Rambling Rhodes

I've Got Your Civility Right Here

Something I've noticed quite a bit lately, particularly as more and more newspapers jump into blogging, are commenters repeatedly lamenting a lack of civility.

Which is basically true. online commenters can be some of the most in-your-face, unapologetic cock-knockers you can possibly imagine. Some make comments just to yank chains, others are just overpowered by the instant gratification inherent in being able to spout off at a moment's notice, while still others are just generally dinks.

All of which I don't really have a problem with. I've been blogging now for nearly four years, so I've become accustomed to invective-charged comment threads, whether here or at blogs far more popular than mine. My introduction to Joshua, for example, was chock-full of literary sparring matches that make "un-civil" comments I've read on newspaper blogs seem like a Dr. Suess book.

The lack of civility, frankly, has been more amusing to me than anything else. But it's also been interesting to witness as a social phenomenon. What follows are just some observations I've made regarding the in-civility of the online world.

1) In the real world, you would rarely, if ever, see the kinds of comments being made that are made on blogs, with Joshua probably being the exception, as I suspect he has no social filters to speak of. The online Joshua is pretty much the real world Joshua. But he's the exception, not the norm. In the real world, people who are complete strangers typically don't engage in conversation by starting out with "You're a stupid dumbass." In the real world, people are far more courteous, for a number of reasons. Firstly, in the online world, you can't see who you're up against; you can't read their body language; you can't see if there's a two year old in their arms; that kind of thing. In the online world, a 14-year-old going through puberty has the same amount of grunt and swagger of a champion UFC fighter.

2) In the online world, people rarely apologize or admit they're wrong. True story: I've even been guilty of this (no, really). I've lost count of the number of comment threads I've read where someone is clearly being pounded into the dirt by a debater who is head-and-shoulders ahead of them in both logic and facts, and yet the person being pounded into the dirt will never, ever admit they're wrong. Instead, you'll see countless dodges and changes of topic; anything so the person being being clobbered can claim victory over SOMETHING. Fark.com flame wars are a classic example of this. In the real world, this kind of behavior is far less frequent, in my opinion. Oh, sure, it happens, but not with the regularity you see online.

3) In the online world, everyone's an expert. The next argument point is a simple Google search away. Oh, you may not have the first clue about what you're about to argue about, but that doesn't really matter. You have a point to make, damnit! On Google! On Yahoo! On Wiki! On Jeeves! As per the observation laid out in point #2, the Internet means never having to COMPLETELY admit you're wrong. Search engines ensure a healthy comment war into infinity if need be.

4) The online world is not a very healthy place on which to build communities. The Internet is a fickle place. Oh, sure, I consider bloggers such as Johnny and Joshua and Mitch and Amy friends, but it's not the kind of friendship where I'd drive them to the airport or visit them in the hospital (well, I MIGHT, but it would have to be a pretty special case, like head cancer or something). An online friendship is kind of an ethereal thing. And, as the Plain Layne thing illustrated, you can never really, fully trust online friendships. So, it's a little amazing to me to see the kinds of communities that build up in support of such blogs as Daily Kos. There's some nearly fanatical people who hang out there. Blogs ARE their friends. And blog friends aren't typically reliable or good friends, certainly not as tangible as real-life friends. They can definitely morph into real-life friendships, but I personally wouldn't rely on that.

5) For a large part of the Internet, the world has become a very black-and-white place. You're either racist or you're not. You're either pro-abortion or you're not. You're either pro-gay-marriage or you're not. You're either Republican or you're Democrat. You're either liberal or you're Conservative. You're either a wingnut or a moonbat. There's surprisingly little room for middle ground discussion. If, for example, I were to say: "I'm conservative when it comes to tax policy, but I'm pro-abortion, pro-gay-marriage and I think prostitution should be legal," the only thing some people would hear would be "I'm conservative," and the lines would be drawn thusly. It's gotten tiresome as hell, which is a major reason I don't participate in lot of such discussions.

6) Un-civil debates can be a freakin' scream. I personally love them. The power to call someone a "raging ass-monkey," knowing full well about the only reprisal I'll get is being called a "stinking shit-stain from hell" is quite possibly the main reason the Internet was invented. For me, the online world is my escape from all the civility of the real world. It's a digital Wild West where everyone's armed and prepared to shoot if someone even dares look at them funny, knowing full well no one's really going to get hurt.

newspaper blog commenters may lament the lack of civility online, but to them I offer up the kind of advice I imagine Joshua would tender: "Grow the fuck up already. Jesus."

Not If He Had Really STRONG convictions

I haven't Ripped on Nick Coleman Since the last time, so. . .

Today's installment of Nick Coleman can't stick to a point, and basically can't write, either, is brought to you by. . . me.

I've been thrown out of spiffier joints than Toni's Market & Deli in my career.

Do tell.

But I can understand why I got 86'd Thursday from the convenience store at 35th Street and Chicago Avenue S.

People are fed up with people getting shot.

Not me! More death! More carnage! More popcorn! Bring out yer dead!

Toni's is where Minneapolis' 32nd murder victim of the year died, a 21-year-old who was shot outside and staggered into the steel-barred grocery before collapsing on a floor mat, which is now bunched up against a wall beneath a sign saying "No Loitering."

This is what constitutes "irony" for Nick. A "No Loitering" sign! And a 21-year-old died there! Oh the IRONY!

If a dying youth came through the door of my store, I would not be happy. So I wasn't surprised that "Toni," the owner, wouldn't give me the time of day when I introduced myself. People in the neighborhood say Toni is a good guy and runs a clean shop, but murder can give a corner a bad name and he was in no mood to talk.

Now, if it were me doing this "investigative" reporting, I'd respect Toni's right not to talk to me. He's under no obligation, after all. He's not required to talk to any news person, and in fact maybe he has a legitimate reason not to want to see his name or his store splashed inside a newspaper, particularly for a crime that he and his store is not responsible for. But does Nick respect any of this? Of course not! He decided to be a monumental PRICK!

News people should carry bells and wear signs that say, "Unclean." Some of us lepers still think it's important to try to get an idea of what's going on, though, so I make an effort. But I understand when someone doesn't want to talk.

You want to get an idea of what's going on, eh? Then talk to the police, you fucking meathead. Toni just had the misfortune of having a kid die in his store. He's not a detective. He's just a store owner who's having a pretty bad fucking day. So, Nick, maybe you could stop being a smarmy little asshole.

I went to use the cash machine and grab a Pepsi.

In other words, Nick decided to wear out a welcome that was obviously never extended in the first place. This is how Nick operates, using his little soapbox of a column to belittle those "beneath" him. Watch how he repeatedly zings Toni while at the same time disingenuously saying how he "liked" him.

That's when Toni told me to get out of his store or he would call the cops. I enjoy meeting cops, so I just waved and told Toni to do what he had to do.

Don't you just want to beat Nick severely about the neck and face? What a fucking absolute prick. Because Toni doesn't want to talk to the press (not an unusual occurence), Nick's basically treating Toni as if he's somehow guilty by association for the murder of a 21-year-old, and he's using his column to piss on the store owner. This from a guy who routinely speaks about the trials and tribulations of "the little guy."

After I brought a Pepsi to the counter, Toni threw it into a corner. I started to get the idea he was serious.

Oh, really? So, when he wouldn't give you the time of day when you introduced yourself, you just assumed he was being silly? You know what, Nick? Go fuck yourself.

To make a long story short, I avoided arrest and Toni and I worked it out to the point where he agreed to sell me a Pepsi (one that hadn't bounced off a wall).

We said goodbye, and he actually said, "Have a nice day."

What a bunch of sophomoric, juvenile, condescending asshole-ishness. Coleman knows full-well that he's using this column to harm Toni's business. This is nothing but a mean-spirited hatchet job meant to belittle someone who didn't want to talk with the mighty NEWSMAN. Which makes the next line all the more irritating.

I liked Toni.

Don't you just want to rip his teeth out with a pliers?

It must be terrible to witness a murder or feel as if your safety or livelihood is jeopardized by a rising tide of violence in the city.

Yes, it must, so maybe you shouldn't provoke them, you cock-hole.

More people should be like Toni.

Don't you just want to cock-punch Nick?

People should get angry.

At dick-heads like Nick.

The kid who died on Toni's floor was named Joe Rogers and he died at 10:30 in the morning. Only the fact that it was Independence Day prevented his demise from being noticed by children who attend day-care and summer programs at the Pillsbury House, directly across Chicago Avenue.

Only the fact that it was Independence Day, huh? Unless, the day-care and summer programs were held INSIDE Toni's store, I don't imagine the children would have noticed Rogers' demise anyway, Nick.

As it happened, hardly anyone saw him fall. That's the way we prefer it. Out of sight, out of mind.

Yep, most murderers try to conduct their work during a parade, on a float if feasible.

Concern over crime has made many -- including me -- call for more cops, less tolerance of bad behavior and tougher sentencing.

Less tolerance of bad behavior? Care to elaborate on that pretty open-ended concept, Nick?

But enforcement is only part of the answer. Politicians who balanced budgets on the backs of the poor and then passed billion-dollar stadiums should be called to account.

There he goes again, trotting out his most favorite phrase evAr! "Balanced budgets on the back of the poor." And, of course, if politicians hadn't passed the stadium deal (which stinks, but whatever), gang and drug violence would be a thing of our imaginations only.

"It's time to start telling the truth about what's going on," said Tony Wagner, president of Pillsbury United Communities. "Our priorities are all screwed up, and we've developed a hostility toward children. There doesn't seem to be the interest or the resources to help young people build relationships of trust with caring, responsible adults."

We've developed a hostility toward children? WE'VE DEVELOPED A HOSTILITY TOWARD CHILDREN?!!! Uh. . . huh. Just the other day, I was standing next to a nine year old, and just for the heck of it, I back-handed her across the face. God, that felt good.

If that's too touchy-feely for you, Wagner can put it more bluntly:

"If you don't help kids connect to people who care about them, why would you expect anything different than what we're getting?

Sooooo, it's our responsibility to help kids connect to people who care about them? And the job of parents is to do WHAT again?

"You get what you don't pay for."

In recent years, we have seen devastating cuts in youth programs. The results are visible outside Pillsbury House, where a bus shelter promotes the city's beautiful new Guthrie Theater and the ceiling of the shelter is covered with gang graffiti.

Right. See also: the New York City subway system. Graffiti is omnipresent in practically every metropolitan area.

It's a tale of two cities, the gleaming and the gang-ridden. And, in a corner grocery, blood on a floor mat.

And, in the gleaming offices of the Star-Tribune, a petulant, cranky, completely untalented columnist uses his position to belittle a store owner who didn't want to talk to him.

Nick Coleman, go fuck yourself.

Rasp-Putin

Caroline says: http://www.cnn.com/2006/WORLD/europe/07/06/russia.putin.reut/index.html

Caroline says: like a kitten who's been through the chipper

Ryan says: WTF?

Caroline says: what

Ryan says: Why would he kiss the boy on the stomach?

Ryan says: I mean, can that be any more creepy?

Caroline says: It could always be more creepy. Think Rachel Ray.

Ryan says: Well, that's true. Rachel Ray is creepy.

Caroline says: Like if he did a raspberry on the kid's stomach.

Caroline says: that'd be weird

Ryan says: Or tongued his navel.

Caroline says: Baka boo!

Ryan says: Ho dee doh!

Caroline says: Touched him like a kitten.

Caroline says: We-ird.

That's An Intimidating Security Force You Have There

And this concludes today's episode of "Headline Not Matching The Photo Very Well."

Up-tick

I'm not sure why, exactly, but my blog traffic has been nearly double its normal rate over the past three days. There seems to be considerable interest in this NSFW picture.

Other than that, I guess I can just chalk it up to me being awesome.

Nosy Neighbor News

Every neighborhood, it seems, comes equipped with its own fully armed and operational busy-body. You know who I'm talking about. In fact, you may BE who I'm talking about.

When I bought my house two years ago, I met the local busy-body within a week of moving in. I was in the midst of sanding my hardwood floors when I saw her loping slowly along the sidewalk. I stepped outside to empty a load of sawdust, at which point she started toddling my way to introduce herself.

Now, I'm not against being neighborly. I'll strike up idle chit-chat if it means ensuring neighborhood tranquility, but there was something about this particular woman that clanged alarm bells in my skull. There was just something about her that said to me "this one's going to be a bit of an irritation in the future."

Her name is not important. What is important is that she's the modern day equivalent of the town crier, an expert on all the mundane things that happen within a four block radius. She's like a living, breathing miniature newspaper, with an opinion/commentary page that's roughly 20 pages long. There's nothing too boring that happens in our neighborhood that she won't comment on.

I've generally grown to grudgingly tolerate the neighborhood busy-body. I mean, I figure she's probably bound to die before I do, and I take comfort in that. No matter how annoying she is, I can always, in the back of mind, think "I'm going to outlive you, so HAHAHAHAHAHA!"

Over the long Independence Day weekend, however, my tolerance of the neighborhood busy-body was stretched to its limit, its breaking point, its precipice, if you will.

My girlfriend and I have a firepit in the back yard. It's completely legal and adheres to all city ordinance specifications. We enjoy our back yard fires immensely.

Well, the day after conducting one of our evening combustion rituals, the neighborhood busy-body came toddling on over to the yard.

"If you have a fire as big as the one you had last night ever again, I'm calling the fire department," she scolded, and she was dead serious.

Now, our fire pit is about two feet in diameter. It's not exactly Vulcan's forge. At a maximum, we can maybe produce a flame about four feet in height. The thought of a fire truck showing up to extinguish our tiny flame would have struck me as humorous, if I weren't so pissed off. I mean, my girlfriend and I are both 30 years old, so being scolded like that borders precariously on the insulting side.

There's a part of me that wants to just dismiss the busy-body as just that: a busy-body. But there's another part of me that secretly fears that the busy-body achieved her busy-body status through some sort of neighborhood coercion which I don't know about. Maybe she does have some pull at the local fire department. Maybe she knows the police chief. Maybe she knows voodoo, and has a doll specifically designated "Ryan Rhodes."

For the time being, my girlfriend and I have agreed that we just won't have any back yard fires for awhile, which makes me a little made, because I think it constitutes a victory for the busy-body. I hate to think she won this round.

But, then again, I'll probably outlive her, so HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

Dark Knight. Heath Ledger. Batman. The Joker. Dark Knight. Heath Ledger. Batman. The Joker. Dark Knight. Heath Ledger. Batman. The Joker.