Entries from August 2006 ↓

Mini-filo filled with non-gelatin pudding and fresh berries. They looked better than they tasted.

Okay, so most of you know that my day job is writing, editing and maintaining Nashville Is Talking. This means I get to interact with some really cool, smart, funny people day in and day out. It also means I get to interact with angry, anonymous assholes. This likely does not surprise you, if you know much about blogs at all. They can bring out the crazies.

However, because it is my job to interact with the local blogging community, and not something I do on my own time, there are a whole different set of rules for me. I cannot call someone names, despite the string of pejoratives they just hurled at me. I cannot curse at them, no matter the number of four-letter, degrading words they send my way. I cannot block people from commenting or moderate the comment submissions at all. I just have to sit back and take it.

Most times I hold my own though. I try to let the anger subside when someone goes off on me, and respond as fairly and calmly as I can. Basically, I try to act like a professional in a world full of amateurs. (And I don’t mean that snobbily. Just literally. I’m paid, they aren’t.) This means that the playgrounds aren’t exactly level.

I write this because there are a handful of regular commenters at Nashville Is Talking, with blogs of their own, who use one name or handle to be sweet and funny and thoughtful, but another name entirely when they want to be insulting or rude or disagree. I know this because Movable Type tracks IP numbers. Sometimes JEFF (a name I made up) will be FRED when he wants to be an angry asshole and next time HANK and next time JOSH. And sometimes a commenter will have an entirely seperate alter ego. For instance, STACY (another name I made up) will be STACY for all things light and entertaining and otherwise innocuous, but then be FRANK when she wants to be mean. It’s the craziest thing. An otherwise normal seeming woman with a polite little blog about her polite little life has this pseudonym that she leaves nasty comments under. Frankly, it hurts my feelings.

Anyway, my dilemma is this: Do I treat STACY and FRANK like two different people, even though I know they are not? If FRANK accuses me of lying while lying about who he is, then isn’t it okay that I come out and call them on their whole charade? Or do I need to respect their ability to be whoever they want to be online and continue pretending they are two different people, and addressing them as such? Because, honestly, it gets hard to keep up.

Any thoughts on this are appreciated. Comment will be moderated, because I can.

I’m going to be on teevee today at 4:30. If you live in the viewing area, tune in to Channel 2 to hear my bit on the Lieberman/Lamont race.

Because I said so.

UPDATE: Here’s the video, homeys. Go easy on me.

• If I ever saw Woody Allen there I would knock him into the
  water and say GIT AWF MAH ROCK UR GIV UP SUM JOHANNSON PUSSAH.
• Well what is up bitch tittes.
• And the other day, I was walking in from the car, with my hands full of
  groceries and the shorts fell down and I had to just walk out of them
  and into the house.
• Milk, even when frozen into a baseball-bat shape, is nigh worthless as a baseball bat.
• I assumed the utterly useless crane stance from the first Karate Kid
  film and almost didn’t hear him elaborate by telling me how he had just
  finished repairing the elevator or ask why I was standing like that.
• Yeah, man, he kicked the shit out of Santa Claus just last week, and I was shocked ’cause I thought Santa was psychic.
• Just rip and tear your way to CRAZY TASTY town!
• Hello, you who found this site by searching for AVON KIDNAPPED MY BABY, I hope they gave it back.
• Brooklyn Supreme Court, you are not fucking around, and I respect that.
  Now let’s see if we can’t get some of that justice tossed ‘round my way.

When my father taught me how to drive he insisted that I learn to master a manual shift. "You never want to be stuck in a situation where you need to go somewhere, but the only car available is a stick you can’t drive. What if it was an emergency?," he said.

Plus, the little economy car he was handing down to me had a stick shift, so better sooner than later. Anyway, I just write this to say that I am very happy that I know how to drive a manual transmission. Every car I’ve gotten since then has been a stick. Good gas mileage, fun to drive, cheaper vehicles–all these attributes are what make a manual transmission my first choice.

Thanks, Dad. If it hadn’t been for you I wouldn’t experience the thrill of tooling around in my new little five-speed. It’s pure joy.