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wordy wordy wordy, that's me
Jun. 27th, 2008 10:37 amSome people don't seem to understand the point of arguments or debates. The fellow from the previous locked posts is still sending me obnoxious emails-- he asked me to take down the comment he'd posted, and I said why? I've gone through and refuted each of the points, so he simply changed what he was arguing. (The initial part of his argument, incidentally, was based on poor reading comprehension skills, so that's the kind of level of discourse we're talking about here.) He wants the initial foray in the argument gone, but claims he's standing by what he said. He just thinks it was an inappropriate place to post it.
Well, bucko, what I think is that you're a bit of a chickenshit and are worried that people bigger than you are going to read it, since you were dumb enough to post it publicly. If you're not smart enough to figure out how to delete your own comment, then you know what? Fuck you. I mean, fuck you anyway, but still.
Why is there always this need in people to, rather than simply gracefully retiring from a group, instead make a messy exit and try to take people with them? It rather gives the lie to his protestations that it was simply "time" for him to "move on", if he's bothering to tear other people down on his way out. Obviously he's pretty unhappy with his own lack of achievement and annoyed that not one person has begged him to stay.
I am filled with the ugliness of human nature. Some of you may say, That's what you get for blogging publicly. But to them I say, ha! I blog publicly because then I have a record of it. I can go back in time, now, and reread the entries I posted in late 2006, when it was all still magical, and I can remember what it was like to be involved in something that was so exciting and new. I can reread, and I can remind myself that it hasn't gone away. Certain parts of it have been hijacked, but the thing itself is still there. I still have what I've been working toward for two years. It's not as clean and bright and shiny as it was then, but of course it isn't. It is much bigger than me, bigger than anything I could create, and it's still there. If it's messy, well, that's what you get when it's something as organic as this has become.
And the people I loved so much then-- perhaps some of them are on opposing factions in all this, but they are still the fascinating and interesting people that they were then, and I can still respect them as people. Perhaps I vehemently disagree with their opinions, and perhaps, more bitterly, I no longer trust them to make good decisions on my behalf, but I can still admire them for the original qualities that so captivated me when we met.
One little piss-ant of a tiny-dick sour-grapes jerk who's bitter because he never put in quite enough work to be any good at it can't take that away from me. He can snipe at my obvious weak points (wasn't I just saying how dissatisfied I was with my own skating performance? He's apparently got a sniper's telescope), but he still can't actually destroy what we've made. So fuck him. It's called "letting the door hit your ass on the way out", and he's doing it in true style. If he's fortunate, the door is the only thing that will hit him.
It's Friday, and while that ought to mean that soon Z will be available to speak to (he's put in 11-hour days for much of this week), it probably doesn't-- they have a project that's kind of bloated out of control and on a tight tight deadline. So he'll probably be working through the weekend. Much to both of our dismay. You know, next week will mark six years since we more or less incorporated, and I still find his conversations and his worldview as fascinating and entertaining as I did the day we met. Unfortunately that means I've let my intimate social circle shrink down sharply, because he's basically all I need (and, uh, I've moved 300 miles away from home to be with him), but when he's not around like this it makes it pretty hard.
I do have a bunch of social stuff to do this weekend, and there's even a roller derby practice-- a bunch of one-season vets are going to a bout in Syracuse (against a one-season-old team-- it was decided it was fairest if we sent a squad of last year's rookies, as their experience levels would be similar) in the middle of the month, so they're having a practice, and they were nice enough to say that the rest of us could come if we wanted. So I'm going to. I wanted so badly to skate last night and of course, there was no practice. Funny.
I've had too long a break, I guess. I don't know why I like doing something this much when I'm so obviously bad at it, but there's no accounting for taste or human nature.
I think today I need to go buy some feathers to make myself a fascinator, because I've been wanting one so long, and also to decorate the straw hat I altered for Pennsic. I need feathers. And ribbon. These are necessary things in my life.
Well, bucko, what I think is that you're a bit of a chickenshit and are worried that people bigger than you are going to read it, since you were dumb enough to post it publicly. If you're not smart enough to figure out how to delete your own comment, then you know what? Fuck you. I mean, fuck you anyway, but still.
Why is there always this need in people to, rather than simply gracefully retiring from a group, instead make a messy exit and try to take people with them? It rather gives the lie to his protestations that it was simply "time" for him to "move on", if he's bothering to tear other people down on his way out. Obviously he's pretty unhappy with his own lack of achievement and annoyed that not one person has begged him to stay.
I am filled with the ugliness of human nature. Some of you may say, That's what you get for blogging publicly. But to them I say, ha! I blog publicly because then I have a record of it. I can go back in time, now, and reread the entries I posted in late 2006, when it was all still magical, and I can remember what it was like to be involved in something that was so exciting and new. I can reread, and I can remind myself that it hasn't gone away. Certain parts of it have been hijacked, but the thing itself is still there. I still have what I've been working toward for two years. It's not as clean and bright and shiny as it was then, but of course it isn't. It is much bigger than me, bigger than anything I could create, and it's still there. If it's messy, well, that's what you get when it's something as organic as this has become.
And the people I loved so much then-- perhaps some of them are on opposing factions in all this, but they are still the fascinating and interesting people that they were then, and I can still respect them as people. Perhaps I vehemently disagree with their opinions, and perhaps, more bitterly, I no longer trust them to make good decisions on my behalf, but I can still admire them for the original qualities that so captivated me when we met.
One little piss-ant of a tiny-dick sour-grapes jerk who's bitter because he never put in quite enough work to be any good at it can't take that away from me. He can snipe at my obvious weak points (wasn't I just saying how dissatisfied I was with my own skating performance? He's apparently got a sniper's telescope), but he still can't actually destroy what we've made. So fuck him. It's called "letting the door hit your ass on the way out", and he's doing it in true style. If he's fortunate, the door is the only thing that will hit him.
It's Friday, and while that ought to mean that soon Z will be available to speak to (he's put in 11-hour days for much of this week), it probably doesn't-- they have a project that's kind of bloated out of control and on a tight tight deadline. So he'll probably be working through the weekend. Much to both of our dismay. You know, next week will mark six years since we more or less incorporated, and I still find his conversations and his worldview as fascinating and entertaining as I did the day we met. Unfortunately that means I've let my intimate social circle shrink down sharply, because he's basically all I need (and, uh, I've moved 300 miles away from home to be with him), but when he's not around like this it makes it pretty hard.
I do have a bunch of social stuff to do this weekend, and there's even a roller derby practice-- a bunch of one-season vets are going to a bout in Syracuse (against a one-season-old team-- it was decided it was fairest if we sent a squad of last year's rookies, as their experience levels would be similar) in the middle of the month, so they're having a practice, and they were nice enough to say that the rest of us could come if we wanted. So I'm going to. I wanted so badly to skate last night and of course, there was no practice. Funny.
I've had too long a break, I guess. I don't know why I like doing something this much when I'm so obviously bad at it, but there's no accounting for taste or human nature.
I think today I need to go buy some feathers to make myself a fascinator, because I've been wanting one so long, and also to decorate the straw hat I altered for Pennsic. I need feathers. And ribbon. These are necessary things in my life.
