One of the ways I get annoyed

I didn't exactly lose my temper. I did get angry, and analytical. The person it's aimed at probably doesn't know--because part of the problem is that he keeps posting in alt.polyamory, but never participates in any kind of discussion. I responded to one of his posts, pointing out glaring flaws in the statistics he was quoting. He didn't answer that, just posted something else on his pet hobbyhorse a few days later (so I knew he wasn't off in the middle of nowhere, but had Usenet access).

My response to that had the subject "Does Don Saklad understand newsgroups?" That got me email, but still no newsgroup response, and led to my posting the following on alt.poly:

Following up to myself, since the person I was addressing
didn't:

Quoth Vicki Rosenzweig <vr@redbird.org> on Thu, 11 Jul 2002 11:04:42 -0400:

>How about a bit more examination before you post misleading
>statistics?
>
>This is--as you note--based on a survey of gay and bisexual men
>under the age of 30. It's reasonable, if the study was designed
>properly (and I believe it was) to extrapolate from the 5,719
>men studied to the set of American gay and bi men under age 30.
>
>It's *not* reasonable to extrapolate to all American men: the
>amount of knowledge might be different for het men, for gay
>and bi men older than 29, or both.
>

In response to my more recent "Does Don Saklad understand newsgroups"
he emailed me an invitation to send along my questions. I wrote back,
somewhat grumpily:

>Have you actually read what I posted, or are you just grepping for
>our name?
>
>I don't have a question. I pointed out an important statistical error
>in your post to alt.polyamory, and you have not responded to my
>posting.

That got me an invitation to "contact the source of that interesting
piece" and let him know what they said.

My conclusion is that Don Saklad is not interested in talking to
people, *and* that he's not capable of spotting large statistical
holes in what he reposts. Or, perhaps, that he isn't reading through
articles if their headlines support his agenda.

I could, of course, be wrong. I look forward to comments here.

One of the ways I get annoyed

I didn't exactly lose my temper. I did get angry, and analytical. The person it's aimed at probably doesn't know--because part of the problem is that he keeps posting in alt.polyamory, but never participates in any kind of discussion. I responded to one of his posts, pointing out glaring flaws in the statistics he was quoting. He didn't answer that, just posted something else on his pet hobbyhorse a few days later (so I knew he wasn't off in the middle of nowhere, but had Usenet access).

My response to that had the subject "Does Don Saklad understand newsgroups?" That got me email, but still no newsgroup response, and led to my posting the following on alt.poly:

Following up to myself, since the person I was addressing
didn't:

Quoth Vicki Rosenzweig <vr@redbird.org> on Thu, 11 Jul 2002 11:04:42 -0400:

>How about a bit more examination before you post misleading
>statistics?
>
>This is--as you note--based on a survey of gay and bisexual men
>under the age of 30. It's reasonable, if the study was designed
>properly (and I believe it was) to extrapolate from the 5,719
>men studied to the set of American gay and bi men under age 30.
>
>It's *not* reasonable to extrapolate to all American men: the
>amount of knowledge might be different for het men, for gay
>and bi men older than 29, or both.
>

In response to my more recent "Does Don Saklad understand newsgroups"
he emailed me an invitation to send along my questions. I wrote back,
somewhat grumpily:

>Have you actually read what I posted, or are you just grepping for
>our name?
>
>I don't have a question. I pointed out an important statistical error
>in your post to alt.polyamory, and you have not responded to my
>posting.

That got me an invitation to "contact the source of that interesting
piece" and let him know what they said.

My conclusion is that Don Saklad is not interested in talking to
people, *and* that he's not capable of spotting large statistical
holes in what he reposts. Or, perhaps, that he isn't reading through
articles if their headlines support his agenda.

I could, of course, be wrong. I look forward to comments here.

the domestic side of things

• I bundled up months' worth of magazines, catalogs, and the odd newspaper, and took them out to the compactor room. This is one of those odd tasks that doesn't take long, but gets put off until there are two large bundles' worth.


• I carried out a bucket of water, for the snapdragons and marigolds I have under two trees outside the building. Someone stopped to chat, and I remarked that putting the plants in was the easy part: it's keeping them watered that's complicated. We then discussed the possibility of rain. In doing the watering, I noticed a new sprout. I'm not sure yet what it is, but the shape of the leaves makes me think it might be clover. This would be a very good thing: I've actually considered digging clover from some odd corner of park or street and transplanting it, because the soil badly needs the help.


• In between discussing such deep and meaningful concepts as a new brand of iced tea and the appeal of cheetahs as housepets, I mentioned to L. that roadnotes sent the Dubious Ex a letter telling him to fuck off. This led to where the Dubious Ex is living, L.'s comment that she doesn't think of D.E.'s roommate as existing in the same space-time continuum as I do (because she stopped running into him before she and I started hanging out together), and my observation that, really, he doesn't: it's only three blocks, but if people who live nearby don't come up and over the hill to the park, I don't see them.

the domestic side of things

• I bundled up months' worth of magazines, catalogs, and the odd newspaper, and took them out to the compactor room. This is one of those odd tasks that doesn't take long, but gets put off until there are two large bundles' worth.


• I carried out a bucket of water, for the snapdragons and marigolds I have under two trees outside the building. Someone stopped to chat, and I remarked that putting the plants in was the easy part: it's keeping them watered that's complicated. We then discussed the possibility of rain. In doing the watering, I noticed a new sprout. I'm not sure yet what it is, but the shape of the leaves makes me think it might be clover. This would be a very good thing: I've actually considered digging clover from some odd corner of park or street and transplanting it, because the soil badly needs the help.


• In between discussing such deep and meaningful concepts as a new brand of iced tea and the appeal of cheetahs as housepets, I mentioned to L. that roadnotes sent the Dubious Ex a letter telling him to fuck off. This led to where the Dubious Ex is living, L.'s comment that she doesn't think of D.E.'s roommate as existing in the same space-time continuum as I do (because she stopped running into him before she and I started hanging out together), and my observation that, really, he doesn't: it's only three blocks, but if people who live nearby don't come up and over the hill to the park, I don't see them.

and then the kitchen pipe broke

Andy was putting away the (cardboard box of) laundry detergent, and it bumped into the drain pipe under the kitchen sink, which broke.

So we pulled everything out from under the sink, dried off what could reasonably dried, and decided that the super wouldn't appreciate being bothered at 9 p.m. on a Sunday for something he probably wouldn't be able to fix himself. We moaned, we groaned, we mopped the kitchen floor (and poured the resulting dirty water down the toilet). We went to put the laundry away.

We called for Chinese takeout (cooking under the circumstances seemed like too much of a pain). Andy went out for a few minutes, and the sink started leaking again. Also, the cat was sick. I cleaned up both of these things as best I could, shuffled the container we had under the pipe to catch drips, and went to cool off for a few minutes.

Andy came back upstairs and diagnosed the problem: we were getting leakage from the next-door neighbor's sink.

Fortunately, the next-door neighbor is a nice person. She was cheerfully willing to stop washing dishes for the moment. While I talked to her, Andy went to find the super.

No super. Okay, we can all live without doing dishes tonight. Hers will sit and soak, ours will sit in the dishwasher. As long as we were over there, we took a look at her stove, to see if we could figure out why the back two burners won't light. (No luck--like ours, hers has the right two on one pilot light, the left two on another, and both pilots are fine.)

Andy has wrapped duct tape around the hole in the pipe, not that that will solve the problem but we don't have any WD-40. That pipe needs replacing: the place where it broke had been patched at least once before. (No surprise--solid metal pipes don't break when a cardboard box bumps into them.) We also have duct tape across the top of the sink, to remind us not to use it.

And plans for tomorrow have been either marked "tentative" or rearranged: suddenly the agenda of

• Get more antibiotics for the cat


• Vicki goes to the library to do more research


• Andy goes to the gym in the afternoon


• See what looks good at the Greenmarket

isn't going to work, not with all of those in different neighborhoods, and some of them at awkward times.

and then the kitchen pipe broke

Andy was putting away the (cardboard box of) laundry detergent, and it bumped into the drain pipe under the kitchen sink, which broke.

So we pulled everything out from under the sink, dried off what could reasonably dried, and decided that the super wouldn't appreciate being bothered at 9 p.m. on a Sunday for something he probably wouldn't be able to fix himself. We moaned, we groaned, we mopped the kitchen floor (and poured the resulting dirty water down the toilet). We went to put the laundry away.

We called for Chinese takeout (cooking under the circumstances seemed like too much of a pain). Andy went out for a few minutes, and the sink started leaking again. Also, the cat was sick. I cleaned up both of these things as best I could, shuffled the container we had under the pipe to catch drips, and went to cool off for a few minutes.

Andy came back upstairs and diagnosed the problem: we were getting leakage from the next-door neighbor's sink.

Fortunately, the next-door neighbor is a nice person. She was cheerfully willing to stop washing dishes for the moment. While I talked to her, Andy went to find the super.

No super. Okay, we can all live without doing dishes tonight. Hers will sit and soak, ours will sit in the dishwasher. As long as we were over there, we took a look at her stove, to see if we could figure out why the back two burners won't light. (No luck--like ours, hers has the right two on one pilot light, the left two on another, and both pilots are fine.)

Andy has wrapped duct tape around the hole in the pipe, not that that will solve the problem but we don't have any WD-40. That pipe needs replacing: the place where it broke had been patched at least once before. (No surprise--solid metal pipes don't break when a cardboard box bumps into them.) We also have duct tape across the top of the sink, to remind us not to use it.

And plans for tomorrow have been either marked "tentative" or rearranged: suddenly the agenda of

• Get more antibiotics for the cat


• Vicki goes to the library to do more research


• Andy goes to the gym in the afternoon


• See what looks good at the Greenmarket

isn't going to work, not with all of those in different neighborhoods, and some of them at awkward times.