Biggest Blogging Fear

My friend and fellow blog writer Cajun Boy in the City recently posted an announcement that he felt forced to activate comment moderation on his blog. He was receiving threatening and inappropriate comments from people I like to call ‘haters.’ I was shell-shocked by Cajun’s announcement because aside from his occasional Guido mocking I didn’t think the subject matter of Cajun’s writing (and especially his writing style) warrants hate mail of any kind. Shouldn’t haters save their ‘death threats’ etcetera for people whose address they actually know? What joy do these people derive from terrorizing the Internet? These losers post anonymously. They’re chicken, not even willing to authorize their own cruelty.

The news of evil-beings prowling blogs late at night, preying on writers’ feelings especially surprised me because in my short blogging career I’ve never received an inappropriate email or comment. EVER! I’d like to think this is because I’m such a charitable, caring person – such virgin-like martyr – that karma’s cutting me a break by sparing me hate mail on the World Wide Web. Since we all know THAT theory doesn’t hold up in reality, I’ve postulated a second: That I’ve known such an impressive amount of despicable people in REAL life that I’ve already received my shittiness quota from the world population in general without having to be abused virtually online. I cling to this hope, but I’ve always lived by Murphy’s Law: Everything that can go wrong will go wrong. Granted this makes me a stressed out maniac, but I’m somehow convinced that assuming the worst helps thwart a future crisis. As a total pessimist at heart, I’ve become convinced that the next anonymous comment in my Inbox is an evil bomb of hate waiting to explode in my face.

Have I become paranoid? Sort of. After reading Cajun’s article, I’ve become highly suspicious of my good fortune. I mean, why shouldn’t people hate me? Let’s face it; the Internet isn’t an exactly a warm, fuzzy place full of chirping birds and bright flowers. It’s a universe where porn dominates, anonymity rules, and gruesome celebrity taunting is celebrated. It’s a harsh, unfriendly sphere. Wild West like. There ain’t no rule of law. Before I begin invoking irrelevant Deadwood analogies, the main point here is that my adrenaline’s begun rushing whenever I see anonymous comments rolling in. I feel like a refugee. I’m waiting for the haters to find me. I hold by breath, read the comment, and find it’s just someone asking for tips on how to get their hands on a Hermes Birkin or gain access to aSmallWorld. And anonymous commenters, please don’t let this discourage you from commenting and remaining anonymous. These are my psychotic issues, I respect your privacy, and you’ve all had lovely things to say so far.

On another site I write for, which I believe also has a larger audience scope; I often get comments that are more – how to put this – less delicate than the ones I receive here. I think this has something to do with people viewing me impersonally as a weekly column as opposed to a daily blog. I don’t feel these readers truly connect with my writing style. For example, on my relationship posts I’ll get franticly concerned comments along the lines of, ‘the guy you’re dating is a slob! Don’t you realize that?!!?’ or ‘you have major self-esteem issues when it comes to men, do you need professional help?’ I find these remarks both amusing disturbing because
a. Don’t these people have anything better to do than be urgently worried about my well-being?
b. Realize I write for entertainment purposes, not as a cry for help, and
c. Realize that I’m a female writer in Manhattan – OF COURSE I’m in therapy and have been ever since I dropped my suitcase on this cracked-out island. Geez.

Note however, that while these comments may be odd, they aren’t mean. If anything they’re from people who are way too sensitive, or have way too much spare time. So my ego and good commenting karma are still intact. Will I get some evil hate mail eventually? Most likely yes. Fortunately, I live in a city where people nearly spit on my feet and hurl heinous insults at me on the subway (and especially when fighting to get a cab) on a daily basis. So hopefully cruel cyber-junk won’t push my buttons too much. It’s all about having a thick skin, which Manhattan helps you very rapidly develop.

Thank you, New York.