alone (and, Home Alone 2, while we’re at it).

Thursday, you didn’t do right by me…

Thursday, you done did me wrong…

Ohhh, Andy....

To say that my Thursday took a dump on my week would be an understatement.  My Thursday left me on the curb with nothing but my blankie, a luke-warm bottle of milk, and a sign that says “Free to a good home.”  My Thursday betrayed and left me on the battlefield, heartbroken, blue-faced, and in a kilt.

LOUD NOISES!

To sum up:  Thursday Lando Calrissian’ed my ass…

NOT how my Thursday went down...

It just wasn’t a good day, for many, many reasons.  I woke up feeling blue.  I had to deal with snarky girls in school.   I nearly got kicked out of my church choir.  My hysterical crying made my mascara run and transformed me into a raccoon.  I didn’t have time for dinner.  And to top it all off, my dog peed on my pajama bottoms.

You're lucky you're cute, Piss Dog.