Readers

When I first started blogging, I was very conscious about who was reading my tripe. Oh, look at that, someone with a Commodore 64 is viewing me with an unknown web-browser in Slovocia. Their ISP is, er, I can't pronounce it, and they clicked onto 20 different pages. They must love me.

And I would look and say, wow, I got 30 people reading me today. I knew them, and it was easy to know who they were, even when they made no comments. With a product like SiteMeter, it is really easy to do, even for the technologically disadvantaged. I even wrote a post, back in 1995, about the assumptions I would make about people who left me comments. You know, when I started out blogging, I was damn sweet. I seemed to care a lot about my blog – sort of like a new car owner who forces her husband to get out the turtle wax and polish her car. Do people even polish cars anymore?

Back to whatever I was writing about. Oh, yeah, I was writing about my readers. Where was I? SiteMeter.

Then, I noticed a comment one day from a blog I would frequent, saying, "Hey, there is someone from Savannah that reads me and apparently likes what I write." I never commented on his page, but I read it. I sometimes, believe it or not, don't have anything to say.

Well, that sort of freaked me out and I purchased some software that spoofs stuff. [Insert technical garbage here that people don't want to read.] It basically pretends my computer is in California or in other places because a series of numbers separated by periods. Yeah, that's as technical as I get.

So after purchasing said software, I also stopped looking at SiteMeter. I could tell, sometimes, even which building they were using the Internet from. I mean, it did not mean that they lived in the building, but at least they were jacking the signal. I decided my readers were entitled to their ananimity, too.

For a very short time, I became somewhat popular – I would get 30 or so comments per day, and it sort of freaked me out. I did not really want all of that attention. I would like to say that I started writing crappier posts on purpose. Maybe I did, maybe I didn't. It is hard for me to tell. What I did not like was responding to the comments.

Comment: You said something really funny about squirrel poop today!

Leesa: Fuck you and don't come back.

Okay, anyone can write something funny to say about squirrel poop. It's just a nutty topic. But when you tell people to go away, most of them listen. The stalkers don't, but everyone else pretty much listens.

I have been trying to look for some good blogs lately, and I have not found any new ones that I look forward to reading. Part of it may be where I am at mentally.

But part of it is that there is part of the sub-culture of blogging, and there are very few women bloggers that I find interesting. Most are, well, for lack of a better term, bitchy. There are whole blogs which are written by women who are really mean. Edge-y, is what I think they are going after (no offense, Jef). I have better relationships with men – because men seem to be, in general, nicer than women. Anyway, to make up for this, I have gone out of my way to make blogger friends with women.

And it does not always work.

This blog entry was supposed to be about my readers, not me. Darn it, why can't I focus. Your loss I guess, I just have to write this. You are the one busy reading it. And there are a couple of readers who come here every day – and their blogs are written in other languages. Talk about amazing – I wish I could read blogs in other languages. And that requires work . . . so I don't see that happening any time soon.