I’m on an island, surrounded by water sufficiently deep to keep me from going anywhere today, assuming I even wanted or had to. Eastern Hollywood appears to be totally under water, with more rain forecast. Could be worse. Could be snow.
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A discussion over at Café Rick earlier this week has me pondering. Who are you people who grace this blog with your comments? And if we ever met IRL, would I want to shake hands and share a drink, or flee screaming in horror?
I don’t mean other bloggers, who post enough to reveal their prejudices and personalities on a broader base. And while these could be facades, I rather doubt it – but nor do I really care because I play the game applying the Rules of Art: Experience the Presented, Ignore the Presenter. Pay no attention to the little man behind the curtain. Just contemplate his deeds.
That said, with one exception I don’t even know any other bloggers personally. I almost met a couple, but it didn’t work out.
But some commenters to this blog, while they reveal quite little of themselves even over time, display some rather disturbing personality disorders. Sure, some of it is for effect: I do the same thing when posting. But some of it isn’t. That’s the part that worries me. Some of you guys are seriously twisted. You know who you are.
I know some of the commenters, of course, and I know that some commenters use different noms de plumes. (Yesterday, “Jesus Christ” put up a comment, in the same week as “The Taliban”. Same person, or at least, same internet address. I think.) But the ones that keep me up at night are the ones who say things that make the case for preventive incarceration. Unless, of course, they’re already incarcerated.
Some have dropped off over time. The notorious Upp brothers (Fred and Mark), who used my other blog to communicate when one would go off his meds and ignore the telephone, did not follow me over here. BFD, hostility personified, has gone missing. Rollo Nickels was gone for over a year, but he’s back, same as he ever was. Where were you for a year, Tollo, and what brought you back?
But the bottom line is, as far as I’m concerned, the more the merrier. Were the comments to stop, I would stop as well. To me, blogging is performance. When the theater empties, it’s time to go home.
Your thoughts, perverts?
Obalesque 
I haven’t even read your post yet, but I saw you updated, and therefore, I wanted to beat Neil in telling you you’re going to Hell. Why? Ummmm…. ’cause?
Um. My comment was most apropos, having read the post now. Go me!
And you’d probably like me if you met me. I look like a little drunken Jewish lumberjack weekend quasi-hipster. But I’m charming. And I bathe semi-regularly.
‘Bee: You’re probably right — we have things in common. For example, I bathe my semi regularly, too.
What a joke. This is the Look Who’s Talking post of all time. Talk about twisted personalities — do you even OWN a mirror you haven’t cracked by looking at it?
My ears are burning. Your house is next. Bwaaahaaahaaaaaa!
Ditto Kent. If you’re disturbed by the comments, it’s because you inspire them. I’m guilty of that myself.
Odd. I read your blog regularly, and I sometimes wonder what kind of sicko you are as well. But that’s why I read it.
That kid is clearly READING !
Why would a child who could READ still be forced to use a potty?
And don’t tell me that he’s looking at the pictures, either – Jam Quarterly Review is words – nothing but words.
The hell???
Good observation. Maybe this implies that kids who know how to read don’t know shit. You know, kind of an anti-literacy message, along the lines of calling black kids who study “acting white.”
most of you are going to HELL …
I’d like Mumblety Peg’s phone number …
You’re one of the few bloggers I’d like to meet. Still. And I’d like to look at your commenters behind glass. Thick glass, for the most part.