Do I really care that someone has a Britney Spears song stuck in her head or that some stranger is "super full after breakfast," or even that Arizona Sen. John McCain is excited about his new Ford Fusion hybrid?

Do you?

As silly as it sounds, somebody out there must care, because that type of thing is what Twitter is all about. Millions of people type little messages to their "followers" each day, filling them in on the detritus of their lives — as if all the world were a reality show and they were not just mere actors, but stars.

Much of it wouldn't pass for interesting if discovered by archaeologists centuries from now. It wouldn't even get you 10 to 20 in the slammer if you picked it up near Blanding. Really, now, would we care to know that Abraham Lincoln, on a certain day, was having trouble for a few minutes finding his stovepipe hat?

I sat on a panel at a tourism convention a few weeks ago, discussing social-networking sites and how I use them. Yes, I tweet. I let people know when I've written something new or published a new blog. But I do it only because it seems to be the thing to do.

But after leaving the panel, I was less enthusiastic than ever. The only thing that seemed more frightening than the people who Twitter were the people who sat and read others' tweets. And Twitter itself has no business model. It seems to exist only to be bought out by someone with lots of money.

In short, I didn't get Twitter — until now.

The uprising in Iran changed everything. Thanks to Twitter, the Iranian regime can shut down all traditional forms of communication and ban reporters from protests, but it can't hide. Anyone with a cell phone can tweet, and that includes sending photos and video.

Last week, I spent a lot of time in front of the computer, reading dispatches from Iran and looking at videos. I followed people who cleverly told others here to list themselves under Iranian addresses to confuse the regime. I read about a 10-year-old girl killed in a demonstration. I watched fresh footage of demonstrations — video without context and with sounds in a language I couldn't understand.

And I marveled that technology is the new beacon of liberty, the sudden light shining on tyrannical cockroaches scurrying for cover.

I also found myself growing discouraged.