Tuesday, July 18, 2006

Step Forward, Stalker

**NOTE: (UPDATE!) THE CULPRIT has identified himself as a former colleague at the WSJ who is now located overseas. So there you have it. Mystery solved.

I know it's a little weird to admit that 1) I read my Statcounter page (which, for the unitiated, lets me know where people are reading my site, how they found it and which search terms lead to my site) and 2) that I pay any attention to it whatsoever.

In my own defense, I am able to pay more attention to the Statcounter than are most bloggers because I am more underemployed and because no one reads my blog. (Wait, that was a DEFENSE?)

Since I get about 1.7 hits a day, it's easy for me to study each one carefully, pondering over why they're Googling "puss filled red dot vagina," or more disturbingly, why those words are leading them to my site. Nine times out of 10, people find my site by Googling "John Krasinski," or more recently, "John Krasinski AND Rashida Jones" -- that mention alone should count for 100 new hits tomorrow! -- assuming that I'll have some kind of scoop on their psuedo-interracial romance, which I don't. (Call me, John, let's dish!)

But today I noticed somethin' funny. Somethin' weird. Someone did a Yahoo search yesterday, using my full name, from Paris.

Now, I don't know anyone in Paris, and I don't know anyone there who knows me, and the last time I had a chance to go to France I passed it up because I don't think I'd probably like anyone in Paris, what with their stupid little dogs and ability to eat a baker's dozen of croissants without gaining an ounce of cellulite on their size-2 thighs. Not to mention I don't speak a lick of French, to the point where it's embarassing to go eat French food because the only thing I know how to pronounce is "duck confit." Good thing I LIKE duck confit.

So ANYWAY, the question of who is googling my name in Paris is starting to bother me. It's "stuck in my craw," if you will. It's like the old refrain from "When Harry Met Sally" regarding the days of the week underpants: "Pretty soon that's all he could think about: Where was Sunday? What happened to Sunday?"

I must know: Who knows my name in Paris, why are you Googling (or, Yahooing) me, and furthermore, what are you doing reading all my most embarassing posts, the kind of posts that result in search-engine hits generated by typing in "puss filled red dot vagina"? Reveal yourself!

I am asking these questions whilst sitting at my computer in the dungeon basement with Dumber the Dog (Wizard), who is curled up on the carpet like a kidney bean and farting happily, and frequently, in his sleep. It's totally gross. Little dogs, indeed.


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