Today I was thinking about what Beth calls the "comment race" -- keeping tabs on how many comments one earns on their blog and whatever feelings of worth those comments may give the writer-type.
When I was in elementary school, I felt that the number and quality of valentines placed in my little shoebox were earth-shatteringly important. All the kids made valentines mail boxes out of shoeboxes and we were supposed to place valentines in the boxes of each student ("I choo-choo-choose you"), but we children -- being nefarious and possessing souls of unbridled evil -- would conveniently forget to place valentines in the boxes of those we disliked. In fourth grade I neglected to give a card to a girl named Nikki and it resulted in my father driving me over to the girl's house to personally give her a bigger and better card, and apologize profusely.
As I got older, I would count the number of Christmas cards received and the number of signatures in yearbooks and, more damagingly, the number of girls who thought I was cute as direct and tangible evidence of my worth as a human being.
I like to tell myself that I am a better man now, but I wouldn't know, would I? It's incredibly difficult to make a fair assessment of oneself in the present. But I think that I can say that I don't feel that comments or lack thereof are necessarily indicative of a post's quality. I can at least say with confidence that I would blog with or without comments, because I have maintained my Welsh blog for almost a year. Comments there are very sparse indeed.
Well, they used to be. These days, thanks to the fact that I have been on Welsh-language radio and mentioned in two Welsh-language magazines, my blog is a powerhouse in the Welsh blogging community*, sometimes earning as many as three comments on a post. I don't know how to put this, but I'm kind of a big deal.
I like this meme from Dave's blog. My 23rd post doesn't have a fifth sentence, so here's the fourth: "If you're interested, I documented the day I had it all sheared off."
My linking to something well within the blog's archives might inspire you to look at a few other old entries; I would advise against it. I generally think of my first year of blogging as having been crap. Next year, I will generally think of my first two years of blogging as having been crap. And on and on. I usually feel that my best posts are the ones in which I don't write very much. Like that time I dressed up as a pirate -- that was OK.
Good name for a band: Poop Dogs --- I wonder if that story has any connection to this one (Huzzah. I have hit a new low -- laughing at the scatological plight of old people and animals).
The other day I was reading a story about the fact that a lot of the dangers of Australia are overstated. Then, today I read Afe's blog in which he mentioned his present problem with jumping six-inch spiders. Americans, of course, view Australia as a sort of sunny Ireland -- we feel a deep-rooted obligation to go there and are convinced that when we do visit it will be The Best Time Ever And Everyone Will Love Us. But this whole massive spider thing is seriously putting me off.
Of local interest: My best friend, Eric, is a waiter at a restaurant that has just opened up here in the Twin Cities. The restaurant is called Five and it was written up today in the Star Tribune.
*Good name for a band: Internet-Famous In Wales