So this is so off-topic that you might ought to just push on through. But promises were made, and I’m a firm believer in keeping my word.

The backstory is that I’ve been on Twitter for a while, and I have a compelling cast of characters who I follow and who follow me. Some our Portland linked. Others are law tweeps. (Yeah, I know, but that’s Twitter talk.)

More back story: I’ve been biking into work a good chunk of the summer, and I’m looking to keep on it into the rainy season. We had some major rain last week. My nylon running jacket and nylon shorts failed, leaving me prune skinned and water logged.

So I turned to my Twitter buds–my tweeps–for suggestions on foul weather biking. One of them asked me to compile into a post so that all could benefit, and now I’m at it.

The biggest point of agreement was that fenders are essential. So say @lancedgoddard and @AndyBarovick. (Yes for those not into the Twitter the @ character is the signifier of Twitter ID.) Of course, I have fenders on my slow but steady commuter bike. So I guess my pruning could have been worse?

Rain gear was a source of controversy. According to at least one person, @jwdoom, rain gear is a crock. Actually, he was a bit more graphic, but I’m trying to keep it clean here. On the other hand, @BeelJDPhd relates that a colleague swears by Pearl Izumi rain gear from REI.

And then there was a long list of suggestions from the ever helpful @AndyBarovick, but his bottom line was really simple: Don’t ride in the rain, unless you have to. I’m hoping that “rain” to the New York @AndyBarovick is different than rain to me, Portland’s @DavidSug (yes that’s my Twitter ID), but who knows?

In any event, my promise kept, I go back to the grind of today’s tasks. Thanks to all my Tweeps. It’s an engaging conversation, isn’t it? And for anyone who’s reading this who is on Twitter, feel free to check out those cited. They’re all engaging and interesting people with whom I’ve connected.

David Sugerman

I started using Twitter a while ago on the recommendation of Matt Schulte, the guy who designed this web page. As with many of Matt’s suggestions, I wasn’t entirely sure that I could master it or–more important–whether it made sense.

Matt was so right for reasons that I’m only beginning to understand. On one level, the access to real-time information from other lawyers, consumers, media, and political sources gives me quick access to things that I wouldn’t normally see.  This smart explanation in the mobile New York Times provides better analysis.

There are downsides.  Who, for example, wants to read 140-character snarky posts from a self-proclaimed expert’s real time review of Dancing with the Stars? That happened to me last night as I had the feed going. After the third one, I simply stopped following the woman, saving myself from further wincing.

But at the same time, I can hear from a colleague in Georgia who is looking for an expert. I can post and respond to queries about matters that I’m seeing here in Oregon. The networks are fluid, and my query to those who follow me are often forwarded (”retweeted”) by others to their networks. I find people of interest to follow and can search for topical posts.

Over my public and private writing life, I’ve written stories, reports, court pleadings and briefs, a novel, op-ed pieces, law journal articles, news reports, and blogs. Each form of writing is its own thing.  So too with Twitter. The 140-character form requires concise writing. It also leads to its own syntax. It’s a beguiling form.

Twitter creates risks. Those include the attorney who wanted all of her followers to see her up-to-the-minute thoughts about Dancing with the Stars. But there are more serious risks, too. And of course, it could simply be a hot fad, like the CB radio.

I doubt that. Given the fluidity of the information and networks, I don’t think this is passing fancy. Seems more likely that some form of this medium will become an important source of information and communication.

David Sugerman

ps-I’m on Twitter as @DavidSug. Feel free to look me up.