The Ego, The Superego & The Twitter

Do you remember fondly those days when you were the class wit? You know, the one with the quick, sharp cut(ing remark) that embarrassed the kid with the bad zits, and everyone snickered or guffawed and even the teachers fought to suppress a grin. You were so, so…well—obnoxious. Droll, dry, laconic, smarmy, clever, ingenious, ingenuous and sometimes just plain crude, you blurted it out with perfect timing, insouciance and a decidedly diffident air. The others howled. Someone wanted to disappear, or go home and cry. But you nailed ‘em. Ragger extrordinaire.

Ah yes, the Id. That raging, ravenous, unrestrained primal cauldron of emotions, thoughts, urges, impulses, desires, psyche; the absolute infant. Eat, scream, poop, sleep whenever and wherever you want. That is how you come out. Like Freud or not, or be devoted to another “school” and vernacular you still need to grow up. To develop that healthy adult ego, the observing one. The one that becomes a civil adult despite that wild and crazy Id and that repressive, hypercritical, authoritarian Superego.

With time you become more sophisticated. The snide, derogatory, deprecating, denigratory, insulting, contemptuous, dismissive; mocking, taunting, sneering, scornful, derisive, sarcastic, spiteful, nasty, mean, disparaging remarks become more subtle, more focused; better timed and modulated. Other than on You Tube or drunk at a hockey game you learn to think the thought and smirk to yourself. Say it to your buddies at the sports bar, or to the girls sipping wine and gossiping. But you’ve learned to pause for a moment, to censor yourself. It may have required a few fat lips, a job lost, or a contempt of court citation but you have your timing and delivery perfect. You have a perfect instinct about the audience at work, play, the salon, the gym, everywhere, when you can be oh so funny. A real smart-ass. The Frat house eructation and flatulence are reserved for poker games and ski trips. The truly bitchy stuff for girls night out and bridal showers. Otherwise it’s a funny thought bubble and you tell the someone that you will tell them later. And crack them up.

All grown up. Important job. Corporate, political, media, news, whatever, you are somebody now. And you know perfectly how to be clever, cute, sharp, indignant and hurt in meetings, interviews, conferences. All public and most private discourse is precisely censored, moderated and discrete. Your Id is a legal weapon you deploy like a laser guided missile. Oh so cool.

Then you do it. Anyone, anywhere, anytime does or says something for which you have the perfect retort. You hear or see it on TV or social media. And you Tweet! Not a moments thought or reflection. No judgement, prudence or censorship. You Tweet. A stupid, inane, banal, obnoxious, foolish Tweet. No one is there when you do it. It’s sort of like a though bubble, or a wisecrack in the shower that makes you laugh at you sophisticated wit. And it’s about as smart as relieving yourself on Rodeo Drive on a warm Saturday afternoon. No, not as smart. Maybe you have a bladder control problem or IBS.

You are the final product of a Tweet. You are a Twit!

(you've acted like a complete fool: idiot, ass, blockhead, dunce, dolt, ignoramus, imbecile, cretin, dullard, simpleton, moron, clod; informal nitwit, halfwit, dope, ninny, nincompoop, chump, dimwit, dingbat, dipstick, goober, coot, goon, dumbo, dummy, ditz, dumdum, fathead, butthead, numbskull, numbnuts, dunderhead, thickhead, airhead, flake, lamebrain, mouth-breather, zombie, nerd, peabrain, birdbrain, scissorbill, jughead, jerk, donkey, twit, goat, dork, twerp, lamer, schmuck, bozo, boob, turkey, schlep, chowderhead, dumbhead, goofball, goof, goofus, doofus, hoser, galoot, lummox, knuckle-dragger, klutz, putz, schlemiel, sap, meatball, dumb cluck, mook; vulgar slang asshat.)

Now you are looking at Monster.com. With 5 stitches on your brow.