Please Stop Googling Me, Rich Bachelor!
I just Googled myself again. This is very Simpsonian behavior, and really should be stopped. (And by Simpsonian, I mean Homer, not O.J. Just imagine what he'd find out about public perception of himself if he did, though.)
(Yeah, but he's gotta know, right? If he's watched television or read the papers at all since 1994? The guy has mostly seemed to me like someone who lives in some weird Jacksonian world of his own construction, maintained by flunkies.)
(And by Jacksonian, I mean Michael, not Andrew.)
If you Google "Please Stop Tickling Me", anyway, it will quickly take you to the posting of mine from several months back, in which I explain the origin of the blogname. Much like Googling "Rich Bachelor", which will get you hits about the cultural cliche of the wealthy unnattached man, and at least one story about a guy whose name actually seems to be Richard Bachelor.
I ran into M.L. yesterday. It had been months since I'd talked to her, and ultimately forgot to mention that a joke of hers has expanded into a weird byway on this here cultural circuit: She used to receive a lot of calls, wrong number each time, from some entity whose name, according to caller ID, was "Rich Bachelor". Since "Big Man On Campus" was a mouthful, and "Ro-ger, that wavy-haired bastard" was too obscure, I randomly chose M.L.'s phantom caller as my screenname (sp?), one hungover Super Bowl Sunday in 2005.
Early attempts on my part to get noticed in this freakishly incestuous world on here were without fruit. I wrote an obituary for Hunter S. Thompson, and attempted to get, say, Wonkette to notice it. As I've said though, my lack of tech savvy is a thing of song and story.
Then Bitchslap, administrator's administrator (actually, his job title is "associate associate"), decided to Google-bomb me. He went to web forums all over the world, where people like him and not people like me can go. He'd wander in there and start babbling about my blog, leaving a bunch of people in, say, Portugal to sit around shortly thereafter saying what certainly looks to me like "What the hell was that?" in Portuguese.
Nowadays, mention of my name on this search engine will net one a few mentions of the Erudite Redneck's blog, and mention of my blog comes in the form of me talking about my blog. Very meta-meta; blogging about blogging on a blog that I actually found by using Google.
The thing I haven't done yet, after threatening to do so a couple weeks ago, is Google 'Google'. I suspect though, that would cause me to become my own grandfather, or meet myself coming out of the store. One must be careful not to shred the veil between the worlds.
And of course, I imagine that this post will set me right at the top of the list in both categories. I wonder what Yahoo or Alta Vista has to say about me.
(Yeah, but he's gotta know, right? If he's watched television or read the papers at all since 1994? The guy has mostly seemed to me like someone who lives in some weird Jacksonian world of his own construction, maintained by flunkies.)
(And by Jacksonian, I mean Michael, not Andrew.)
If you Google "Please Stop Tickling Me", anyway, it will quickly take you to the posting of mine from several months back, in which I explain the origin of the blogname. Much like Googling "Rich Bachelor", which will get you hits about the cultural cliche of the wealthy unnattached man, and at least one story about a guy whose name actually seems to be Richard Bachelor.
I ran into M.L. yesterday. It had been months since I'd talked to her, and ultimately forgot to mention that a joke of hers has expanded into a weird byway on this here cultural circuit: She used to receive a lot of calls, wrong number each time, from some entity whose name, according to caller ID, was "Rich Bachelor". Since "Big Man On Campus" was a mouthful, and "Ro-ger, that wavy-haired bastard" was too obscure, I randomly chose M.L.'s phantom caller as my screenname (sp?), one hungover Super Bowl Sunday in 2005.
Early attempts on my part to get noticed in this freakishly incestuous world on here were without fruit. I wrote an obituary for Hunter S. Thompson, and attempted to get, say, Wonkette to notice it. As I've said though, my lack of tech savvy is a thing of song and story.
Then Bitchslap, administrator's administrator (actually, his job title is "associate associate"), decided to Google-bomb me. He went to web forums all over the world, where people like him and not people like me can go. He'd wander in there and start babbling about my blog, leaving a bunch of people in, say, Portugal to sit around shortly thereafter saying what certainly looks to me like "What the hell was that?" in Portuguese.
Nowadays, mention of my name on this search engine will net one a few mentions of the Erudite Redneck's blog, and mention of my blog comes in the form of me talking about my blog. Very meta-meta; blogging about blogging on a blog that I actually found by using Google.
The thing I haven't done yet, after threatening to do so a couple weeks ago, is Google 'Google'. I suspect though, that would cause me to become my own grandfather, or meet myself coming out of the store. One must be careful not to shred the veil between the worlds.
And of course, I imagine that this post will set me right at the top of the list in both categories. I wonder what Yahoo or Alta Vista has to say about me.
Labels: bloggin' about bloggin'
2 Comments:
Thanks, Sheila. Maybe you should blog too? Mind you, it's addictive.
Purdy funny, Rich. *Amazingly* you don't many hits other than my own humble joint when yiou Google "erudite redneck"!
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