Notthemama
Duck
Just as you do not blame Jar, I do not blame you. Let me repeat that. I do not blame you. I did not blame you then. I do not blame you now. You are not to blame. I am not blaming you. It was not your fault. I do not fault you. I am to blame. It was my own fault. You were not to blame; I was. You were not at fault; I was. The blame and the fault both are mine.
It was a petty thing, not an important thing. It seemed important to me at the time because my perspective was skewed. You were looking at things the right way. I was looking at things the wrong way. You were right. I was wrong.
Nevertheless, my reaction to what you did was to leave the board.
So far, in this thread, you’ve asked me — directly or indirectly — whether I am slamming you, whether you should thank me for being slammed, whether I still hold a grudge, whether I should have brought it up at all, whether it was your comment on the Fight Fred Phelps site that had bothered me, and whether I fault you.
The one question you have not asked me is, “Lib, why did my remark in that ATMB thread have such an effect on you?”
You spent three long posts pouring your heart out, explaining how you felt people were speaking “vindictively”, and how, as a result of what they were saying, you felt “stunned and dismayed”. Your whole story about the coffee was a walk in my shoes and feel my pain metaphor.
And I did feel your pain. Empathy welled up in me as I read your post. I stopped in the middle of reading it and, before continuing, said a prayer, asking God to give you peace and comfort you.
I read on. You told Jar that if she truly cared for you, she would have offered you constructive criticism that was not in the form of a rant. I mistook this as an invitation to hear from others what sorts of things you might do to assuage the mother hen perception.
I carefully gathered my thoughts as I composed my response to you. I began by telling you how my heart ached for you and that I was praying for you to be comforted. I tried to orient you to what I was about to say by reminding you of an incident that I knew you would recall, but that I knew you would not know had had such an impact on me. I told you that you would probably be surprised to hear me say that I left because of what you did. If what you had done was intentional, it would not be a surprise.
Still, I thought you had suffered enough bashing, and so I purposely did not dig up a link to the ATMB thread for everyone to read. In fact, I did not even reference it directly so that you would not feel like my post was an attempt to officially document something you had done wrong. Then, I explained the circumstance to you using the same metaphorical language that you had used. I did this out of respect and deference, and made clear that, whatever happened between us, it was water under the bridge.
That’s why your response stunned me into silence.
You were reacting exactly like those who had left you stunned and dismayed. You gave no thought and had no concern about my feelings, but rather presumed the most superficial and negative interpretation possible and characterized my post to you as a slam. You had no interest in why I felt the way I did. Your only interest was in self-absolution.
In fact, you did not even respond to me at all until I posted a second time. Once you had seen that Coldfire posted, you sighed and were done with it.
My point with respect to my leaving is not about the incident itself. It is not about what you did, but the way you did it. It is not about what you said, but the way you said it. You had had zero involvement with the Phelps project up until that point. No posts. No e-mails. Nothing. Nothing volunteered. Nothing contributed. Your name was not in the database we were building of people who were participating.
By the time you came onto the scene, I had already single-handedly destroyed the project through poor leadership and an immature attitude. I had proceded wrecklessly in the pursuit of my goal to fight Fred Phelps. In the process, I stepped on people, hurt people, and basically in every way behaved like a spoiled child on a rampage. I was self-destructing, and I would likely have been depressed for a long time with or without you.
As I say, I take full blame, responsibility, and fault for what happened to me. But the only way you’re going to understand this is if I tell you how I saw you on that day at that time. I realize that what follows was not your intent. But what I’m trying to get across to you is that you were afflicted with the same thing I was afflicted with, namely, a certain lack of thoughtfulness about context and perspective.
Here’s how it was for me that day:
I opened a thread in ATMB, addressing a question of policy directly to the administration, trying desperately to see if I could rescue the tattered remains of a wonderfully conceived project.
Note that the question I asked in the thread was not addressed to you. I did not ask you for any advice or ruling. You had not even been in the picture. To put it in terms of your hippie-house metaphor, I was speaking directly to the hostess, the owner of the house. I did not even know you were in the room.
I thought that having the permission of Straight Dope to use their name would be helpful. I thought that if I could at least get that, I could step down from a leadership role and continue doing the grunt work that I had been doing — building the database, hosting the site, writing the html pages, and so on.
But things were happening swiftly. I was already the object of a Pit thread, and in fact, I had hardly opened the ATMB thread before having to turn leadership over to someone else. I wanted the project to go on, and if I was an obstacle to it, I wanted to remove myself from a public tie-in with it. But I knew that an SDMB tie-in would give the project a certain legitimacy with the weight of Cecil Adams behind fighting the ignorance of the fag haters.
I was waiting anxiously for a response from TubaDiva who, at that time, was the only administrator tending the ATMB forum. Other people had asked for similar permission before, and it had been granted before, and so I was hopeful if doubtful.
So, I have the hostess’s attention. I have eye-contact with her. I am waiting for her to open her mouth and give me a ruling.
Suddenly, from out of nowhere, your face moves into the scene between me and her. You overhear the last, tiny portion of our conversation, completely devoid of context, knowing nothing about the complexities and history that had gone before. I can’t see her anymore. I can see only you because you’ve blocked her out. You’re busy running from table to table picking up coffee, and so you can’t stay for long. You only have time to make a comment and go.
“Your request could mean trouble for the house,” you tell me quickly, grabbing my cup and eying the next table. “The house owners might have to dig in for a fight with this Phelps fellow if you use their name.”
Drive-by and you’re gone. So is the hostess. She left when you butted in. By the time you disappear in a blur, the last vestige of hope is gone with you. All’s well for you because you got my cup and moved on. But I am standing desolate and crushed with a finality that makes it clear that it is all over.
It wasn’t your fault that it was over. It was my fault.
But you could have waited. I wasn’t finished with my coffee. There was a sip left, and I was hoping to drink it. I’m the one who destroyed the project, not you. But what you destroyed was my final hope.
Simply put, you had no business butting in. Not when the question was addressed directly to Tuba. You contributed nothing that she could not have contributed herself. And in fact, she did show up later basically to rubber-stamp what you said.
The advice that I’m trying to give you is that you should realize that you are not the only real person in the house doing the only important work. You shouldn’t behave as though the world will end if you leave a cup or two, or if you ask people whether they’re finished before you abscond with their cups, or if you pause once in a while to converse with people and get a feel for their discussions.
Your opinion, even though it comes complete with Googled citations, is not the end of the debate, the final answer to the question, or the opinion that everyone should hold. You should not answer questions of policy that are not directed to you. You should realize that you’re just one of the people here and that everyone else has something to contribute that is equally important, significant, and worthy as what you contribute.
You should be as mindful of the feelings of others as you expect them to be of yours.
In case you skimmed this, let me end by reiterating that I don’t hold you to blame for my leaving. I’m just trying to tell you that, on that day, you butted into something that was none of your business and, as a result, I — already on the precipice of destruction — stepped off the cliff.
If this advice is not helpful to you, ignore it. But if you can take something constructive out of it to edify yourself, then I’m glad. I’m not saying that I’m any better than you or anything, just that I think your knowing how I felt that day might be of benefit to you. Then again, it might not. The last thing I want to do at this point is predict how you will react.
Jesus H, Lib. If you’d cut that off at the end of the 7th para, it would have been a pretty good post (IMHO).
As it is, it’s a mixed message. WTF exactly are you trying to say?
“I don’t blame you, DDG, but you posted a single sentence that caused me extreme pain and suffering. Please have more consideration”?
One thing that can be said for Lib, while you might not like what his answer is, he will always honestly answer you.
No, no! It’s Jesus H. Christ, damnit!
But… on this here board, what with all of us different posters with different belief systems; and with the current idea of love is a god, and god is a love, and love is love and Lib and let Lib, who can tell anymore? 
Sorry, Desmo. I did the best I could.
I suppose in one sentence, my message would be: “When going around picking up cups, be mindful of people’s toes.”
I think this would be good advice for all of us to take, including Duck Duck Goose.
I’m beginning to think we are, all of us, neurotic, self-pitying, narcissists.
“Here’s how I feel in three-part harmony”
“OK, let me critique your feelings”
“Hold on, let me make myself the center of discussion”
“I’m of the same opinion as the other guy, but I’d have added a ‘fuck’ or two.”
“Listen up, I’m going to interpret what was just said for the reading impaired”
“I’ll see your interpretation, and add a convoluted analogy”
“This is my cross alone to bear, but I shall not do so quietly”
This thread has turned into a supreme clusterfuck, and we (and I don’t exempt myself) had best laugh long and hard at how seriously we are taking ourselves.
And make sure you get your facts straight before you dive in…
Lib, all I can say is I’m sorry that that incident upset you so much…
…and…that, er, unfortunately, you are apparently remembering the whole thing completely wrong, because your “I was waiting for the hostess to acknowledge me when you butted in” metaphor breaks down totally when we go back and look at the actual thread–threads, plural, actually. You are obviously conflating two ATMB threads from the same day.
You are presenting it as “Lib opened a thread, and DDG barged in”, which is not what happened, in either thread.
The first thread was MY thread. Not yours.
How is it legal for the Straight Dope to sponsor a campaign against Fred Phelps?
Here’s my OP:
And later on in the thread I posted:
Tuba came in later to “rubber stamp” it because it was correct. You seem to imply that she rubber-stamped it because I had distracted her from you, and she wasn’t able to give it her full attention. Which is not the case.
As Manhattan pointed out in the thread, it was not “none of my business”, but something that rightly concerned the entire SDMB.
Here is the second thread, an ATMB thread that you opened, later that same day.
Threadspotting
Your OP.
You were waiting attentively for a response from your hostess on the subject of a thread that you had submitted for “Threadspotting”, presumably your “Turn Hate Into Love” thread–you’re not asking her about your Fred Phelps website. Far from “barging in between you and Tuba”, I didn’t even post in that thread.
I’m really sorry you’ve been carrying that around all this time, especially since it was factually incorrect.
Now–unlike you–I had completely forgotten that Phelps thread, and what else happened in it. All I remembered about the incident, vaguely, was that you’d had the words “Straight Dope” up on a web page somewhere, sometime after 9/11, and I had pointed out the possible legal ramifications to the Administration, and for some reason you had gotten tremendously pissed off at me because of it. But unlike you, for me it truly was “water under the bridge”, as it wasn’t until you gave me the keyword “phelps” just now that I went back and found the thread, and read it, and went, “Oh, yeah, I remember that”, with a heavy sigh. 
It was painful to watch at the time, and it was painful to go back and read it again. It was September 23, 2001, and it brings it all back, that whole horrible month, everyone in shock, and lashing out on the boards and IRL.
We all assumed (or at least I did) that everybody was under an incredible amount of stress, and we all subtracted (or at least I did) about 80% of any snappishness on the boards all those miserable few weeks. So I subtracted 80% of it, and forgave you a long time ago.
And I’m glad to hear that apparently you forgave me a long time ago, too–except…for needing to bring it up again in a “DDG Constructive Criticism” Pit thread. I’ve seen a few “Libertarian Constructive Criticism” threads go past in the Pit, and I’ve never felt a need to bring up the Phelps thing, mainly because it wasn’t in my ROM, just in the mental History folder, and it had long since slid down past the “Three Weeks” limit.
I haven’t asked that question because at the time, it obviously wasn’t just my “remark”, there was obviously a lot going on in your life besides what was on the boards. From going back and reading the thread, it’s apparent that many people had noticed that you seemed to be under a tremendous amount of stress. Even at the time, I didn’t understand why my remark in that ATMB should have had such an effect on you, except that, as I said, I discounted 80% of it for stress.
When you came back, you sounded much happier, and I was glad you were back, even if I didn’t understand why you’d left in the first place. So can’t we just let it go? I mean, sheesh, life’s too short. I like reading your posts, Lib, you’re one of the few posters here who doesn’t automatically make me go " :rolleyes: " when I see they’ve started a GD thread. 
Duck
Again, you’re right and I’m wrong. God go with you.
Won’t somebody please stop the bleeding?
Damn it minty, now you’ve made me post my second ever “me too”.
Sometimes it’s not about being right or wrong, DDG. Sometimes it’s about empathy. If you want to “just let it go” then it was unnecessary to go back and quote all that shit. Follow your own advice, “just let it go.”
A simple, “I’m sorry it affected you that way, Lib.” would have been sufficient.
*Kumbaya, Cecil, Kumbaya.
Kumbaya, Cecil, Kumbaya.
Kumbaya, Cecil, Kumbaya.
Oh, Cecil, Kumbaya.
Someone’s posting, Cece, Kumbaya.
Someone’s posting, Cece, Kumbaya.
Someone’s posting, Cece, Kumbaya.
Oh, Cecil, Kumbaya.
Now they’re fighting, Cece, Kumbaya.
Now they’re fighting, Cece, Kumbaya.
Now they’re fighting, Cece, Kumbaya.
Oh, Cecil, Kumbaya.
Think of the children, Cecil, Kumbaya.
Think of the children, Cecil, Kumbaya.
Think of the children, Cecil, Kumbaya.
Oh, Cecil, Kumbaya.*
Duck, you just lost all my respect with that post.
The proper response should have been, “I’m sorry.”
You’re a jerk.
Lib, don’t let the turkeys get you down.
Esprix
[sub](Not that I haven’t done the same thing in the past, but I’m trying to learn from my mistakes.)[/sub]
As one of the people quoted in your OP as someone whom you might have listend to, DDG, might I direct this comment back at you?
Sometimes it’s better to just…let things go, rather than fighting tooth and nail to “prove” that you’re (generic you) right, or “more right”, than your oponents, lest you find yourself in the situation articulated so well by Billy Crystal in “When Harry Met Sally”:
This reminds me of a story I once heard.
The town’s Librarian was both well read and well spoken. Everyone in town thought very highly of him, save for a few. He might not have been the best Librarian, as he would occasionally drift off on long involved tangents when you asked him for a book, or possibly even evade pointing you in the direction of the book you were looking for altogether. But, for the most part, it could be overlooked, since he sincerely meant well.
Also in town was Mother Goose. That wasn’t her real name, of course, but she certainly lived up to the appellation. Everyone in town, save for a few, appreciated her wise advice and deep pool of knowledge. Old Woman Willow might have been a better name, but the townspeople wisely decided it might not be taken as flattering, so Mother Goose it remained. Now, her knowledge and advice came at a price, and most people knew and accepted that. She rarely looked kindly upon anyone doubting her. But, for the most part, it could be overlooked, since she sincerely meant well.
One day down in the town’s market, the Librarian happened to find Mother Goose bartering over the cost of some oranges. “Strange,” he though, as a feeling of déjà vu washed over him. He was suddenly overcome with the remembrance of a disagreement he had had over a borrowed book with Mother Goose. At length, he decided to approach her and ask her about it.
“As I recall,” he began in friendly enough tone, “did we not once argue over the defacement of Burble’s Book of Tasty Pastries?”
“Defacement?” She replied, and thinking back, scanned her memory for the conversation.
Now, no one in town is quite sure why the Librarian chose this particular time to bring it up, or what he sought to accomplish, but events unfolded quickly from here.
“Yep. Defacement. Well, not that I blame you. Really. It’s settled and done with.” And with this, Mother Goose, who had cringed at the potential for a conflict, began to relax. Perhaps this wasn’t really going to be so bad. And just as she had finished this thought, the Librarian continued, “BUT… Burble’s Book of Tasty Pastries was my favorite book, and you spilled fudge all over it! So like I said, it’s settled, and I don’t think much about it, other than the fact that you ruined it.
“I see…” Said Mother Goose in an even tone. “Truly, I’m sorry that fudge got on Burble’s Book of Tasty Pastries. I didn’t know it was your favorite book, and I’m sorry.” And the Librarian smiled, if only for a moment, in the warm comfort that the matter had finally been settled, before Mother Goose rejoined, “I’m actually quite sorry… that you spilled fudge in your own damn favorite book and tried to blame it on me!”
And then, what happened next is anyone’s guess, but what we do know is that just then an orange hit Mother Goose squarely between the eyes. And as he laughed at the bits of pulp covering her nose, the Librarian himself was stunned by a brown banana to the side of the head. Seeing the banana covered Librarian, the town butcher remembered just how little he had liked the Odyssey after the Librarian had recommended it, so he joined the fray with a great melon hefted high over head. Likewise the baker, who had never gotten over Mother Goose’s admonishment that he should sift, and not pack, flour when making Barbary Bread Pudding, entered the market with a cantaloupe in each fist.
Soon, all the townsfolk were throwing sweet produce at one another, causing the market to take on the appearance of great angry fruit tart. Before long, this great angry fruit tart took on a life of it’s own, as the participants wandered through the town throwing fruit, ducking behind doorways, and taking the occasional apple to the pate. You could scarcely tell someone, “Good day,” without becoming covered in strawberry.
And as suddenly as it began, it was over. Everyone who ventured out that day was covered in fruit, and everyone who was covered in fruit just felt so terribly silly. To this day, not one of the townsfolk who was around to remember will haggle over the price of an orange. And no one, and I mean no one, will dare check out Burble’s Book of Tasty Pastries.
[pee wee herman] I love that story! [/pee wee herman]
I thought food fights were for MPSIMS?
Waverly, while I am confident that someone will come and state their opinion that your story metaphor is so wrong, I want you to know that this humble poster, who for the most part only watched the fruit flying, thought it was a wonderfully done story. It made me smile in admiration.