mandag, oktober 02, 2006

Pub News and Molly Ire

It was a sad thing when the old Molly's imploded. We had such a good community there. And for a brief spell we had one at the newer-but-now-defunct Molly's. But that imploded.

And then we had a good community and plenty of rollicking and loads of kilts at the Garage, but that imploded on multiple fronts.

Now news reaches me (via the Inner Sanctum, which contacted me about possible involvment in the venture) that some of the Good Ones are in the final stretch of acquiring a pub in the same area of Minneapolis. Good. We need it, we want it, we'll turn it, and as it will be owned and controlled by the heart of hoolies this time, we'll do it right. We have, collectively, the skills, connections, energy and stories for it.

Yet, Molly (not Molly Q. of the old pub's name, but a Molly), who is part of this crew, sort of, what was with your shots at me tonight? I haven't seen you in ages, and back when I saw you more frequently, we didn't know one another. We never have. We've always had only common friends. We shot the bull here and there while you worked, and on a few occasions we saw one another at the Dub. You always hugged and kissed the older cats and shook my hand. No loss, no worries. I'm pretty selective about to whom I dole out that sort of affection (and accept it from), male or female. And anyone who knows me knows this. And anyone who knows you knows that you are quite selective too.

This knowledge runs apparently one way with us.

But we were friendly. We had many things to laugh about.

Yet tonight, you were all, "Chris!" And Dingley went mad hugging and groping and kissing on you, and you on him. And then you looked at me and said, "But I get nothing from him."

And you went on to insult me as being too skinny. You spoke only to Ian and Dingley--two rail-thin men, by the way--save for the moments you wanted to issue an insult. You kept doing that waving a fart aside thing toward me. "You don't do it for me," you said. "Guys like you."

Did I ask? Did I show any concern? Ever? Can you name one occasion on which I've wasted our time discussing our love lives? (You've wasted our time, by the way. You've moped. You've vented. You've lamented getting back together with a guy you always fight with. And all the while I've let you.) Have I ever made a pity- or praise-me statement on these matters? Have I ever made a pass at you? (The answer's NO. The non-attraction is mutual; yet that shouldn't negate basic kindness, unless of course you're an asshole.)

But the thing that really sets me off--I wouldn't waste time writing about this otherwise--was your suggestion that I am a Republican. That's a stupid insult, everyone knows, but it's a severe one depending on who issues it. People who claim to be liberal and make that charge against me, that's when it becomes serious. Being a competent liberal, I've no patience for those who fuck up my politics with their egos, incompetence, and, more than anything, their self-important, overcompensatory, low self-esteem.

I don't discuss politics nearly as much as I think about them, largely because they make people--including me--unhappy. And I've no interest in making my friends unhappy or in hanging around people who piss me off.

(I suspect you won't be heart-broken to find out you're now on that list.)

You want a short vita? I've voted since 1992. I've voted only three times for a Republican candidate, all three of whom ran unopposed and were in local elections where I grew up. I know each of them. I regret one of those votes because it was a friend's father and he went bonkers once he held even a minor political office.

I've a degree in politics. My focus was Constitutional Law and Political Philosophy. Only one person scored as high as me in Con Law (due to my struggling to an 86 in contract law, though I was top in civil liberties by a wide margin), and I was top for my program on the philosophy side with a particular emphasis on the origins of government, classical philosophy, and modernism. And, if I might note one final piece of the puzzle, I was accepted to the Master's program at the nation's top political philosophy graduate school in 1996. I won't name-check, but it's on the East Coast. It isn't Harvard. It isn't Ivy League. It's more successful. It has a Jesuit tradition, yes, but one can be quite liberal within that, as I'm sure you understand, else you wouldn't so frequently adopt that fake fucking Irish accent as you boast of growing up as "just an Irish Catholic girl."

Have you ever listened to our conversations? Or to the conversations that go on around you? Are you aware that the world extends beyond your own skin?

After firing this salvo at me, you left. You left half a beer on the bar--an act that was its own little miracle--and glared at me and left.

While we are both well-left liberals, I don't feel any reason to skulk about inconsolably angry at all moments of the day. Especially when I'm around people who agree with me. And who I like. And who I want to enjoy their evening.

I try to choose my moments with a little care. This is one of them. I'm not always successful in keeping the tiger controlled, but I try to use discretion.

On nights like this, you are the Ann Coulter of liberals: you're abrasive, you're unpleasant, you display a self-absorbed manner. You operate without reason or vision.

I know I'm yelling into the abyss, but simply having a zealous opinion--that is, independent of how you use it--does not make you valuable, as a person or to a political movement. Nor does unchecked anger. Excessive drinking and eradict behavior don't help either. Nor do uninvited political screeds, in person or in blog-form.

(My apologies to those who have, out of a sense of friendliness, read this far. I feel more than a bit embarrassed to launch such a vituperative passage on a matter I know I ought to just let go. I find this entry far worse than the prior complaint about Target's film department.)

The short take: Get your facts straight, asshole.
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