Just what it sounds like. My quest to conquer the global media and take over the world. Maybe I can get my library fines cancelled…what can I say? It’s a last-ditch effort.
Well, I get a fair few from people who want me to check out their websites for All Best Ambien Viagra Love Pillz. But I certainly don't get any like this one. From ElleGirl, of all places, via Gawker. Apparently, while the envelope is on the letterhead of a hospital (let me guess what kind of wards they have…) the return address is an Alaskan homeless shelter called the Glory Hole.
Of course it is. Isn't this where Don Simpson came from?
Behold, the chart which means more to me than an ECG, more than a roundel of feed stats, more than a breakdown of paycheque deductions (I think that's what it's called…paycheque… so hard to remember).
The Blog Hits Chart:
Should I worry that the original size of this chart was 1040x666? Naaaaaaaaaaah.
In unrelated news, a friend of mine set me an intriguing test a couple of years ago. Can you name the seven deadly sins, WITHOUT consulting so much as your cat, much less Google or an actual Bible? Bet you can't, and I bet I know the one you leave off…everyone does. But not as completely or as well as I do.
Where was I? Ah yes, blog stats.
I have to say, when I went to bed last night things were looking good. I had already hit my "feel smug" baseline, which is 200. Now, you readers and I know quite well that if it weren't for a certain pair of nesting bald eagles and another pair of nesting bald eagles and my tendency to post the URL of relevant blog passages on the Guardian newsblogs (which are otherwise starved both of relevance and passagity, or is that passagassity?) I'd never see 200 hits in a day even if I caught Stephen Harper eating a baby on YouTube and you and I both know he's too smart for that: he has them brought to him pureed, in smoothies. Well, he must; he's never been photographed eating a baby, but who can tell what's in those cups eh? EH? Answer me that, me lad!
Where was I? Oh yeah, smug.
And when I got to the compy in the late PM, just before the statcounter clicked over from Today to Tomorrow, I was dumbfounded, for lo, I had done almost double the hits of my previous best day ever.
All because of bald eagles, ball-chasing Boris, and Beautiful Agonies.
And I, consumed in the glow of the ascendant short-tailer or is that bodian as opposed to long-tailer, clicked away for a moment, beaming with the irreproducable joy of having seen that graph approach the very top of the box.
FOOL THAT I WAS! FOOL, I SAY!
For lo, when I clicked back WordPress had analyzed the hit trend and decided to bump me back to the bottom of the graph; they have put the top bar at Eight Fucking Hundred and Ten Goddam Hits!
You know, in Fisherman's Wharf there are barrels and barrels of crabs and the fishmongers don't put any lids on them; they don't need to. When a crab makes a break for it and tries to crawl out, the others reach out and pull him back to the bottom.
Not that I'm bitter. Continue reading
So far today there have been two searches of note that have brought new visitors to the ol' raincoaster blog.
I think a particular Harvard student is even more mixed-up than we thought.
I'm sorry, people. Today was obviously Hard on the Eyes Day on the ol' raincoaster blog.
I suppose I could go back and edit it, but let us leave that eye-searing image for the ages. When I first grabbed it, I thought it wouldn't be so bad, honest. But it puts even that static-filled, eye-ripping Guardian ad to shame. But let us leave it there, that I might remember and not repeat the mistakes of the past.
Besides, I'm just too lazy to change it.
This guy's already made his goal (got Gawked today, that's all it takes, really) but we're gonna give him a shout-out anyway on the off chance he'll be grateful and help US hit our goal of total global media domination.
So, here's the story… I said to my girlfriend that any stupid website could get tons of hits, simply because people are bored all the time. She said that I was an idiot and couldn’t make a website that could get tons of hits if I wanted to. After a long argument (mostly centered around the fact that she called me an idiot) we made a bet:
If I could not make a website to get 2,000,000 hits, I would agree that I was an idiot; however, if I could make a website to get 2,000,000 hits, she would have a menage a trois (that's a threesome to you non french-speakers) with me and another girl. I thought she was kidding at the time, but then she said she was so sure of herself, that she would even put it in writing. This of course is an ultra-binding contract.
raincoaster 