As someone who finds statistics and charts inherently soothing, I was pleased that WordPress inundated me with regular updates on the hit counts of my blog in bar graph form, helpfully detailing from whence each hit came. During the long periods of desk-warming, periodic checks of blog functioning have been a staple in by boredom-combat diet. It was thus that I was exceptionally pleased to receive an email wrapping up my year (or sixish months, since I started Stupid Ugly Foreigner late in July of 2010) in glorious charts and summaries. It’s raw numbers are meaningless as I have no point comparison, and its conclusion that my blog health reads “Wow!” seems spurious and arbitrary at best, and yet, I still let out a childish squeal of excitement. That some website, upon which I rely to spread my useless yammering, thinks I’m doing a tip-top job is satisfying in a vague and incomprehensible way. After the jump, see what WordPress.com has to say about my stats.
A real post is coming later today about teaching and pedagogy (aren’t you excited?), but in the interim, I have this. On the WordPress dashboard, you can see fairly comprehensive graphs of the statistics for your blog: number of visits, pages viewed, referrers, linkbacks, all the good stuff. My favourite is search terms: it displays what search terms brought views to your blog. The most amazing ones that brought people to Stupid Ugly Foreigner are below. (And also, by putting them in this post again, I only invite more strange internet wanderers stumbling upon my site in their nomadic quests for out-of-the-way erotica, but if you’re Googling some of the following things, you’re probably asking to be thrown off course occasionally .)
Amsterdam began with some degree of sturm und drang. Donny was to leave Paris on a later train than both Zack and me, so we headed to Gare Nord early in the morning. We had ordered tickets online, and later on I received a weird email from Eurostar with a bunch of numbers in random places: only by chance did I decide I would write them down, as we had a bunch of other confirmation numbers for our tickets, that all seemed like they werevalid and useful. Of course, when we arrived, the machine would only accept numbers: indeed, the random ones from the email which I had not told Zack about. Well done, Eurostar; well done, Michael.
My family is fairly close. There are dozens of people on my mother’s side, as she’s one of nine, and I’m one of 19 grandchildren. Family get-togethers require obscene amounts of space, food, and alcohol in order to function. Most of us grew up with at least a few cousins around our age, and while we’re not hand-holding besties or anything, there are fairly strong bonds, to the point that a lady we met on a train spoke of us with chest-clutching adulation of our adorableness. It was thus that the prospect of travelling together did not ignite terror or disgust, and we seriously underwent a cross-Canada trek together.