Thank you very much… Sharon Stone?

Sharon  Stone has certainly had her ups and downs and there has been enough written about her that I don’t feel at all compelled to do much of the same. She was (is?) an actress. She showed people her hoo hoo allowing Basic Instinct to become much more of cult classic than it may have otherwise been. She had some sort of brain malfunction (literally: tumor) that led to another brain malfunction (figuratively: people say she went nuts, I don’t know, but I know China hates her ass for the comments regarding the Sichuan earthquake and Tibet.) I think she got married somewhere in there and adopted a kid and then got divorced. But really, this is what Wikipedia is for. My interest in Sharon Stone is one hundred percent completely and totally about… Me.

Yeah.

A few months back, maybe even longer now, there was a viral activity going around that insidious “social” network wherein people were encouraged to replace their own mug with that of a famous person they resembled. Whatever. I don’t think I have ever been told I look like a famous person by someone who was not my mom or on the pull. The characteristics that generally elicited any sort of “Hey, you know who you look like?” proclamations included my incredibly prominent 80s style eyebrows, my – er – high forehead (can’t think of a better way to say it lest I steal my BFF’s line and admit to having a fivehead), my height, or my hair color. I got Brooke Shields, Princess Grace and Kelly McGillis in the mix. [I told you it was the 80s.] However, when I did the celeb-look-alike thing recently the scope of twinsies was far broader and much more creepy (Howard Dean? Carson Daly? Natalie Imbruglia? Jenna Elfman?) and somewhat surprising (Kim Novak, Alicia Silverstone, Heather Graham… and Ms. Stone.)

I was amused by all of this and wrote about it here so there’s little need to be overly redundant. What has brought it back to my attention is that this blog almost single-handedly is responsible for a four-fold increase in daily traffic to my blog. For real. There are three other posts that are equally inane that generate a lot of regular traffic, but nothing compared to the one with Shazzer. I included pictures on the blog, of course, and the one of Sharon Stone somehow made it to one of the tops spots on the Google images search for her bad self.  I do not know how that happens and the downloaded image is certainly not mine.

To attention whore or not to attention whore, that is [rarely] the question. So, what of it? Well, I admit with a degree of embarrassment that I do look at the stats on my blog, and I am interested in the pages people see and where they are from. It’s how I know the creepy coworker was stalking the blog and the duplicitous hipster scientist from UT Knoxville via Caltech landed on a certain post over a hundred times in six months. And, of course, the ego gets a boost to think that people are reading what I write. Except that is the thing, these stats are not at all related to my writing or content or ideas or whatever; these are people image searching Miss Sharon and coming to my page and probably downloading the image I downloaded and moving on. I know, I do that too. But what I realized a couple of weeks ago was that I was starting to get annoyed by Sharon’s constant presence on the blog. I think we might call it, um… jealousy.

Yeah.

I cannot send Sharon an email telling her that she is being creepy like I did to Dr. Science, plus it is unlikely that it is Sharon that is hitting the blog with her own name search as in the aforementioned case. Or, at least I hope it’s not. So I started to consider removing the blog. I mean, the hits can hardly be considered legit if they have nothing to do with what I am writing and so what is the difference if they go away? When I went to delete the post my hand stopped. The other hand said, ‘Weeeellll… maybe those people look at the other stuff on the blog once they are here.’ The hand replied, ‘Okay, let’s be serious, these folks are not blog surfing they are image hunting. Delete.’ The other hand came back, ‘No. You never know. Leave it.’ ‘I feel like a poseur.’ ‘We are getting tons of traffic from all over.’ ‘Not “we,” Sharon. Get rid of it.’ I was unsure of what I would do outside of talking to the hand(s). In the end I left it because I do like the traffic even if it has nothing to do with me for the time being. [Hello, facepalm.] I also really like the image and so I can see why people are hitting it. Who knows, maybe some Stone Fanatic will end up being the “reader” that makes the difference (I do not know what that means.)

In contemplating whether or not to delete the blog, I was right back at the same old questions that always arise when I consider blogging: Why do we do it? Why are we compelled to share our insights and opinions as if they are somehow worthy or necessary for public consumption? To these questions I have no answers and a million answers at the same time. In the middle of this tedious rumination I got a new “follower” on Twitter (ugh… I like saying follower about as much as I like the morphing of ‘friend’ into a verb, or having a Facebook Fan Page.). Deifell is media guy who is behind the wdydwyd concept. He came up with it at Burning Man and it is kind of like Post Secret with a theme and a conscience. I like to think people might be putting a little more energy into this concept. [I would love to hear how the CEOs at BP, Goldman Sachs and Lehman Brothers would answer the query. I wouldn’t mind putting a whole bevy of our nation’s finest politicos on that hot seat either.] When it comes to blogging, why do I do what I do? I guess I like to do it. I find it cathartic, and I am sure I would do it even if my only readers were still Driss and my mom.

But those hundreds of hits are certainly nice.

Shaz, I think you can stay.

About Amanda

I am repatriating expatriate trying to work it all out. Well, to work some of it out anyhow. I am writing here for sanity, focus and general over-sharing.
This entry was posted in Absurd Shit, Silliness, Things I Wish I Would Have Thought Of, true stories, Writing and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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