Comment Horror, Comment Whore

So a few days ago I posted this lovely ditty. I thought it was well said, with some interesting points written in a lovely, non-confrontational way.

I checked my email later in the day to accept those who disagreed with me and feel warm and fuzzy for those who did. I expected compliments and flowers. Disagreements but acceptance. I expected sentences that started with " Well, I don't agree but...". Instead, I got crickets.

There were no comments.

At first I thought nothing of it. I have always felt that all you bloggers secretly meet to discuss when you post, since you always do so when I least expect it. (This is frustrating since I'm always the 14th person to comment and all my "original" comments have been said already by persons 1-13). I imagine the "blogger.com" people meet in a warehouse drinking dusty kool-aid out of plastic cups and eat prepackaged foods high in sugar and low in taste. The 'wordpress.com' kids get together at a Ramada hotel and drink diet sodas out of real glasses and marvel at the pretty landscape paintings adorning every wall. And those with their own domain? They meet each dripping in diamonds and sweating in mink, via satellite- since they are all on their own yachts and phone reception is iffy.

Anyway...

So the 'no comment' thing didn't bother me. I mean, as I recently told Miss Fabulous (who herself has started her own blog), writing for comments is like, working for the man. It's prostituting greatness, and if I'm going to prostitute myself, I'm going to do it for big bucks. More bucks than the man could ever pay. (Actually, I think I just told her I didn't write for comments, and left the man out of it). I was sure that you were all busy with Easter and work and family, and the comments would come flooding in, and suddenly my world would make sense and I would once again, feel whole.

I checked back.

Nothing.

I re-read the post searching for something that would have caused you all to slap me with silence. Did I accidentally type "I believe the only good orphan is a working orphan?", or "I believe when my *grandma doesn't polish my shoes the way I like, it's a free pass to pistol whip her and kick her good hip while wearing stilettos?". Nope. I didn't say any of those things. So what the hell?

I was stumped.

Later on I started getting emails from people saying they couldn't comment. I checked back and realized I had the 'no comment' filter on. Suddenly, my world made sense again. People weren't shunning my post, they were forced to not write something. It was only when I realized this, did I fully understand how comments can really be useful, or at least nice to get once in a while. In short, I realized, I'm a comment whore.

This led me to think about all the times I read something I enjoy and don't comment. This was the last one I read on someones site that I really, truly and madly enjoyed and left without commenting. All the comments seemed to be what I was feeling, so I didn't add anything. Now I realize how important every comment is. So do I go back and comment and say 'ditto?', or do I just leave it? Sigh, I don't know. Perhaps I should invent an abbreviation for the line "I really enjoyed this post, and wish I had an original comment but I don't. But I still want you to know I enjoyed it". Perhaps this could be shown as "IRETPAWIHAOCBIDBISWYTKIEI!".

Or I could just stick with 'ditto'.

* the grandma reference was just for you e.b.