30
Jan 19

“Twitter will ruin us, and we should stop.”

So said Farhad Manjoo in The New York Times last Wednesday, in his opinion piece entitled “Never Tweet”.

He’s right.

And I’m stopping - as I said I would.  I’ve deleted my account permanently.  And I won’t miss what Manjoo rightly calls “the world’s most damaging social network”.

After getting chased off the platform last week, I returned briefly to Twitter on Monday to circulate my “Bitter-tweet” retort to the swarming I endured.

The response to my new post was overwhelming, and almost entirely positive – welcome proof that not everyone has gone stark raving mad.

It didn’t stay positive, of course: that’s not the Twitter way.  Twenty-four hours later the incessant natter of the trans-activist jungle had resumed its Chinese-water-torture cadence, its intellectual depth summed up nicely by a pungent “breathe in all my farts” dismissal of my essay. Read the rest of this entry »

28
Jan 19

(Note to my readers: This essay has been updated, “sanitized” of the hostile “tweets” that peppered the earlier version.) 

I was wrong.

I couldn’t take the heat.

If you can’t stand the heat, get out of the kitchen,” I wrote self-importantly last month, in response to Twitter blow-back to “Act One” of my trilogy of essays on gender identity.  “But I’ll stay in this kitchen, for now, no matter how hot it gets.”

But that little flare-up was a summer breeze compared to the white-hot Twitter-rage blasted at me last week by an angry mob of trans activists.

I fled the kitchen:  I deactivated my Twitter account, alarmed and demoralized - and frankly a little bit scared. Read the rest of this entry »

6
Jan 19

“History doesn’t repeat itself, but it often rhymes,” Mark Twain is supposed to have said.

He was right, but he wasn’t saying anything new, as anyone familiar with the Bible can attest.

In Ecclesiastes you will find, as ancient precursor to Twain’s observation, this axiom from King Solomon:

What has been will be again, what has been done will be done again; there is nothing new under the sun.

It was Solomon’s words that surfaced in my mind on New Year's Eve as the last hours of 2018 bled away.  I stared glumly into the bathroom mirror at yet another volcanic eruption studding my 51-year-old mug, echoes of my pimply-faced adolescence ping-ponging in my brain.  Zits don’t ordinarily occupy the same territory as hard-won wrinkles - nor should one ever need reading glasses to properly inspect them.

I have my oncologist to thank for this acned absurdity.  One year ago, as 2018 rose unsteadily from the ashes of 2017, the stubborn beast of a cancer in my head reincarnated itself alongside the new year, thumbing its nose at all previous efforts to slay it.  I wasn’t keen to risk another craniotomy after four mighty kicks at that can; I’m all for being “open-minded”, but preferably not surgically.  So, after lengthy discussion with my cancer specialist, I took a flyer on a novel drug, armed with lotions and potions to keep the inevitable side effects at bay. Read the rest of this entry »