Quitting Twitter


It hurt, I’ve gotta admit. Odd how we become so attached to things like that. It was very much like a real death, only on a much smaller scale. And yet, it was kind of a relief.

And it was my fault, which makes it hurt more, but I was targeted, too, in a way, and that hurts. I got suspended, while the person I was arguing with is still there. The name of her account was, and I’m not kidding in the least, “I Get People Suspended from Twitter.”

And he, or she, or it did.

It would take too long to explain the blow-by-blow, but basically, I was on some thread having a mostly polite argument with another user when “Ms. I Get People Suspended” swooped in and started arguing with me, too. Incredibly rude, condescending, and aggressive — but she used no swear words, and the object of every insult was clearly unnamed, though it was clearly me to whom she referred.

My first instinct was to block her. How I wish I would have done that.

This person presented herself in an asexual way, neither male nor female, but self-righteous in the extreme. I’m a Bernie Sanders supporter and she treated me as if I were a Nazi.

This person was so over-the-top that I strongly suspect it was an imposter, some college Republican boy pretending to be an outraged transsexual liberal.

At any rate, the argument devolved into personal insults. Mine included cuss words, hers did not.

She reported me, and I was suspended for “hateful conduct.”

Smash, bang, pow.

I say this in all sincerity — a person would have to spend hours combing through my tweets to find any example of hateful conduct. Other than the occasional heated argument, which happens about once every other month, there was nothing even suggesting hostility.

But that’s how Twitter labeled me nonetheless.

So I quit all of my Twitter accounts. I had three, the Sam Bordeaux account which I was going to use for generalized networking, the “Suite 2B” account which I was going to use to market my play, and my personal Craig Abalos account which I had taken care to protect by avoiding as much conflict and controversy as possible…and as a result of that hypoallergenic vigilance, it was so boring that even I got tired of seeing it.

And it doesn’t matter. No one will care. Sam Bordeaux had around 1775 followers, Craig Abalos had around 311, and Suite 2B only had around 10. Pretty pathetic, and I had the Bordeaux account for about five years.

At any rate…that part of my life is over for a while, and I’m kind of relieved. It sincerely hurt, but now…now I won’t have to waste eight or ten hours of my Friday night dicking around with strangers on the internet, vying for attention.

There is a painter within me who hasn’t seen much light, and now, with the extra time, maybe he’ll be able to pick up a brush and explore another side of life, perhaps a lonelier side of life, but a more meaningful, productive, and rewarding one.

So in an odd way, I’m rather thankful to “Ms. I Get People Suspended” although I believe her to be a truly evil and thoroughly despicable soul.

And I’d laugh, to be honest, if somebody shit down her throat.

Searching for the Magic Words

Well, my money problems were solved. Thank heavens! But as soon as I paid off my 20% interest-rate credit cards, new problems arose, sure as shooting.

Trying to change how I live my life on many levels. It’s a slow, painful process.

Trump has firmly entered the first stage of his dictatorship role. Half of America cheers him on.

The Verge of Renewal

On the verge of a new life long awaited for, but it’s like heading to port in the midst of a storm. Maybe it’s not a typhoon, but definitely not calm water.

Nervous. Trying not to get my hopes up.

I can see ten different things that will completely screw up everything, and they’re all beyond my control.

But if it works, and we make safe harbor…it will be a virtual rebirth.

The End of a Season

Writing this for me, of course, since nobody visits this site.  If I were a seventeen year old girl wearing my panties, I’d have thousands of followers.  But I’m a middle-aged grumpy dude, and that’s not near as enticing.  C‘est la vie.  Life goes on.

I’ve reached a point in my life where I need to change in a significant way, and that will include this website.

Not sure where it will go, but the politics has proven to be a dead end, so maybe I’ll focus on the art instead.

Anyway…as long as we’re alive, there’s still time to change.

Change is the only constant in life.

Dead End American Politics

Not sure what life is, but it’s bigger than I can imagine.  Politics is a small part of it and, unfortunately, a rich-man’s game.  If coordinated, the poor can play a good hand, but we have none of that today.  No leadership, no coordination.  The workers and the poor have virtually no say, and no real representation…so what to do?

Live…just live….

Entering Panic Mode

Panic AttackFrom worry to panic.

If you ever suspected that our system was not, in fact, a fine-tuned network of rules and regulations that applied to all for the benefit of the many, look no further than Trump’s Supreme Court nominee to prove yourself right.

He is a blatant, loyal conservative partisan who will probably get his seat and fuck with every working-class person’s life for the next thirty years.

Of course, working-class conservatives are cheering him on, and nothing we can say will ever sway their minds.

I just want to run, but I can’t, and I wouldn’t know where to go even if I could.

Why Try?

There’s a minor character in a story I’m working on now who made it a point never to be political about anything in his life.

And he had a great life.

I sometimes wonder if that’s not the way to go, at least for a while, as long as I could stand it…which wouldn’t be very long.

I’ve been arguing and debating conservatives online for over twenty years.  Nothing has changed, and I mean nothing.

I’m starting to think about all of the time and effort I put into fighting the good fight.  It was pretty much all wasted, thousands of hours, easily.

Real life is not much different from the online life, because in the real world we’re dealing with the exact same simple-minded misinformed dickheads that make up all of conservatism.

We can sacrifice lives setting the world on the right track, and then somebody like Trump will come along and turn it all upside-down overnight.

I’m starting to think…it’s just a ruse.

Weed Tourists: Avoid the Edibles

There is a “common wisdom” among occasional cannabis users that eating the herb is better than smoking it.  While that’s probably true for heavy users, I have to say a person is less likely to have a bad experience when they smoke it.

In almost every single incident where a “marijuana tourist” lost their cool and had a really bad experience…in Colorado…it involved edibles.  Edibles are unpredictable for a number of reasons.

For one, the quality of the products vary wildly, as does the strength of cannabis used in the cookies, or brownies, or candies, or treats.

Secondly, when ingested, the timing of impact is highly unpredictable.  I’ve had some products hit me quickly, within thirty minutes, while others actually took around four hours before I started feeling it.  The average is about an hour, but it’s no guarantee.

Often what happens is that a person eats the recommended dosage–say one cookie or one candy bar–then they wait a couple of hours, don’t feel anything, then they eat two or three more cookies, thinking they’ve been gypped…and that’s where the trouble starts.

Here’s my unsolicited advice: if you take a trip to Colorado and plan to sample the wares, buy a little throw-away pipe, just a little one-hitter that you can buy anywhere for between five to ten dollars.

Then buy three grams of herb: one Sativa, one Indica, and one hybrid.  Ask your “bud-tender” for suggestions.  They’re usually pretty savvy.  It shouldn’t cost much more than $40 in all for the pipe and three grams of good herb.

When you get back to your safe place, smoke just one little hit of the herb, then wait and see what happens.  A little pot goes a long way these days.  This way, you’ll establish a baseline and then you can decide if you should smoke more or less of the herb the next time.

When it’s time to go home, throw the freaking pipe away, especially if you live in a hard-ass state like Kansas, Nebraska, Oklahoma, or Texas.  Pot pipes stink, and if a cop’s looking for one, he’ll probably find it.  It’s just not worth it.

So that’s my two-cents on the matter.  Best of luck.