Google Knows Where You Are

My obsession with statistics goes into overdrive in the face of the magic of Google Analytics, which reveals some interesting tidbits about JMG readers. For folks dropping by in the last 30 days, by far the largest chunk of you are in NYC, about 11%, twice as many as #2, San Francisco. The top twenty:

1. NYC
2. San Francisco
3. Washington DC
4. Chicago
5. Seattle
6. London
7. Austin
8. Minneapolis
9. Portland
10. Houston
11. West Hollywood
12. Atlanta
13. Oakland
14. Dallas
15. Philadelphia
16. Sydney
17. Los Angeles
18. Denver
19. Beverly Hills
20. Boston

Beverly Hills? How odd. Numbers 7-20 are all at about 1% of total readership, so the order of those cities doesn't mean much. I'm surprised to see London at #6. More surprised that Fort Lauderdale doesn't appear until #66. La-Dee-Da may be where the boys are, but I guess they're at the beach, not reading blogs. Who can blame them?

About My Email Suckiness

I created the Gmail address for this blog last November and yesterday the inbox counter rolled over 10,000. Again. I mention this only as a really lame excuse for my sucky track record in responding to everybody. Usually I scan the inbox for familiar names and try to get back to those folks first. But I'm way behind on a lot of wonderful messages that deserve much more than a rote "thanks for writing" sort of response. Maybe I need a JMG intern, somebody willing to work for beer and Friskee treats. I will try to do better. There's many more than 10,000 emails that I have dealt with and deleted, but yesterday's re-hitting of that round number is making me feel extra guilty. My apologies.

JMG: Year Four Begins

Today is JMG's 3rd blogiversary. My first post:

I was born and raised in rural North Carolina.

My fondest childhood memory is of playing in the dense, acrid, poison fog that was belched out by the county mosquito control truck, during it's daily dusk-time trip down our dirt road.

The cry of 'Smokey! Smokey!' would fly up and down Nine Foot Road, once the first faint sound of the pest control truck's generator was detected in the distance. Trailer screen doors would slam open and kids would pour into the street for 10 minutes of gleeful, giddy, mad dashing around in the thick white clouds of DDT. We would smash into each other with full force in the blinding swirls and just scream and laugh hysterically, pick ourselves up and start running again. Parents had not a whit of concern about their children playing directly behind the spewing pipes of a pest control truck. In fact, NOT being allowed to play in the poison fog was often held out as potential punishment for misbehavior.

I think this explains a lot about me.

I never in my wildest dreams thought that this here website thingy would turn into what it is: a vibrant little community of activists, malcontents, and smart asses, complete with beloved frequent commenters (Lynette!). And I certainly never thought that I'd be doing occasional stand-up shows or radio appearances. The blogosphere, she is teh crazy. As some of you know, I actually started this blog because I was frustrated by the lack of character spaces afforded by the Manhunt profiles, where I'd been sort of mini-blogging snarky commentary on the wacky online hook-up scene. So props to Manhunt for launching me to JMG, but more so to you, gentle readers. Many of you have become dear real life friends and many more of you have become cybermates. I still don't know where all this is going, but I can tell you that JMG is just about the best thing that's ever happened to me. I thank all of you for dropping by.

I Exist, And....

And now for the most cliched blogpost: I exist, and I have a cat. After my Tuesday bike ride past the window of the ASPCA, I came home and went to bed, where I dreamt about the sad kitty I'd seen in the window. Taking that as a sign, last night I returned. Window Kitty was on "behavioral hold", unavailable for adoption for the time being, for reasons she demonstrated to me immediately.

However, as these things happen, I noticed a tiny cat sitting alone in an isolation booth. "Oh, she's not a kitten," I was told. "She's over a year old, actually. " I said, "Oh, is she one of those dwarf cats? Her legs are so short!" The staffer said, "Oh, no, she's a Dilute Calico. She just happens to very small. I think she weighs 3 or 4 pounds. She's been with us for a long time because she's FIV+."

And that was that, wasn't it, gentle readers? After a rather rigorous interview, in which the staff actually called two of my references, I was in a taxi with a tiny, timid cat the shelter had uncreatively named "Little Grey". I kept her in the bathroom overnight, to keep her calm, where she purred like a little monster, rubbed all over me, but was otherwise quite skittish, resistant to being held or picked up.

I let her out this morning and she promptly attempted to climb up my chimney. Luckily, I got to her just before she was out of reach, then I shoved a pillow up the fireplace to keep from trying that route of escape again. I'll get a better picture of her soon, right now even the camera's shutter noise makes her flinch. Right now, she's under the bed (which she can walk under without ducking her head), but she will come out for moment to be petted.

So I've got my work cut out for me getting this kitty socialized. I've never had a female cat, all my cats have been ginormous males, like last month's houseguest, the 21-lb Maine Coon (we think) that I abandoned with my ex when I moved to San Francisco in 1995. The first task, however, is getting her renamed. I'm open to all suggestions (should this have been an Open Thread Thursday?), but I typically don't like traditional pet names like Scamper or Mittens. In fact, my first cat as an adult was named BVBD (buh-vih-buh-duh), which seemed really funny in 1980. I also don't care for grandiose names like Anastasia du Bon Marche' (sorry, Allen!). I remember somebody naming their weiner dog Glenn Harris Milstead Jr. (Divine's real name), and that always made me laugh.