BleedFitz

To my commenters -- the few, the stalwart, the golden ones: Have I told you lately that I love you? You get it. You understand the concept of dialogue. You know that for someone whose fingers barely work, a blog is a fairly substantial endeavor. Even simple posts represent an effort, while longer, personal ones mean hours of clumsy pecking. Your comments are coins in the Jacquoff meter, and your fellow readers are indebted to you, whether they know it or not.

Thanks also to my contributors, without whom the pickings would be mighty slim. You keep me amused, aghast, titillated, outraged, intrigued, and generally entertained, and I pass along the best of your offerings in the same spirit of sharing.

As for the rest of you, the vast, silent majority ... to you I extend a jaunty middle finger. You are lurkers. Voyeurs. Parasites. You're the kind of people who listen to NPR and watch PBS without ever donating. Not to equate fart jokes and trailer-park headlines with "Masterpiece Theatre," but you know what I mean. You know exactly what I mean. I know that you know, because too often I am one of you. Shame be upon us all.

I enrolled in FeedBlitz three years ago, mostly as a convenience to readers. What I didn't foresee was how it would encourage indolence and detachment. When every post is delivered to your mailbox, there isn't much incentive to visit the blog itself.

Inertia is a powerful force, resistant to sarcasm and threats. I accept that. But I don't need to open my door and invite it in, so I'm canceling FeedBlitz after tonight's mailing goes out. If you still want to subscribe, I recommend Google Reader, which is how I follow blogs and other sites of interest. You're as free as ever to lurk; with FeedBlitz gone, at least I won't know who you are anymore.

And now for some Pepto-Bismol ...