Skip to main content

h0ly sh1tskiez

So I got bored after lunch/while working on my resume, and so I meandered to the "stats" section of this blog. I know it's nuts--but it turns out there are people are actually reading this thing. WTF?! Don't get me wrong, I'm flattered, but you gotta understand...I'm a bit baffled too.

Frankly much too few of you read "Bo Dean is a Funny Man"; how can you resist anything to do with pornstars & lulz?? Seriously people. Read it now.

I've blogged for years (seriously), and it's always amazed me when I discover I have readers. I suppose it shouldn't. But it's just..the way I always carried myself in my blogging and the way I regarded my never seemed to be terribly likely to attract/keep readers. It was all so self-indulgent, y'know?

I remember very early in my blogging career I read a hilarious post by this girl Rach or some such over on Xanga. She laid out how to get readers/a following/blogging etiquette & tips pretty well. Her post also made clear that it can be a lot of work actually trying to maintain/increase one's readership. I took to heart enough of her advice to at least maintain my readership/not be a total dick, I spaced that whole "build up a base" bit. Too much effort and I was too casual (I thought) for it anyway; it was enough to not totally offend/alienate the few renegades following my blog, yeah?

Which is why I've described that old blog as indulgent and casual. Back in the day, I treated it as my very own insular outlet/storage space. I'd vent there in--I presumed--a virtual vacuum; I'd comment on funny/weird shit I found on the internet to amuse myself--or so I thought. Then every once in a while someone would say something or I'd pay attention to my site stats or--quite likely--I hurt someone irl with something I'd put on my blog. Not a pretty reality check, I can tell you.

But even that blog had a following. Perhaps it was just the creepy middleage guys trying to pretend they were teenagers again; perhaps it was my writing style that made up for the dearth of meaningfulness; perhaps I'm being too critical of that old thing. For whatever reason it actually got read by someone(s) ona somewhat regular basis.

Hm. I guess this blog is a little less strictly personal in perspective than my old one. Perhaps that's adding to its appeal or stuff. As far as bein personal, though, I'll always be a subjectivist, fear not, but I'm doing more than just ramble and rant about this pointless thing or that passing upset. I'd love to someday find I've got an even stronger readership than my old blog had. At the least I'd love to see this garner at least as much; hopefully enough of my old readers will migrate here that they'll see I'm not entirely the same dangerously spastic bitch I used to be. Ah, vanity.

Part of why I'm so surprised about this though is relatively little I've advertised this blog; I guess I figured nobody had really caught on yet. Plus I generally assume most people are like me about the internet and have a tendency to neglect things blogs or such. I know some proportion of those pageviews are undoubtedly mine, I've set blogger to not track my own visitings to the blog (it's a neat trick). I don't need that kinda inflation to throw off my mojo. Cuz I have mojo. Lots.

Still, I'm awestruck anyone's even followed up by what little advertising I've done--or even stumbled upon this on their own somehow. It's kinda nifty, really. I can't wait till I've got actual posts going and not just idle musings. Oh, it should be pretty awesome.


Other things that might interest you...

This moment: A tattoo.

So I read Mrs. Dalloway in high school, and it was perhaps the most beautiful thing I'd ever read. One passage in particular, very early in the book, hit me hard with my first experience of the sublime, and stayed with me—and led at last to my first tattoo.
In people’s eyes, in the swing, tramp, and trudge; in the bellow and the uproar; the carriages, motor cars, omnibuses, vans, sandwich men shuffling and swinging; brass bands; barrel organs; in the triumph and the jingle and the strange high singing of some aeroplane overhead was what she loved; life; London; this moment of June.  (Emphasis added; full paragraph included below. From the full text of the novel as made available by the University of Adelaide.)

The paragraph this is from, the 4th paragraph of the novel, is the 1st passage with the stream of consciousness the book is famous for; although self-limited here, the flow is no less gorgeous. In the passage, Clarissa is walking on a street to get those famous flowers herse…

Losing Doolittle.

I recently got to spend a few days at the lake house my family used to visit through most of my childhood; we no longer own it, and it turns out I missed it more deeply than I realized.

Anthony and I both got the week before NYC Pride off this year, so I contrived to get us a little time there. The cousins who own Greenshore gave Anthony and me permission to relax there for several days rather than just the 1 or 2 I had expected. Good god, I'm grateful for that.

I missed this place. Standing on the balcony, the porch, or the dock and looking out over the lake, I was reminded of the beauty and tranquility this lake represents for me. The meaning and memories, too.

This was always a place of solace and stability for me. We moved around a lot when I was a kid, but we always came back to this place. It had been in our family for generations before I was even born—if we'd been able to keep it, it would have been a solid 4 generations including mine. This was where I figured out I w…

Sarracenia 'Palmerpink.'

So I posted the other day about my rekindled carnivorous plant obsession—I mean, hobby. I mentioned, in passing, that I had "discovered" a possible cultivar, so here's the lowdown on what that means and what I meant.

The term "cultivar" is short for "cultivated variety," and signifies that a particular plant is so desirable and interesting that people want exact copies of it rather than simply seed from it. Some famous American pitcher plant (Sarracenia) cultivars include the legendary Adrian Slack, the massive Leah Wilkerson, and the classic Judith Hindle.

Part of how these come about is that, unlike horses x donkeys = mules and certain other hybrids, Sarracenia hybrids aren't sterile and can be crossed and recrossed without limit. Further, random chance can create crazy combinations of genes such that even hybrids between the same species—heck, even the same parents—can demonstrate quite the variety. More on that elsewhere.

Depending on how easy…