The sitemeter stands at 994, which means that the world famous blog will probably break the 1000 visitor mark sometime today. I still haven't quite figured out the difference between a visit and a page view, or what it is that site meter actually meters, but getting that 1000th hit should be a milestone, and a cause to celebrate. Maybe I'll eat some ice cream, or take a couple of xanax.
I recognize most of the hits from my friends in the coonosphere. Some of the hits come from odd Yahoo or Google searches. Somebody got here a couple weeks ago after searching for cartoon dogs. I hope they weren't too disappointed. The ones that are intriguing are the visits from Europe, or Asia. But those are mostly the result of the toy robot article and pictures, and the links from Robot-Japan, or Toybox DX. I doubt that many folks in Europe or Asia are much concerned with my post-middle aged musings, or observations of life here in Southern California in the final days of the world as we know it.
As I mentioned yesterday I am getting hugely burned out on the news. My contempt for the newspapers, cable networks, and television in general has accelerated into a gut churn of pure loathing. If I hear one more scare story about the environment, or the economy, I'm going to go out and go into massive debt for the sake of hunting down, and killing some endangered creature, and burning it in an SUV so I can help melt the north pole. And the whole of the internet has become a lot like a visit to rotten .com. No I don't want to see a picture of some guy who got his head caught in a punch press, *click* Yaaarrrggghhh, why did I click that? Oh, wait- a guy who couldn't outrun a freight train on his mountain bike, *click*, urp. The latest story on teh prez *click*, oh, holy shit... I should have stayed with rotten .com.
And even when I go over to Walt's place, or Mushroom's, or Gagdad's to get my metaphysical fix, and tune in the faith aerials, I come away vaguely disappointed. Not by the material, but by my static filled reception. Something in me wants a light to go on, but nothing seems to hit the switch. And something in me wants to craft some poignant, moving piece that will hit someone right where they live, and they'll be so moved that they link it, and it'll get picked up by somewhere else, and somewhere else, and then... What? I don't even know.
I went down to the corner a couple of times yesterday. That's a hit, or miss proposition for entertainment. There are some people there whom I really enjoy seeing. And some for whom I can just about rise to indifference. And of course there are a few that I just can't fucking stand. I ran into one of the later group, as luck would have it- a pugnatious little jerk, some years older than myself, whose idea of a conversation consists of baiting people into arguments, and then getting hysterical defending his point. Normally I don't even talk to him. But I had heard that he'd been quite ill- heart trouble and stuff, and when I saw him, he looked as if he'd been quite ill. I said, "Hello", and broke my usual rule to ask how he'd been. I swear it didn't take the guy five minutes before he started slinging ridiculous assertions about the war, and all wars, and how Bush was the idiot who got us into all this mess...
I just left.
Went back home, and clicked on the internet. Another story about teh prez. And so it goes.