Nothin' but Bluesky


I got on Bluesky. Not that I needed another social-media time suck, but it seemed like a good way to add my vote to the 21 million or so who have come to loathe dufus billionaire Leon Musk and his loveable sidekick, Jabba the Trump.

I see I now have 300 followers. Forget how many I had on Twitter, which I quit a couple of years ago. Maybe 40? Let’s just say that, as empty gestures go, my Bluesky plunge is about as empty as they get. Still.

People on Bluesky like to go on about how much nicer it is, how much more encouraging and less toxic. Maybe, I guess. But it really doesn’t seem much different from pre-Musk Twitter. It’s still another social media site that runs on clicks and likes and shares. All of which push even the most enlightened users toward hot-take sarcasm, painfully-stretched metaphors and snide shit-posting.

On the other hand, I am seeing some nice cat pictures, interesting historical oddities, and talented people doing art and needlepoint and wildlife photography.  

You can probably live without another reason to stare at your phone. But if it helps, even in the teensiest way, to accelerate the decline of the execrable X and its goofy owner, why not check it out? You can always quit. Which I’m sure I will do, once X is a smoking ruin.

My handle is @davaar99.bsky.social. My Bluesky persona is positive for the most part. I try to compliment writers and artists of all kinds and I weigh in on political matters only sparingly. My first post was a picture of my excellent cat and dog on the sofa together. It got some likes and I was off to the races.

One caveat, however, for men of a certain age: I’ve noticed that about half my followers appear to be suspiciously pretty young women, who have no followers themselves and no discernible personality. Some ask me where I live and the name of my dog. Much as I’d like to believe these are sincere people, I kind of think they’re not. So I’ve been ignoring them.  And lately blocking them. 

Sorry ladies. Nothing personal. 

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