A small story:

"I'm sorry," someone who knows me in three dimensions says apologetically, "I'm not on Twitter."

It's fair for them to assume this will wound me deeply. As I have noted before, "I was on Twitter" will always be my alibi, no matter the day or time.
Anyone who spends as much time as I do on here must like it.

Right?

"Good for you!" I say supportively to the non-Twitter person, then add, "And never start. It's a septic tank."

I believe this.

Turns out, I'm that bacteria which has evolved to thrive in septic tanks.
Until this morning, my answer was always, "There is no good reason an emotionally healthy and fully-actualized person should be on Twitter. The Nazis alone are reason enough. Also, no edit button."

This morning, I received a text from a friend's son, newly in this tank.
His plans, as befit someone not yet 30, are inchoate but may involve public service at some point. He is careful on here, bright, engaging with the kind of people he hopes to work with, for, at some point. I have read his Tweets; he's doing fine.
He tweeted something this morning that was deeply inoffensive. I won't quote it exactly or even paraphrase but imagine it was, "I just looked out the window at the beautiful morning in my city."

Who could take umbrage at that?

We veterans laugh, hollowly.
What followed was a spontaneous tiny outpouring of poorly-aimed rage.

"A window once closed on my finger!"

"What's your problem with doors?"

"Not everyone can see CHECK YOUR PRIVILEGE."

"You know who else had windows? HITLER AND BENGHAZI."

Classic septic tank.
He texted me saying, in effect, "Wh-"

I wrote back, "You are not on Twitter when you make an account. You are on Twitter when you are defending something which in no other corner of the world would be under attack."

I sent the Tweet, thought, continued.
"The only purpose," I texted, "And I mean THE ONLY PURPOSE the godforsaken place serves is that your skin will thicken at an exponential rate, which will serve you well in public service. My brother-in-law worked for a notoriously difficult boss in a company. Lots of screaming."
"When asked how he just seemed to ignore it when no one else could, he would say, 'I worked in and ran bars and nightclubs for twenty years. If you are coming through the door and you're not holding a shotgun or a subpoena, you're just not that much of a threat."
"Twitter," I finished texting, "Will give you my brother-in-law's perspective in less than a year."

"That's," he texted back, "Sort of comforting but also terrifying, sad and stupid."

@Jack?

We finally have your company's slogan.

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More from @quinncy

13 Oct
A small story:

As anyone who has followed me for a while knows, my volunteering energy goes a bunch of places but I put the bulk of it towards @SanteDOr, a tiny, nearly all-volunteer rescue, based in a single storefront in Atwater Village.

Don't let the size fool you.
In the last twenty years, they have saved and placed thousands of cats, some dogs, a few very confused rabbits and one very alarmed hamster. During the pandemic, they redoubled their TNR efforts because a lot of groups were overwhelmed.

They are good people.

Stuff gets done.
More to the point, animals get second chances. Frequently during a Trap/Neuter/Release program in a feral cat colony a volunteer will realize a "Feral" cat is frantically purring and curling around their hands, desperate for safety and care again.
Read 25 tweets
12 Oct
A small story:

"I LIKE this dress!" Consort says appreciatively. I nod in agreement; it's very flattering, clever enough to keep me from yelling about who would pay over $700 for this dress. I mean, I wouldn't but I respect that someone with near-infinite resources would.
I swish around so the dress can have a moment and Consort says happily, "I'm glad you're enjoying this experiment."

I stop mid-swish.

"Oh, I wouldn't say that," I say, then add, "I mean, it's fine. It's a good writing prompt."

Even the best couples have unbridgeable chasms.
I think of Consort's temperament as the byproduct of his Mediterranean ancestors, a man capable of great pleasure merely by being surrounded by the things in this world which matter to him. A great red wine being drunk with lifelong friends on a lakeside porch?

Joy.
Read 16 tweets
12 Oct
A few weeks ago, it was suggested a certain “self-made” “billionaire” is expecting a male child.

Court Jester immediately suggested a terrible joke, a joke so bad Quinn informed her, “That joke is not going out.”

She agreed, but suggested we send it to @AlecMapa.

“Fine.”
He laughed.
This morning, I saw this.
Read 5 tweets
9 Oct
Started the podcast and realized, "I MUST LISTEN TO THIS BOOK!"

Got it on @librofm.

@HallieRubenhold has written a compelling, fact-based, sympathetic but clear-eyed history of the people who actually matter in the Jack the Ripper stories; the victims.

Think you know them?
You probably don't.

For one, they were probably not sex workers. Not that their job matters but it set the narrative of blame, a narrative which continues. Rubenhold tells some harrowing stories in her podcast of Ripperheads rating the victims in terms of their sexual appeal.
(You already know that the people attacking her on social media for telling their actual stories, for not being interested in "solving" the case, for giving the victims their humanity back are, by a wide margin, men)
Read 21 tweets
9 Oct
A small story:

Very small.

I don't think you will be surprised to learn I have zero interest or aptitude for the domestic arts. If you've ever heard any of the Biblical passage waxing lyrical about what a real woman does (Proverbs 31:10-31), well, I am Goofus to that Gallant.
This past year, I was (badly) ironing some dress shirt belonging to Consort as we were going to a Zoom funeral. I was watching a pleasantly anodyne baking show while I ironed when I suddenly realized the shirt was done and I still had more show.

I like things to line up.
I looked around and spotted the sheets I was about to (badly) fold and put away. On a whim, I ironed the pillowcases. Owing to them being rectangles, some might even say I didn't do it badly. I started the show again and the baker who won the week mentioned orange-flower water.
Read 6 tweets
8 Oct
My father-in-law was a cameraman who won two Emmys for his work shooting live. Because of his experience, he was brought on for a new live weekend sketch comedy show, where he worked until he retired. He worked for decades in the business, rarely said anything bad about anyone.
There was exactly one person he said was a fucking asshole.
Huh.

It's Chevy Chase's birthday.
Read 4 tweets

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