Commentary

I turned my comments off for a week. What did you think? That question is more for bloggers than for my mom and a few other non-blogging readers, but I'm so curious. Did you like getting a 'break' and just reading? Or would you rather have the ability to respond when you feel like it? (Option (c) - I really don't care one way or another and I think it's kind of weird that you're this interested in this topic. Oh yeah, well that's mean and also I have arm flu from the flu shot that I got three hours ago, so you should really be nicer to me. I could lose my arm. Not really, Matt informs me that it's impossible that I have arm flu because the flu in the shot is "dead" and cannot infect my arm. Know it all.)

From my perspective, it really changed the posting experience. It was weird to put my thoughts out there, accustomed to hearing a few responses, a few echos back from the internet void, and then wait...and remember, no, nope, that's it. Just send the thoughts out and move on. (Except for a few lovely emails, which I deeply appreciated because, wow, it's quiet when you turn off comments.) It felt a little bit like telling a joke and no one laughs, or revealing a secret and everyone listens and then leaves.

I liked that I didn't hold back on posting. Sometimes, I don't post for a few days so that I can catch up or because I want to focus on reading. But, bottom line? I missed you. I found that the interaction is most of the joy for me and I am not just "writing for myself," at least not entirely.

There it is.

Now I'll do a one-eighty on you. This is my two hundredth post. I think. Blogger counts drafts in the number of posts that you have and I am always starting posts and not finishing them, which leaves me with a lot of drafts. According to blogger, I have two hundred and eighteen posts, but when I subtract the drafts (roughly, this is not an exact science), I think we're at 200ish. Could this paragraph be any more anticlimactic?

Yay! It's my 200ish post minus drafts plus the square root of what the hell are you talking about Stacey? A game. I'm talking about a game. A comment game in honor of my 200th (ish) post. Here's how it works. I'll tell you anything* about me that you tell me about you in the comments of this post.

Game examples.

Issa comments: My favorite color is blue. I respond (in my 201st (ish) post): My favorite color is blue too. See how boring that is?

Okay, but I'll work as hard as you do.

Issa comments: I've never been more frightened than when a two-hundred pound bull charged me in a field while I "accidentally" trespassed in Ireland. I respond: I've never been more frightened than when I set off the alarm system alone in a parking garage in downtown DC at midnight. (I might have peed my pants.) (The peeing my pants part is gratuitous, but true.) Isn't that fun?**

To recap this ridiculous late-night post, written while I suffered with imaginary arm flu: After barring you from commenting for a week, I am now shamelessly asking you to comment in a convoluted and complicated manner that requires you to tell me something about YOU so that I'll tell you something about me.

Clear as mud?

*Unless it's obscene. I know it when I see it.
**If you are thinking, no Stacey, that is not fun. That is dumb. I wish you would re-close comments because I like you better when I don't have to interact with you, you are in luck. Marinka has closed comments this week because she is a total copy cat, oh I mean, because she knows a good idea when she sees one. You can visit her obligation free.***
***That's a lie. She just posted another post that allows comments. I'm not sure why she lied on the post before this most recent post, but I think it might be to ruin my life, or at least my blog. Or because she's an habitual liar and she wants you all to think that I'm one too. Thanks, Marinka.****
****Right after I published this post, Marinka took her new comment-allowing post down. Either arm flu is making me delirious, or Marinka is trying to drive me insane. I'm going with the latter. I've met Marinka.