It’s been some time since I lasted posted about what ends up in our collective spam folders. As a matter of fact, as of late, I haven’t taken much notice of my spam. I’ve blogged for so long (last week, WordPress informed me I’ve been doing this for the past six years – yikes!), I honestly thought I saw it all. So going through the spam comments doesn’t hold the glee it once had.
But this week I noticed two things:
- They’re watching me.
- There’s a certain poetry and profundity to their nonsensical prose.
It is not just the NSA watching me
Okay, so maybe I’m on the paranoid side, but haven’t you noticed that when you don’t post, actually do not enter your dashboard to mess with the inner-workings of your blog, you don’t get spam?
I have several blogs. Actually, too many. I have this one that you are reading, of course, and then I have this new one I set up for the anthology I recently published. Then there’s this photo blog I was doing really well maintaining earlier this year, but then flaked. Oh, and there’s my book review blog that has essentially become a mirror of the reviews I post over on SFFWorld.com. Lastly, I have this blog I set up for my dog, but he abandoned it long ago (too much pressure, he said).
Those blogs that I never update? No spam. Not a lick of it.
But as soon as I mess with a widget, change a theme, or (dog-forbid) post something, bam! Spam comments.
That seems obvious, yes. But during my (sometimes) long stretches between posts, I’m still active on WordPress – just not on my blogs. You’d think they’d still spam me if they were tracking general activity. But they are not. They are tracking my specific activity.
For the blogs I’ve abandoned, no spam. For this and others I occasionally post on, spam.
A new art form in the making
You know what I mean. You’ve gotten them, too. Those comments that just seem almost human, almost as if they are saying something meaningful and profound. It’s like computer-poetry or something. This latest one I got is insulting, but nice, too.
For a human, the ability to simultaneously praise and dress-down another human is a skill learned on the hard concrete of a school-yard. And the lesson becomes well ingrained by the time puberty hits. Well, I never learned how to do it, but I admired those around me with the sharp wit that could.
When I got the following comment on my About page, I had to sit back and wonder how long it will be before computers become just like us.
I do noot even know the way I ended up here, but I assumed this post was once good.
I don’t understand who you are but definitely
you are going to a well-known blogger if you happen to aren’t already.