The best laid schemes o' mice an' men
Gang aft agley,
An' lea'e us nought but grief an' pain,
For promis'd joy!
Excerpt from “To a Mouse”, by Robert Burns
Recent upgrades to this site now allow me to have some idea of how many people are viewing “Blood, Sweat, and Tedium” on a day-to-day basis – how many times new or returning visitors check in, how long they stay, how many pages they read, and what city/state/country they logged in from. I haven’t yet figured out how to work all the bells and whistles – old dogs and new tricks don't really mix all that well --but the results thus far have been interesting. As it turns out, the three or four readers I thought might be stopping by from time to time are more like twenty or thirty semi-regulars. Who knew? There are many more who pop in for a quick look, then bounce back into cyber-space -- blog-surfers, I presume, searching for more intriguing sites. It’s possible some of these hit-and-runners are spammers trolling for e-mail addresses (would that be you, Romania, Germany, Canada, and Texas?), or perhaps they’re just porn junkies so far gone they assume “Blood, Sweat, and Tedium” must be some leather-face-mask-and-ball-gag bondage site. In that case, I'm sorry, but no whips, chains, alligator clamps, ropes, barbed wire, or other restraint-and-pain-inducing paraphernalia can be found here. The very real pain and frustration of working below-the-line will be discussed from time to time, but that’s as far as it goes. Better luck elsewhere...
Those of you who do stick around to read a page or two can relax, though: the new software provides raw numbers only -- no names or e-mail addresses that could be traced back. You are safe in your anonymity. Even those who choose to leave comments on Blogger remain nothing more than nicknames at the end of a message. You can, of course, click on the site G-Mail address to comment directly and privately, at your discretion. In any event, I do appreciate each and every comment, public or private. It’s nice to know I’m not shouting into an empty auditorium after all.
I’m gratified to find mystery visitors from Monterey Park, Montebello, Maywood, Oakland, Alameda, and Culver City checking in, joining readers from Colorado, Utah, North Carolina, and Georgia, among others. Many others.
In light of this new reality, it seems a good idea to restate the deal here at B.S.T. -- such as it is. My aim is to post once a week, usually late Sunday afternoon, unless I get motivated to put up something like this – a rare mid-week post spouting off about something or other that just can’t wait, or for informational purposes. This post falls into the latter category.
Such is The Plan, anyway -- but they say God laughs at those who dare to make plans, and occasionally the storms of work or life (or sheer laziness and inertia) swamp this leaky little boat of best-laid plans, and at such times there will be nothing new on Sunday. It has happened in the past, and will happen again. "So it goes..." as the late, great Kurt Vonnegut used to say.
Any newcomers who have come to the conclusion that all I do is whine about the strike (guilty as charged, of late) should click on back through the archives to September and October, posted before the WGA threw up their picket lines. The very first post (“Welcome to the Dream Factory”) will give you a better idea what I’m trying to do here than my more recent bleats about striking writers and unemployment.
Whoever you are, welcome one, welcome all. Hope you enjoy the ride