Earlier this summer, my husband, Rafi, was the target of a series of blog "attacks" (Is there a word for this? Blattack? Blogack?). The raging blogger was a woman who wasn't thrilled that Rafi had written letters to the editors (yes, he is one of those people) of some local papers offering a version of a presidential candidate's closed-door event (which they both attended) that differed drastically from the one she had shared with the press.
While I understand that no one likes to be called a liar (although he never used those words), this woman got angry and mean in a hurry. All of a sudden, we were getting emails from friends and acquaintances who had stumbled upon her off-color put-downs, name-calling, and taunts in various blogs across the web.
Rafi was nonplussed, finding it all mildly amusing. But while he was able to laugh it off (like when she misspelled words in the midst of "accusing" him of not being able to read or speak English as the reason he was so clueless), I had a harder time. After all, this was my husband she was trashing. When people go after my family, I get very mama bear.
I'd rehearse in my head the mean things I wanted to post on her blog - the clever retaliations that would put her in her place. The more I stewed and dreamed of stomping her with my words, the more satisfied I felt. Victory would be mine. I'd teach her to mess with the Rivadeneiras!
When I emailed a friend to share the hub-bub with her, she emailed back: "Let me know when you plan to pay this woman a little visit. I'm in."
I laughed at her response - she's not exactly thug material - but her joke pointed me toward something more serious. I mean, I'm not exactly thug material myself! It would never occur to me to pay someone a "little visit" for writing some garbage. In fact, were I to meet this raging blogger in person, I can all but guarantee I'd be as nice as nice can be.
Sure, I might ask her what she meant from all the stuff (particularly why she thought my husband - born in Chicago to Cuban parents - should "go back to Mexico like a real man?") but I wouldn't try to beat her down, put her in her place. And yet as I imagined the acerbic comments I'd leave in this woman's wake, I was all about the thug. And what's with that?
This isn't the first time I've had to confront my inner e-thug. This time last year I posted an article here called, "Bringing Harry Potter to Church." You'd have thought I wrote about converting to Satanism from the responses that elicited - both here and on other sites. Believe me, I spent some time dreaming of thuggish replies then too.