Very little is worth "fighting" for here. Arguing, yes. But not fighting or quarrelling. Far too much of what goes on here is quarelling or fighting, not arguing.
Lemme tell you something.
I'm good at arguing. Very, very good. I've done forensic debate since I was sixteen. I have been on national championship collegiate teams. I have judged out rounds at national tournaments.
I've practiced plaintiff's consumer protection law for more than a decade. Li'l ol' me tangles with the big downtown boys every day.
And you know what? It's fun. It's lots of fun.
But that, my friend, is argument.
What goes on at CF, I have learned, is something subtly different. Sure, the principles of Aristotle's Rhetoric still apply, but there is no decision, no judgment, no ballot at the end of the thread. Rather, we are surrounded by a great cloud of witnesses. And they, in the end and in their hearts, decide whether or not our performance has been edifying.
No one here wants to see my professional persona. That privilege is reserved for debt collectors, scam artists, and repo men. How would that be edifying here? Here is the home of my brothers and sisters. I will not treat them that way.
So, I confess that I poke some pompous bubbles. I spread some ice cream. I sing my little songs.
I'd prefer not to dance the same old dour dance of outrage. Too much blood has been spilt over it; too many people have been driven away by it.