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Lord of the Flies Redux
Apr. 5th, 2007 07:50 pmEver since I first discovered the Salon letters sections following each and every article they publish, I've been following them with at least as much interest as I have the actual stories. Why, I hear you asking, is this? I like seeing people's insights, sure; often, a commenter can bring a perspective to a story that I never considered during reading. And too, it's interesting to see commenters and writers engage in dialogue, which happens frequently there and is not really something I've ever witnessed before outside fandom. But. This is embarrassing to admit, but one of the huge reasons I read is to see in exactly which way the comment threads will eventually dissolve into flamewars which, to quote a friend, make "fandom wank look tame." Because they always do.
Until today, that is. Today, Salon instituted a new protocol for commenting: you can't do it any longer unless you register using a valid email account, and while it's true that this won't stop particularly determined commenters from trolling or flaming, my God, you can already see the difference in the threads. I find it amazing that the inception of a (very mild) new accountability standard changes the dynamic of the discourse. And to be honest, I find it a little disconcerting as well. Are we such raging Ids that the first suggestion of the possibility of anonymity or consequence-free interaction means that we fall to tearing each other apart? That the first intervention of authority sends us scurrying back to the shadowy corners? Is it only the policing of others which keeps us from behaving like the worst possible evil-twin versions of ourselves?
Probably it is best that you not answer those questions.
:::
Speaking of moral dilemmas, though, and to lower this post to my journal's more usual standards: What world wrestling with these life-or-death issues would be complete without an immoderately expensive Good vs. Evil foosball table? (click on the English link, and then on the big numeral 20, to see).
Okay, it's not so much that I feel that this is a must-have, although it is perfectly fabulous, isn't it? It is that I am having a time imagining teams for my very own Good vs. Evil Foosball table would be. The possibilities are endless; I could think about them all day. Though OF COURSE I have not done so. No no! I am really spending my time thinking about Weighty Matters. Yes, indeed I am.
So, er, who'd be on your foosball table?
Until today, that is. Today, Salon instituted a new protocol for commenting: you can't do it any longer unless you register using a valid email account, and while it's true that this won't stop particularly determined commenters from trolling or flaming, my God, you can already see the difference in the threads. I find it amazing that the inception of a (very mild) new accountability standard changes the dynamic of the discourse. And to be honest, I find it a little disconcerting as well. Are we such raging Ids that the first suggestion of the possibility of anonymity or consequence-free interaction means that we fall to tearing each other apart? That the first intervention of authority sends us scurrying back to the shadowy corners? Is it only the policing of others which keeps us from behaving like the worst possible evil-twin versions of ourselves?
Probably it is best that you not answer those questions.
:::
Speaking of moral dilemmas, though, and to lower this post to my journal's more usual standards: What world wrestling with these life-or-death issues would be complete without an immoderately expensive Good vs. Evil foosball table? (click on the English link, and then on the big numeral 20, to see).
Okay, it's not so much that I feel that this is a must-have, although it is perfectly fabulous, isn't it? It is that I am having a time imagining teams for my very own Good vs. Evil Foosball table would be. The possibilities are endless; I could think about them all day. Though OF COURSE I have not done so. No no! I am really spending my time thinking about Weighty Matters. Yes, indeed I am.
So, er, who'd be on your foosball table?
