thoughts from an empty head

This is gonna be one very lonely blog for the next 30 days. As a natter if fact, I might as well just go ahead and delete all my news feeds and cancel my subscription to FriendFeed right now. (Just kidding about that last part. Really.) NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month, to the uninitiated) kicks off tomorrow. And I am going to finish it this year, no matter how stinky this effort turns out. So I’m going to be even more of a ghost around here than I already have.

See ya in December.

Married 38 years ago, 31 October 1970. I love you, Mom and Pop.

(Betcha thought I forgot, didn’t you?)

Let me tell you about my friend Liss.

Liss runs a joint called Shakesville. It’s a progressive feminist blog which I’ve been an occasional contributor and constant commenter at since I started blogging way back in 2004. I like Liss’ joint for three reasons: Liss herself, who is hilarious in a way that I, after being told for years that feminists were man-hating humorless bitches, was a welcome surprise to my ever-expanding worldview, the small community of fellow commenters and contributors who shared Liss’ sense of humor and gift for words, and the sense of belonging with a group of people who shared a disdain for Republicans in general and a white hot burning hate for the incompetent current occupant of the Oval Office. I’ve never identified myself as a feminist, having many ingrained habits over the years that are hard to dispel, but Liss never held it against me, and I consider her a valued source of information and a good friend.

Around this time last year, I did something that took my attention away from the Shakers - I fell in love. While I may have been active in blogging and commenting, my focus was on a beautiful blonde in New Mexico, and by December of last year, I was in the full bloom of love. I more or less let my blogging fall by the wayside, and whatever contributions I was making over at Shakesville more or less gradually blew away. Between December of last year and March of this year, I kinda lost track of what was going on, but the general sense I got from the place from the last time I really paid attention was one of Democratic solidarity: the Dems had an awesome slate of candidates, and no matter who won the nomination, he or she would be a good selection. Everyone at Liss’ joint was more or less singing Kumbaya around a campfire.

Sadly, by March, I broke up with Becca. We tried to patch things up over the next couple of months, but by May, we were done. I was not in a good frame of mind. I tried to get back into blogging and pick up my old haunts once more.

But Shakesville had changed as well. All of the acrimony of the primaries had taken their toll on my online home-away-from-home. Some of my favorite bloggers had taken their leave, and the mood towards the presumptive nominee was not, to my feeling, entirely harmonious. I could well understand the hurt feelings, of course; had I invested that much energy in a candidate, only to see them fail so close to their objective, I would not be in much of a forgiving mood. either. But given where I was mentally, I made a vow with myself: no more commenting, no more goofing, no more posting until well after the election. I broke that vow only once in August, but for the most part, I’ve stayed away from Liss’ joint. Oh, I still read every single post that comes out of Shakesville, and I still laugh hard and loud at Liss’ jokes and rage with her against injustice, but I hold my tongue and wait.

I relate all of this history because I have read Mark Rizzn’s tear-stained letter telling the world why he is leaving FriendFeed (and Duncan Reily’s equally salty diatribe against the liberal sheep at FriendFeed, which I read as less a complaint about bad behavior and more of a swipe against Alex Scoble) and given my own limited experience in the blogosphere from the last four years, I have just one thing to say to both men.

Boo freaking hoo.

Look, I’ve spent four years reading blogs of every stripe and manner, especially the political blogs. Some are delicate and some are downright hateful, but the one thing I’ve learned in the last four years about discussing politics on the internet is this: grow thick skin, because people who don’t know you are going to say some pretty awful stuff about you when you disagree with them, especially when they are equally as passionate about their viewpoints as you are with yours. You can be 100% in the right (see: Iraq, Katrina, Abu Gharib, etc.), and trolls will still dance around you, flinging poo and calling you names. (And that’s not to say that Mark was correct with his point - far from it, actually, and I know this because I’ve been watching wingnuts for the last four years and have a pretty good bead on when they’re trying to sell a bill of goods, and bringing up Obama’s birth certificate is one of those things that instantly set off the BS meter in my head.)

And frankly, Mark, if you really want to see mean behavior in action, I offer for your consideration the appalling example of one Michelle Malkin. I don’t know Ms. Malkin personally, but what I have seen from her writing and general behavior tells me that she is unprofessional and vindictive. I mean, seriously, what kind of person stalks an 12-year-old kid for having the temerity to make a political speech? What kind of person posts some poor group of students’ personal information in the hopes that enough of her readers will call in death threats and shout said person down? Now that is bad behavior squared. Did you get your phone number posted on the single largest conservative site on the net? Did you have to endure with right-wing bloggers poking around in your trash, looking for ways to incriminate you? I think not.

But writing a post in which you generally pout, take your ball and run home because the big mean liberals called you names? That’s Bush League behavior, especially for someone who’s logged more than a little time on the web.

Because, just as I know that I wasn’t comfortable with what the mood at Shakesville back in the beginning of the year, I know that it will change. Change is a constant, especially on the internet. The nice little community of friends that once was soon morphs as more and more people find “your” special place, and they bring with with them all of the opinions and foibles that only passionate people can bring to a debate. You will like some of them. You will hate others. And then one day, you’ll realize that you don’t much care for this place anymore. And you have a choice: wait for the change that you know is coming, or flounce away in a huff.

Because, really, that choice shows the level of maturity that you have. Do you have the patience and fortitude to wait for a better day, a day when your favorite community isn’t racked by quite as much acrimony and discord? Or are you short-sighted, thinking only of your own hurt feelings rather than how you can help the community?

I suppose, in a way, I’m probably the last person who should be giving advice like, given how I bailed on my friend Liss. But the way I see it, Mark, maybe I’m just the sort of person you need to listen to right now. Because I am sorry about how I treated my friend, how I pretty much up and abandoned her when she needed someone to keep her spirits light. Maybe one day, she’ll forgive me for that.

It’s your decision to make, though. If you remember only one thing, though, remember this: once you walk out on your community, it’s a hard road back. And you’d better make sure that you are making that decision for the right reasons.

IMG_4200, originally uploaded by RLWiseman.

I should have my head examined for being in La Paz in the summer. The breeze, which on a good day was light and warm, was nonexistent today, the air shimmering along the Malecon in the early morning heat. Still, the scenery wasn’t bad, and the iced coffee was always good at the little shop across the street from the bay. I checked my watch and decided that she would get another ten minutes before I retreated to my car and the cooler western coast.

Nine minutes later, she walked up to the table. How she managed to look serene in this heat was always a mystery to me, but I never complained. She sat across from me without a word, crossing her long legs and motioning to the waiter.

“I hope I didn’t keep you waiting too long,” she said in that delightful singsong German accent of hers.

I motioned impatiently at the empty table before us. She reached into her bag and withdrew the small PDA, placing it gently on the table. I reached into my pocket and found the small plastic envelope. I opened her PDA and slipped the memory card into the side portal, waiting for the device to find the card. The PDA beeped once and began running the diagnostic program installed on the card.

The waiter came over with her iced tea, gently setting down in front of her. She smiled and took a sip, waiting for the device to confirm the contents. She did not wait long; the PDA beeped once more and flashed a green light. Smiling, she scooped up the device and replaced it in her bag, withdrawing a single piece of paper.

“The money will be sent to your usual account, then,” she said, pausing only for another sip of tea. “I’m happy that we could do business again.”

My face wore only the same pensive look I always wore now. “When will the story run?”

Her smile never wavered. “If your data checks out, the piece should run in next week’s edition. I only wish you had come to me with this information earlier. It might have saved your country a good deal of bother.”

I grunted slightly. “The saddest words of tongue and pen, then.”

Her smile dimmed slightly. “I’m not familiar with that phrase.”

I stood, dropping some pesos on the table. “John Greenleaf Whittier. A man who knew all about regrets, I think.”

I walked in the direction of my car, wondering how long it would be before I would have to leave again. I knew it would be soon, though I prayed it would be for the last time.