Holy shit, I gots me some readers.
Two days ago I got this nifty email from Cherie Lucas stating that my Keep on keepin’ on post was Freshly Pressed, and I could add a banner and, um, some other stuff to spread the news.
Cool, I thought. And did nothing.
Wednesday afternoon I noted my followers had ticked up from 42 to 43, and thought, Hey, cool. I was going to write a post, then remembered a meeting at work today for which I had not prepared, and a former colleague was being sent off with some pints at a local bar, and. . . I think you know where this anecdote is going.
Anyway. After clicking through my various regular-read blogs, [Pause: Another holy shit---Supertramp on WNYC? What?! Oh, okay, just an historical snippet. Panic averted.] I thought I’d follow up on my presidents-are-assholes post with a consideration of ruthlessness and sons-of-bitches. A nice little piece, with some tasty bits from Machiavelli tossed in, a little Bueno de Mesquita and Riker, maybe some Schmitt, and appreciations for Cardinal Richelieu and Thomas Cromwell.
I think I would have been pleased with the post.
But no, I open my blog and, whoosh, 79 followers. Seventy-nine! If I could remember enough math, I could give you the percentage increase! Eight-four percent—is that right? Or maybe 88% if I start at 42 rather than 43 followers? Could be right. . . .
I’m rarely happy about anything, but I am genuinely happy that enough of you thought enough of that last post that you decided, Eh, I could follow this.
Okay, so maybe seventy-nine isn’t that big of a deal to many folks—especially those folks with three-, four-, five-or-more-digit followers—but I ain’t nobody, so I figure that if you’re reading this, it’s because you like or are provoked enough by what I write to (sorry about this. . .) keep on, keepin’ on.
That’s nice. That’s very nice.
A coupla’ things:
1. I swear, as you may have gathered. A lot. Ever since my high school English teacher tried to nudge me out of my potty-mouthed ways by stating that swearing was Not creative, I have mostly failed in my efforts to find more creative ways to express my ire/dismay/delight/boredom. (My current favorite swear? Fucking hell!)
2. I’m not on Facebook or Twitter. No Facebook because, no. And no Twitter because, as I explained to C., I can be insanely competitive in argument, so much so that that notorious xkcd comic prompts a sigh of recognition from me (yes, I have been that person). C. thought that the short format of Twitter might work against my triumphalist tendencies, but really, consuming those little 140-character nuggets would be like tossing back so many bite-sized Snickers. No, better to abstain completely.
3. I am also insanely reactive, which, predictably, enrages me. Okay, that’s overstating it: It used to enrage me, and now I’m mostly able to take a breath, take a walk, whatever, and clear my head before actually responding to whatever it was that set me off. This is why blogging beats tweeting: I’m less likely to pop off in long form. (Tho’, for the record, I do pop off in long form; cf. Category: Rant.)
4. I like comments! So comment! I’ll respond! And argue! I love to argue! (And despite what I said, above, I’m not always or even mostly insanely competitive. So bring it!)
5. I’m shit at promoting myself*, but will happily promote others, so if you have something you want to shout about, g’head and shout about it.
(*Not because I lack an ego—whoo boy, you oughtta getta load of the size of that thing!—but, because, huh, I don’t know, I’m just no good at it. Maybe it’s due to the size of my superego. . . .)
6. I do click on your names and gravatars to see who you are and if you have a blog, I’ll read it (although I don’t always comment—hypocrite, I know). Again, since I’m not on Facebook I can’t scrawl on your wall, but since you’ve taken the time to stop by my joint, it seems only neighborly that I swing by yours. I’ve gotten to know a coupla’ folks online and even hosted one cyber-friend (hi GeekHiker!) on part of his NYC leg of his trip around the US.
And if you don’t have a blog and don’t particularly want anything from me but the occasionally-worthwhile post, that’s great. This might sound odd coming from someone who’s sending words about her life out into the ether, but I do like my privacy, too.
7. Still, if yer ever in the vicinity of Brooklyn and up for a pint, drop me an email. As I noted in an earlier post, I’m trying to move my default from No to Yes—I’m trying to move myself—so any excuse to get out of the apartment and out into the world. . . .
So, hey (two words, along with “anyway”, that I overuse), welcome.