I Google You. (You Google Me)
I had a rather frustrating day in clinic and so I didn’t feel like writing about medicine. However, I did feel like talking about fun with the tubes of the internets.
Amazing is the insight derived from blog statistics. The few details that indicate to me how you might have discovered my blog and what may have drawn your attention are only enough for me to create wild conjecture about those who read my words.
Self-indulgent to be sure, pawing through which google search terms have yielded direction to my wee blog is irresistible. There are some disgusting ones. My post about the ethics of pelvic exams done without consent attracts (yeah, I’m not supposed to judge but honestly… ) unsavory characters.
Searches that make me crack a smile include:
“wild turkey pictures”
“if i test positive for heroine at project reality can i still get dosed for methadone”
“people fat stitches problem”
“sexy bell’s palsy”
“how long does beer stay in your system”
“is there any way to tell how long a person with alzheimers will keep being mean about going home”
“what is the best penicellin for person that has allergy to all kind of penicellin”
Hehehe! I write about a lot of weird stuff to have these search terms bring up my blog, eh? I’m not making any of those up!
Anything with my name makes me wonder what patient, prospective employer, colleague, or friend so desires to learn more about me. And why? Half the time I suspect people who type in drottematic or jessica otte have read the blog before and were simply trying to find it again in attempts to recall some tidbit/link/photo. The other half of the time, I – through rose-coloured, charm-me-giddy glasses – beleive it is someone who is interested in who I am and what I do. That, or a nostalgic ex-boyfriend or web-enabled stalker, I guess. I do put a lot of my life “out there,” and being open and accessible is kind of the point. However, this doesn’t preclude my curiosity about those who might wish to, er, access me – or the profession.
Being a search term is just par for the course of being human now.
This is related and I’ll have to share it if only because it is a funny and charming tangent. I had the pleasure of seeing Amanda Palmer in concert a few years ago. In her amazing cabaret evening, she told the story of a song that her partner, Neil Gaiman, wrote. They had been talking about Frank Sinatra’s era; in that time, when one was pining over a lost love or encountering the angst of chasing after a new one, he would sit at 3am, glass of whisky in hand, chatting to the bartender. From his lip would dangle cigarette after cigarette. Patrons would come and go, give a knowing nod as they passed the lonely soul. However, in modern times, no bar is open at 3am. No bartender wants to hear your grief. Strangers think you are a freak if you make eye-contact with them. And certainly, there is no smoking in that bar. So, what do we do instead to cope with the pain of desire?
This, of course:
(check the lyrics)