A Pulse

There’s a little tool I use to view information on my website called Google Analytics. It allows me to get a tiny peek at the people who are peeking at this site – like Drew or that one person in London. Hi!

When you look at it, it almost resembles an EKG reading. The kind where some poor soul flat lined. See, that’s the other eight of you continually popping in to see if I continue to have nothing to say. I’d like to think I never let you down in that department. Go me.

Well, recently I logged on to deliver my weekly virtual waves around the state, country, and to my favorite Québécois (or can I just say Quebecer so it doesn’t sound like I’m putting on airs? I’m a Texan – we’re against airs and accent marks) only to find a huge spike in hits (see that mountain range pictured above). Now, most people who aren’t prone to being cynical might think this is a good thing, but that’s not me. My grandmother’s special contribution to my genetic make-up allows me the special understanding that I’m personally responsible for most bad things that occur around me (I’m a HUGE hit at parties). Let’s say you ran into a wall. I’d apologize. If you said, “it’s not your fault, you didn’t push me into the wall”. Au contraire, mon Frère, I probably subconsciously WILLED you into it with the powers of my MIND! (Ok, I’m not only cynical, I may be a tad mean.) So, being me and shouldering the weight of “I need to track down the bad thing I did on my website” I had to go through the list of usual suspects: “Have I insulted any bullies from secondary school recently? Have I upset any car salesmen who are continuing to flip out in comments?” No and no. There was that time I used a professor’s full name, but I’m pretty sure I only said good things (he was my hero), so I shouldn’t expect to have a large rock thrown through my window. And I have purposely avoided making biting political remarks about teaba… err… umm, other people who have differing views than my own, because let’s face it, I actually don’t want rocks tossed through my window or have my gas lines cut. (You adorable little nut jobs, bless your hearts. Nothing says patriotism quite like asshat-ery.)

That left me with more research. (By the way, when did Technorati stop listing sites that linked to yours?? Am I just missing it?)

When I actually found the reason for the bump, I was a little surprised, because it turns out I didn’t actually offend anyone. Weird. We are talking about “me”. At least I don’t “think” I offended anyone. It turns out that for a couple of days earlier in the month I was a huge hit with the Shirley Jones crowd thanks to a picture my Mom took of her when Mom was a teenager. A picture that to my best guess was taken in the mid to late 1950’s when Mom was in her autograph hound heyday.

Of all the things I thought would draw attention to my tiny corner of the internet, I never thought it would be “Shirley Jones”. So, hello to you all! Thanks for briefly giving my website a heartbeat for a few days there (and thanks for giving me something to hunt down and research in my spare time).

To my loyal 10, you keep that blood flowing.

2 thoughts on “A Pulse

  1. Hi – just wandering around a bit today and landed here. Fun read – stats are so wierd – and what people choose to read. Autograph hounds! Everyone had at least one! Guess I’m now going to have to search for that picture….

    • Beth says:

      Wow! You’ve found some old stuff. The post makes me a bit nostalgic for Google Analytics. Here’s the post that got a lot of hits – or actually the photograph:
      You get to see a very young Shirley Jones; it’s a funny thing to have in your family album (along with the photo of Jimmy Stewart). This post (well, again the photo) still drives my stats up to this day. Who knew there were so many Shirley Jones fans?

      Hope you’re having a great week! Thanks for continuing to read through this blue mess of mine.

Leave a Reply to Beth Cancel reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s