I can’t say that I like Roger Ebert very much. But I like people. I can’t say I care much for how he chooses to treat tea partiers, or the substance of his political views, or his position regarding Cinco de Mayo. But I can say he is a man. He lives his life, he loves others, he appreciates beauty. He is a man. A human. Just like Bob the tea partier, just like Arizona politicians, just like the Mexican students at that high school in California. I can’t say I like him, but I can say I shouldn’t hate him. And I shouldn’t have flippantly picked what I thought would hurt him the most, just because I thought I had a point to make on Twitter. Cheaply. Callously.
Twitter, as we should say, isn’t real life. It isn’t even real time. I forgot about humanity. And for that, I am suddenly very sorry.
I’m not going to pretend that I’m going to be nice all the time. Vodka cometh. But I’ve too long relished the race to the bottom. To be frank, I’ve reveled in the sarcasm and nastiness, and, yes, even the negative feedback. This morning I was wallowing in self-righteous glee at what I had wrought. But I was wrong. And it took reading Roger Ebert’s twitter feed for about five hours to make me realize that. To make me chastened. To humble my pride.