I was never really a Twitter guy. Sure, I had an account, but I rarely Tweeted. Hardly ever logged on at all, for that matter. It was a good source for breaking news — like many, I was glued to the platform on Jan. 6, 2021 — but as far as the socials go, Twitter was never my jam.
Even less so when Elon Musk bought it and turned it into X. The dude made a cool car, but man, what a tool.
I have become reacquainted with X the past few months through CheeseGov. As the external communications manager, it’s my job to manage our social media accounts. We currently have two: LinkedIn (totally harmless and great for recruitment) and X.
I cannot overstate what an absolute cesspool the latter place is.
You think Facebook is bad? On Facebook, your Uncle Bob might pose for a pic in an ugly red hat, or maybe a former classmate is trotting out the tired argument that guns don’t kill people, people kill people. Annoying, but whatevs. On X, you see the absolute worst of humanity — a constant parade of morons spewing hatred, bigotry, lies, and misinformation. Every day brings a new conspiracy theory even more outrageous than the last. It’s maddening. I’m convinced if aliens were monitoring earth communications and stumbled across an X feed, they’d turn tail and book it back to the Andromeda Galaxy pronto.
I wouldn’t blame them. In fact, I’d probably ask if I could hitch a ride.
CheeseGov has talked about abandoning X, but there’s a small percentage of stakeholders that rely on the platform for information about our agency, so we soldier on for now. (I post about upcoming events or fun, lighthearted marketing tie-ins with celebrations like Cow Appreciation Day or National Hammock Day. This must be real confusing to casual scrollers looking for racist and misogynistic rants from pseudo-journalists.)
We’re not on Threads, but maybe we should be. I joined Instagram’s social networking platform when it first launched a year ago, but like Twitter, never really understood the point. And then Sunday happened, and suddenly, I got it. Scrolling through my feed for breaking news updates, I saw nothing but civility and joy and some damn funny memes. I dunno; maybe Threads is just powered by a really good algorithm, but those are my peeps.
I don’t discuss politics on here much anymore, because the last time I did, a long-time blogging friend who some of you know cut me off entirely after years of mutual encouragement, support, and friendly banter. He stopped following and commenting, flat-out ignored my emails, and I eventually gave up trying to figure out why he got so butt-hurt. Based on the timeline of events, I can only conclude that he was pro-insurrectionist.
Oy vey.
But I also shouldn’t walk on eggshells if I’ve got something to say just because of one bad apple!
I should also maybe come up with some non-food metaphors while I’m at it.
I don’t expect every one of my current blog readers to bleed blue like me, but I refuse to stoop to the same level as the hate-filled fear mongerers on X. I won’t debate the finer points of democracy or question your choices and will refrain from personal attacks on the Other Guy. ‘Cause that would be like shooting fish in a barrel.
(OK, just that little one.)
But I will say, today I am filled with a hope that didn’t exist just a few days ago. It’s like a great weight has been lifted from my shoulders…and I am hardly alone. Democrats are upbeat and energized and rallying behind Kamala Harris so hard, it’s downright amazing. I am blown away by the groundswell of support. It feels like 2008 all over again (though sadly, there aren’t any new episodes of The Office on NBC tonight). It’ll be a tough road ahead for sure, but can we do this? Since we’re already channeling 2008, Yes We Can. Or, better yet:
You bet your ass I’m with her.
I said I wasn’t going to make a peach pie. It was too time-consuming and labor-intensive and, quite frankly, sticky. Yes, we have a ton of juicy, ripe, delicious peaches from our backyard tree. Yes, peach pie is my mom’s favorite. Yes, my parents are coming out for a visit over Labor Day. Yes, making one would remind her why I’m her favorite kid (sorry you had to find out this way, Scott). But just the thought of all that work scared me off.
Besides, the peach margaritas I whipped up Saturday evening were a tasty enough way to use up those peaches!
But then — perhaps because of all this newfound hope and positivity — I had a change of heart. And it didn’t matter that I’d never made a peach pie before, because I had also never made red currant crumb bars before, and they turned out divine.
And while my mom suggested I buy a frozen crust from the grocery store to simplify the process, I scoffed at that idea. If I’m going to make a peach pie, I decided, then I’m going to make a peach pie. From scratch, crust and all. None of this Pillsbury preformed frozen shit for Mark! If you’re gonna do it, do it right.
It may not look pretty, but I’m not here to Instagram the pie; I just want to eat the damn thing. (I actually did Instagram the pie, ahem.)
The only problem? Once the pie cooled off, it got wrapped up in aluminum foil and shoved into the freezer, where it won’t emerge for another six weeks. It’s like Groundhog Day all over again. I did, of course, try a bite before sending it to Siberia.
What can I say? I really might be the next Betty Crocker after all.
Mark My Words 
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