<WOB> The Digest and Me (Long)

["Brad Houser" <bhouser@xxxxxxxxxxx>]

Dear Richard:

Just between you and me, I don't care what you do.

I have been reading the list since about November '98 when I decided I was
going to buy an M3 Convertible with European delivery sometime in April '99
(now it looks more like June), so then I wanted to be as much a part of the
BMW world on the internet as I could. Because nothing could satisfy my
desire to be flying into Munich and driving off onto Der Autobahn in my new
M3 _NOW_  I had to settle for the on-line world.

Alt.auto.bmw soon provided a source of amusement. I enjoyed the occasional
pearls of wisdom from the experienced owners and trusted mechanics. I soon
realized that along with the there were bongos and bozos to be ignored, and
others to pay attention to.

I found the Digest and realized there was a closer world for BMW fanatics,
and they called themselves Bubbas, and they measured job complexity in the
number Rolling Rocks, and they all loved all things Bimmer. The Bubbas would
share their wizardry amongst each other and have fun too. This was too cool,
because I was learning more and more about my car to be. (I once owned a '79
733i.)

I soon discovered I was receiving daily several large e-mail messages in my
in-box that required regular care and feeding or I might miss something
important. The page down key became a concern. I was having to sip a lot of
stuff to get to the good stuff.  I eventually learned how to receive the
messages individually so I could avoid reading messages about E30's or from
people I didn't care what they said.

I enjoyed reading about Sharks, shocks, tires, redline oil, euro tail
lights, and ASE techs. I learned that driving schools are good but don't
plan on bringing my convertible unless I want to drive around town with a
big roll cage and a helmet! I signed up for the BMWCCA in early January. (I
just got my first Roundel and my Membership Card: #164195).

Life was good in Digest Land until one day there began a big pissing
contest. The Marxists and the Bubbas were not happy campers. The Marxists
got hung up on words. The Bubbas stopped talking about Rolling Rocks. The
comradery of the Digest decklined, and the tension escalated into mob rule
where no one could hear good Bimmer conversations above the chanting of "I
Want my M Free Digest". People were getting mean and nasty. Sparks were
flying. Blame was put on many, including you, Richard. I don't blame you for
wanting to pack it up.

The Digest certainly allows for the possibility of me spending at least an
hour a day engaged with e-mails from people I have never met. I have also
been in contact with other enthusiasts from the San Jose area and around the
world. I am sure you have made many acquaintances because of the Digest. I
am even more certain now that if someone was moderating the digest, he must
be spending even more time at it than I am. I assume you have volunteered
many hours of your time out of dedication, and not for personal gain. For
this I thank you.

I think at this point, Richard, you have volunteered your time and energy
enough and it is time for someone else to carry the ball.

I say: "Let the ball be passed to the UUC Digest, where a new dedicated
Bimwad has stepped up to run with the ball."

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So Richard, if you decide to keep up the list, it is for a good cause. If
you decide to make it a hands off (un-moderated) list, then fine. Some will
leave. Some will stay. Things will pass. Seasons change. Do as much or as
little as you want. You facilitate the list. The list is not you.

If you decide to kill the list, we will not be lost souls in the night. New
lists will continue, and we will all have to wade through the good and the
bad. There will always be those we will choose to ignore. There will be
those who feel compelled to flame. I think we are asking a lot if we expect
one person, like Richard Welty, to have to sit somewhere  and moderate the
ramblings of a bunch of adolescents when he may have better things to do,
like DRIVING a BMW.

So Richard, just between you and me, I don't care what  you do.

Brad Houser

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