In the wee, small hours of the morning… Great song. It’s not really the wee, small — it’s 5:55 as I write this sentence — but after an awesome night of playing ball, goofing off in the sand, and running around the back yard with Jake and Justin in hot pursuit (“We’re gonna chase you now, Grammie!”), it feels like the wee, small hours. Just ask my creaky spine and joints.

Everyone’s still asleep, so I’m stealing some quiet time. My reverie was shattered, of course, upon opening Google News and reading about the Heat/Celtics score. Cripes. And the Indians lost, too.

The world is as it should be. Onward.

I try to never get all old-lady on my younger fiends who read RtB. I don’t feel old, so therefore I try not to act it. However, I have some crystals of advice for anyone who would take it this day. As I lay in bed at around 4:30 this morning, bemoaning my aging, aching bod, several thoughts came to mind — some of which were of the “wish I’d made this a priority years ago” variety. But if you’re inclined, heed the words of experience:

1.  Stay active. You have no idea how important that is until you hit 50. I’m serious.
2. Avoid the sun. Many youngins will ignore this advice now (and some of my aging pals will, too), but believe me when I tell you that your face will illustrate the life you’ve lived. The number-one concern is melanoma, of course, but the leathery face look will have you wishing you didn’t worship that tanning salon so much in your youth. Trust me on this. I’ve not experienced it (for some reason, I was spared — sun avoidance mixed with my mother’s genes, I guess), but I have seen it on other women who now regret the thousands of hours spent in useless tanning and “laying out.”
3. Eat well. This is a biggie for me. I was raised in an era when sugar was given absolutely no second thoughts. Do a search on “1960s breakfast cereal commercials” and marvel at how many times “sweet” and “sugar” were used in the media and on packaging. All of that has come back to haunt my generation with extreme prejudice. Remember: white sugar and white flour are fake foods. They are more processed chemical than cane and grain. Think about that when you rinse them down your gullet. Your body will thank you in your old age.
4. Quit smoking. I cannot tell you how heartbreaking it is to see the effects of 40+ years of tobacco use on people I love and have loved. Emphysema and lung cancer will bring you only suffering, believe it. It’s not worth it.

I gotta get with it here.

Phone calls to be made, gift to be bought, house to be cleaned, bills to be paid, things to get done — and here I sit. I’m even too lazy to go make some coffee. Well, that’s not entirely true. Be right back.

OK, a little cafe mocha to zap the senses and seize the day. And today I go see my new grandson again (I got to hold him when he was 3 hours old; it was fantastic), and the Js are coming for a sleepover tonight. Could life get any better? Hmm. Maybe my mortgage could be paid off and I could have the body of a 30-year-old…but that’d be about it. So I’d say no.

And it’s Johnny Depp’s birthday — always a reason to bake cupcakes, ja?

A happy, lazy Saturday to allayall. 

Vendredi gras! Let’s celebrate.

• A good weekend coming up here. New babies in the future, dinner with friends tonight, grandsons tomorrow night, and watching #1 Son play drums in a band Sunday night. All good stuff. Weather should be fantastic all weekend, too, although I’ll be awfully glad for air conditioning.
• Three weeks till departure for the New England Odyssey. If I’d ever do a “happy dance” (which I wouldn’t), I’d insert it here.
• Y’know…when I wanted LeBron James to win clutch games, it didn’t happen. Now that I want him to lose, he scores 45 points in a single game. Seriously, he needs to retire. I’m sick of being a spoilsport.  That’s OK, though. I’ll still celebrate today.
• After hours and hours of customization, I think I have the new digs here at RtB looking how I want. I hope you like it, fiends — or at least that you’ll get used to it after awhile. I think we’re good like this for a couple more years.

What’s up for you this weekend? I hope the weather’s nice where you are, and that you don’t have to go to work.

What can you do, eh? *shrug*

Tried to scare my lurkers out of the shadows, and they wouldn’t take the bait. But it was great to see the comments from my adored regulars, as well as some Finkites who don’t normally leave comments. Yay! That part worked. Thanks for the comment lurve! You know I thrive on it.

So, how do I know the lurkers lurk? Stats, fiends. Stat reports. I don’t know who each visitor is, but it lists a general location (of the ISP, that is; it could be that a person browsing from Cleveland is listed as being in Akron, so it’s all rather generic). Therefore, you needn’t fear that I’m stalking your clicky behavior.

This week, I got about 160 hits a day. Compare that to the number of comments…lessee here, do the math. I get roughly an average of four different people leaving comments on a daily basis. Four is 2.5 percent of 160, so we’re good on the 1% rule.

At any rate, I’m happy. If people are reading and getting something out of it (even if it’s a sense of slightly confused bemusement), I’m delighted.

Goal for this day? Hunt for a new RtB template. This one’s two years old, almost to the day. Time to remodel.

Have a great Thurgsday — I’m off to walk Rousseau, then get to work. Lurkers: Boo! There. Dyscare ya?

OK, you know who you are. I know you’re out there: the Silent Majority.

According to (admittedly dated) information on Wikipedia, the interactive content of the online world breaks down thusly:

The creators (bloggers) make up one percent, and the contributors (those who comment) comprise ten. The other 89% “lurk” (read, but don’t comment). Now why is that? I mean, I can understand some disparity, as no one is compelled to comment on any forum anywhere, but them’s some janked up numbers.

I have since discovered that the BBC debunked the 1% rule (but in the UK only). Now it’s reportedly 10% who actively participate. Well, that’s better. But still…

If I maintained a user list (which I don’t) where readers were required to register and log in to comment, I’d likely have a lot fewer contributors than I do at present. If I ran a headcount of the individuals who have commented on my site since 2008, the number would probably be around 50 — including David Soul. But wouldn’t it be great to have 50+  people in conversation around these parts on a regular basis? That’s why I got into this racket, fiends. Most of you know that. This is  — and always has been — a labor of love, as evidenced by the lack of ad space, which would drive much more traffic to my little warren. I don’t do it for the notoriety; I do it for the lurve.

And all of this is not to say that if you don’t comment, you’re not doing your job or some such nonsense. I read many blogs each morning, and I only comment on a few. As for the rest: I just skulk about, anonymously. Of course, I understand about moving on. There are several people who used to comment all the time, but don’t anymore. Regardless, I miss them. This post is also a virtual squeeze around the necks of my current contributors — don’t you dare desert me. In fact, if a reader de-lurks today, please help me to welcome him/her. It’s all about that snappy repartee, mes amis.

So — ready, lurkers? I’m sticking out my neck here. Come one, come all. Comment and let us know you’re out there. Let me know what you like or don’t like about this little enterprise (aside from saying that you like the fact that you can lurk undisturbed. )

People don’t like to give away that email address, and I understand that. Thing is, you can post anonymously here; just give a fake name. I promise I won’t blab your email address, and I have absolutely nothing to sell. You’ll never receive a newsletter from me. Cripes, I won’t even know your email address unless I call it up in the admin dashboard. You’ll never hear from me in email, unless it’s necessary to notify everyone of some imminent cataclysm.

Deal? Deal. K go. Tell me something. Even if it’s “You never post anything remotely interesting enough for me to comment on.”

Ouchy.