I know this, because he has said so. (I could counter that I'm not getting credit for all the times he says something patently absurd or factually wrong, but um... fuel on the fire.)
But it is true that I am a contrarian.
A shameful proportion of all of my impulses to write here, or to tweet, or to retweet, or to post in comboxes are in an effort to "fix" some error, or fantasy, or misapprehension.
(Seriously, what's all the fuss about the Oxford comma, what purpose did it serve there? Use it when it's needed, says I. I digress.)
Showing contempt, carping, complaining, critiquing - this is what I do.
I literally only opened this window because I have some culinary obligation for the coming feast, was about to look for a recipe and was confronted with some absurd assertions regarding substitution of ingredients.
In what universe is cinnamon a suitable replacement for cardamom?????
I see myself, (and it is a fearful prospect,) turning into my great aunt, who could launch a twenty minute rant on virtually anything.
I was once trapped in a car with her for a half hour ride home while she riffed on the temerity of whoever ran the concessions at the airport at which she had just been met, to stock his chewing gum rack with the variety of wares with which he had chosen to do so,
I have decided to fast from contradiction, in print, pixel or parley from sundown today, until dawn Sunday.
Please pray for me.
(But until then, Katie bar the door.)