Think of the whores, won't you?

Neil at Citizen of the Month (dot com!) wrote a post the other day (or was it yesterday?) in which he purported to believe that it's the quality of comments on a blog post that count, and not the quantity.

Because I am a pillowy-soft bleeding-heart lets-play-fair-and-be-inclusive liberal wrapped around a crusty right-wing nutjob core, I agreed with him. Right-o! Quality over quantity! I won't comment on the really POPULAR people's blogs, because they ALREADY have too much traffic and don't need me adding to the din! Absolutely! This is what I hold fast and true to my even-playing-field heart!

Y'all know I was lying.

Lying like a rag RUG, man. Lying like a hot hound dog. Lying like a Dali watch. Power-lying!

The truth of it is this: Just for a moment, a brief flash of time, I'd like to have too many comments. So many that I couldn't read them all. So many that Haloscan would write to me and ask me to please consider turning down the quality and crowd pleasery on my site so they could catch a breath. So many that the folks from BlogHer and Google would notice me, and ask me things about ads and representation and speaking fees and personal appearances.

That would be....kind of nice.

Just once.

Or, maybe a few times. Oh, heck, I'm strong, I can take it. I'd accept the burden of being too popular. Gladly! Let me free up some of the taxing pressure on the Dooces of the web...give me the choking necklace of notoriety! I'll take your albatross and learn how to ride it to dizzying heights of grandeur!

Yes, I, Tiff, am a comment whore. An ugly word. An even uglier reality. I want you to love me. I want your comments, your witticisms, your banter, ideas, jokes, insights. I want it all.

And? I want it now.


So, comment for me, wouldya?

And thanks.

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This insanely late-for-me post brought to you by work and timelines and the fact that I'm running a meeting tomorrow that until about an hour ago I was woefully unprepared for. Really, there was woe practically DRIPPING off the tip of my nose and the end of my strong yet feminine cleft chin as I hunched over the blazing-hot keys of the laptop, pounding a document into submission so that it would be ready for the big review meeting tomorrow at which I get to tell people what to do and when to do it by.

Power - addictive, sultry.

It's been an uncharacteristically FOCUSED day, and now that it's over I'm going to loosen my mental belt, completely forget how to behave like an adult, and go do something that doesn't involve sitting on my fat ass in front of a blinky screen.

Here's hoping the same is true for you.

Just, take long enough to comment for the whore, mmkay? And have a great night.