Awwwwwwwwwkward

"I'm sorry but that's very rude and irritating."

I could pretend my extended vacay from blogging was spurred by a hectic work-life. I could blame the ease of microblogging on Twitter or Facebook. I could probably blame restless leg syndrome if I so desired (because who among you has the time or interest to debunk it?). But, frankly, there's no exciting reason...I just stopped. And all it took to bring me back was a woman sitting with me at a conference leaning over to whisper-whip me, asking that I please stop tweeting--actually she said "texting"--because it was "rude and irritating."

So at 32-years-old, well-educated and 7+ months pregnant (with how many professional conferences under my belt?), I sheepishly banished my Blackberry to the center of the table...and all the extra blood straight to my face. Chastened and embarrassed, ready to counter with oh-so-relevant counter claims about my excellent track record with thank you notes and my otherworldly skill to apologizing to people who bump into ME in public. Never once did it occur to me to respond, "There is a dedicated back-channel for this conference and I'm simply sharing what we're learning from this session." It did, however, occur to me to run from the room and find the other kids at the nearest McDonald's Playplace.

After the session ended, I apologized again to my [in her defense] supremely polite, reasonable, warm chastiser and banished the thought of appealing to Mayor McCheese for McAmnesty. And then I got to thinking: at a conference for philanthropy professionals, where new ideas are currency, why are we having such a hard time integrating social media?

Tweeting at conferences is something I've started and ditched many times, usually because of sideways glances I get when I balance my PDA too close to the butter plate at the lunchtime plenary. Never afraid to chat up a stranger, I will occasionally ask others at my table if they mind if I tweet (the modern answer to the très 70's "mind if I smoke?" icebreaker). But most of the time I read the room and if the nearest PDA or laptop is more than 2 leagues away--difficult to gauge since my knowledge of leagues is limited to Disney movies with octopi--I scrap my plans.

In my braver moments, I consider but abandon the idea of clandestine tweeting:

"Why is that potted plant moving toward the podium? And what is that tapping sound?"
"Can you believe that guy in the sombrero and bushy mustache? Texting during the plenary session? And how did HE get pregnant?"

I'm always disappointed when I miss the opportunity to tweet valuable insights from a conference: 1) I find it to be a killer note-taking medium and 2) with the economy eating away at travel budgets, I enjoy using Twitter to make sure that the wisdom of an experienced crowd doesn't go unnoticed by all the talented folks whose organizations can't afford to send them to sit where I sit. And most of all it's a way to challenge myself to synthesize the insights of the Flipchart Maven at the front of any given session, as opposed to simply listen. For me, in a fast-paced environment, it can be even more beneficial to have to capture a lesson in 140 characters or less.

I try to remind myself that not everyone processes as I process: some need a legal pad, others can just sit and listen, some have to ask questions. Part of me often wonders who I think I am, assuming that my tap-dancing all over a Blackberry for 45 minutes trumps an effective learning environment for others.

Another part of me, though, would like to contact every conference planning chair in a 200-mile radius and ask them to call attention to the tweeting elephant in the room at the beginning of the conference. Then, at least, conference-goers who are less 2.0-inclined could be aware of what all the tapping's about. Or, at smaller meetings, attendees could agree whether or not PDAs and laptops are welcome during certain sessions. I also have fantasies of "Tweet Decks" where people who want to use laptops or PDAs to take notes or microblog during conference sessions can sit together so they won't disturb their colleagues. If someone would just throw us a fruit roll-up now and then, that would suffice (ROFEMFRU - Rolling on the Floor Enjoying My Fruit Roll-Up).

Regardless: I hope that, someday, you'll find me tweeting with abandon at conferences (ideally, without bothering the nice people around me). Until then, I'll likely stick to leaky hotel pens...and I'll take a Fruit Roll-Up if you have one handy.