No Comment…

So, where is Lilly?

“Off making house calls, I think. She’s on a binge.”

Oh, no. What kind this time?

“She’s returning visitation cards, or something. Trying to make contact with people who have stopped by. From what she says, most of them were just solicitors – they don’t even have a place to return cards to. The others were amusing, but they simply described a mood or an incident and left absolutely no room for discussion. Still others had interesting information, but then it only served to send her bounding off to some different location altogether, and she forgot where she started from in the first place. I think she’s a bit discouraged.”

“Returning visitation cards went out with the Victorian Era.”

“I understand that, Professor. But we all know how Lilly is: whatever trappings appeal to her from her travels, she drags around with her. Doesn’t think twice about what century she’s in. It’s part of what makes her endearing.”

“Endearing. Of course she’s endearing – that’s not the point. The point is, one simply cannot inflict their own idiosyncratic perspectives on others. Would you do a critique on someone’s diary you peeked into? Certainly not. What Lilly doesn’t realize, is that there is a certain form of etiquette practiced in these circles. One can make comments, but not serious ones. They can be encouraging, supportive, or even mildly argumentative. Anything more substantial is strictly reserved for the inner circles.”

“The inner circles?”

“The mere handful of faithful followers who have established an actual relationship with the author. The clicks, if you will.”

“That sounds awful. I thought this was the new age. Bold public forums and all that.”

“My dear Ann, you know there really are no new ages. Life is just one great circle coming back around onto itself. As for boldness… hmpf… bold is bold no matter what century you find it in.”

“So what are we doing here then? It all seems quite pointless, doesn’t it. The ultimate distraction to keep people from doing any real work. Narcissus looking into the water, if you ask me. I’m afraid at this point, I’m ready to throw in my towel with Lilly, and vote no on the continuation of the thing.”

“And just what is your definition of real work?”

“Don’t get philosophical, Professor, I’m perfectly in earnest.”

“Then follow Lilly’s example and look into it a little further before you make your final judgment. There’s still three days left of the experiment, you know.”

“I can’t see much of anything else to look at. We’d all still meet for agenda meetings – I’m not saying that. The only change would be that it’s private. We wouldn’t have to deal with solicitors. I’d hardly call that a loss.”

“But you’ve left out the lurkers.”

“The lurkers – good grief, they sound worse than solicitors – how could anything good come from them?”

“Not all lurkers are sinister in the blogosphere, Ann. They are the silent ones. The masses, actually. Many of them log on and read faithfully every day. They are inspired, bored, or incensed with what you write. They might even remember it sometime during the day, but they rarely – if ever – make a comment. Then again, there are the time travelers.”

“Really, Professor! I thought we were having a realistic discussion here.”

“I’m being perfectly realistic. The nature of cyberspace is that nothing gets thrown away. Add to that the fact that things are written and displayed with the utmost immediacy, so that the passer by – even if he passes by ten years from now – feels as if it’s happened only moments before. Almost an encapsulazation process of thought. Rather like a photograph.”

“What an extremely fascinating idea.”


“I should probably do like Lilly, then, and make a foray out into the realms before I cast my ultimate vote.”

“We all should.”

“Suppose I can’t think of anything pertinent to say? They seem to change subjects faster than I can think about things, much less form a decent opinion.”

“Then you do what the majority of readers do. You simply lurk.”

“I don’t think I like that suggestion at all.”

“No comment. And don’t forget to turn off the blog.”

What’s happening on the farm today: Ah, we have had the first fire of the year in our little stove, and it seems an official affirmation of fall. That warm dry heat that chases any damp chill away and makes homemade bread rise to perfection. Outside the leaves are turning lovely colors and there are pumpkins on the porch. I think fall is my favorite season.

Habit status: Day 11 (and slipping)

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