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Banned in Cloverdale by Herb Ruhs, MD, Oct. 28, 2005 Dear Harry, I finally was able to read your thoughtful piece about the man in the sweatshirt, but only after leaving the coffee shop where I had been planning to surf on their wi-fi until my computer's battery ran out, or mine did. Moved over to the public library now and access is not denied. Just for fun and education I am appending the text of an alarmingly colored screen that appeared when I tried to the link at the coffee shop. Access to the page:What do you suppose "weighted phrase limit exceeded" means? Well I was just trying out that coffee shop. Not likely to patronize it again. BTW, just to be technical, that old guy was no innocent. He was trolling, baiting you, and you did him a favor by confronting him. He is best understood, I think, as a self righteousness addict on the prowl. The last thing he wanted was for you to be polite because of his age. My father in law is like that. I just don't talk to him anymore, no fun. I make this assessment from a position of special knowledge, being, like the old man in the sweatshirt, someone who trolls for people willing to challenge my wardrobe in public. I do it for fun - mine not theirs - and avoid the self righteousness, if possible. If someone wants to comment on my BUll SHit (little tiny double "l" and "it" so it reads as BUSH from a distance) I am thrilled, and proceed, as underhandedly as possible, to open up their minds and let the bad smells out. That's one of the many problems that liberals have, being "nice." The old guy and I know there is more to life than being "nice" - at least not to people who take the bait. "Nice" is a mode of behavior that I reserve for the gentle, the young and the infirm, and the occasional individual of real spiritual peace. I like to troll in super macho, crude-tattoo-on-the-forearm, sorts of places like auto parts stores. Even if I don't need it (these are some of the dirtiest bathrooms in the world) I ask where the "potty" is. Every now and then I score some super macho bullshit like, "We don't call it that here." To which my canned response is, "Son, when you have been shot at as much as I have then you can call it a potty too." Of course I have an escape plan in mind when I do this, but have not encountered physical violence yet. This sort of past time is one of the fringe benefits of growing noticeably old. I figure it is our patriotic duty to enjoy our fellow citizens in these ways. I think the old guy, in the unlikely event that he was willing he to cop to the truth, would agree. herb I love your attitude, and generally share it. The only distinction I’d offer is the sheer joy of being polite, low-key, and speaking with lots of “sirs” and “ma’ams.” When your verbal sparring opponent is getting furious, he wants to see you get furious too, so if you instead stay utterly calm and cordial, it really, really pisses ‘em off.Actually, just as you say you do I do too. I virtually never "lose my cool." Besides, sirs and maams develop a special meaning when you begin to look aged like me. I actually am a committed Quaker. I really do believe in avoiding "hurtful speech" (one of the testimonies) but I differ from almost every Quaker I have met in that they, at least to my understanding, ascribe the term to speech that tends to wake people up, which can be quite painful. I don't think this leave-sleeping-dogs-lie approach is a compassionate one. Even the "potty" guys get my time and respect. Another exception of mine to the "hurtful speech" testimony that it would be hard to find Quakers to agree about, is that when someone becomes a public person, as I have with my writing, or you with yours, there comes an obligation to simply not be hurt, no matter what is said to us as public persons in public. Besides, with these exceptions, almost any contact can be rewarding and fulfilling to both parties, no matter what. Trolling to find weak people to hurt, or make fun of, is evil. Trolling for people who invite sparing is another matter. Though as often as not willing combatants include a large measure of the sadly deluded who are best just avoided. Not that I haven't been scared at times, especially when confronting the powerful when I was younger, but treating another as a "thou," à la Buber, often means making contact with unpleasantness in them, and sometime useless estrangement. But the unpleasantness need not dominate the flavor of the moment. Even a dirty sock can't ruin a really good stew. Of course personal unpleasantness amongst known people is usually just a way for unconscious people to demand more personal distance. If a person wants a shouting match, well, sometimes, why not. This is one of the reasons I am living a near hermetic existence. herb PS: did I remember to tell you I liked the sweatshirt piece? Yes, you did, and I'm still slightly aglow. Also, still chuckling over "Even a dirty sock can't ruin a really good stew," which will promptly become one of my favorite midwesternisms.
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