CONFESSION

My last two posts, dear reader, have revealed the second of my recent obsessions – the first being the one involving the whole real estate thing and its accompanying woe. This obsession, to get to the point, is observing, watching if you will, how you, my visitors, manage to arrive at this blog. I spend perhaps too much time making such observations, checking my site statistics several times a day. It is not that I am concerned about the number of visits; I am simply fascinated – more so than I probably ought to be – with where you all are, or, more to the point, where you are coming from.

You see, since the last post, you, my readers, have followed two more intriguing routes to this blog: an MSN search for “slutty girl blogspot” and a Google search for “caught in my bed room masturbating at 13, boys.” While I am rather interested in the fact that there is a constant stream of viewers from Mongolia coming to the site, I find the search permutations [and perversions] that lead to me to be of the greatest of interest. The paths to my blog lead to so many questions, such as “Why are you looking for that?” “Haven’t you someone near to offer sage advice?” or “Why don’t you put your searches in quotes?”

It is not that every path to this blog follows a lurid trail; it just seems to be true for the last several days. I am quite pleased that many of you arrive here after searching for information on Dawolu Jabari Anderson, and I hope those of you following that path are pleased with the essay you find. Writings on Duchamp and being liberal also seem to be frequent routes, but, lately, you readers seem to have far smuttier concerns at hand [pardon the pun].

So, I offer this bit of exposition as a waning; I am much like Santa, I know when you’ve been bad or good, though I don’t really feel compelled to judge, so continue to go about what you were doing.