Fantastic! According to some of the comments posted on the Stuff website in response to my latest Curmudgeon column, in which I referred to the murder of Kansas abortionist George Tiller (see post below), I’m:
1. “Influenced by religious mumbo-jumbo”. For the record, I’m not a member of any church and don’t attend any. In fact I resigned from the Society for the Protection of the Unborn Child about 25 years ago because I felt it had been so captured by devout Christians that there was little room for people who weren’t primarily motivated by religious beliefs. (In saying this, I’m not condemning those religiously motivated people or suggesting their motivation was not valid.)
2. Under the influence of someone named Bill O’Reilly, whose "lurid baby-killing charge" I’ve supposedly parroted. For the record, I have never heard of this Bill O’Reilly. Who is he?
3. Best of all, it seems I’m gay. That’s what I love about the Net – you learn all sorts of stuff that you never imagined.
I’ll file these with some of the other fascinating things I’ve recently read about myself, such as:
I’m an ardent National Party supporter (fact: I’ve voted Labour far more often than I’ve voted for the Nats);
I’m a devout Catholic (see above);
I couldn’t possibly have any children of my own, or I wouldn’t write the way I do about issues involving kids (fact: I have four children, and what’s more they still speak to me);
I look down my nose at brown-skinned people (sigh … what can you say in response to that sort of slur?);
I’m a “rich old white guy”. Well, I’m white and I’m male, but I’m not sure about those other two adjectives. Old, at 58? I suppose so, in the eyes of a 20-year-old, but I don’t feel it. And rich? Well, everything’s relative.
The latest comically erroneous assumptions come from a Massey University lecturer who, ironically, accuses me of making false assumptions about academics. He describes me as a retired ex-editor (half right) out there on the lifestyle block (wrong), pension in the bank (wrong), appointments diary lying empty. For the record, I’m well short of pension age (see above) and work six days a week. There may come a time when I spend my time sitting around fuming impotently over a dry sherry, but it’s fair old way off yet.