Here’s the deal. I expect you to say what you mean. Exactly. If you don’t say it, I won’t know it. If you’re offended or hurt or happy or jonesing for a beer, I won’t know it unless you say it.

This is public service message.

Also, there’s a difference between a good argument and a convincing one. This may seem like trivial semantics to you, but you’d be wrong. People have been spinning convincing arguments for millennia. People tend to dislike a good one.

More: there’s a difference between respect and honour. You can honour someone but not respect him. Honour is outward. Respect is inward. Honour is in what you say and do. Respect is in what you think.

What type of blog reader are you?

Prelude: My mother just brought me a little St Nicholas chocolate man. I don’t like chocolate much, though milk chocolate isn’t bad. It turns out the little man is hollow. I feel cheated.

Onward: I had a talk with Steve last night, and I think I’ve narrowed down the internet-connected public to three categories, at least in the context of blogging and reading blogs.

The Blind Eyes don’t really care. Blogs exist, maybe they read them every once in a while, but generally blogs aren’t interesting to them. Most of the older generation tend to be like this.

The Voyeurs do care, but don’t care to interact. They’re the hit-and-run drivers of the internet. They read blogs out of curiosity, out of boredom, or out of the all-too-human urge to cast judgment on someone or just to be nosy. Most of the generation who grew up just as the internet was exploding are like this.

The Socialites read, care, and interact. Even if they don’t care that much, they still interact. They primarily use blogs like their parents use phones: as a method of social interaction, and they create blogs primarily for that purpose. This is why blog growth has exploded amongst young people. Blogs are like a townhall meeting: everyone gets to talk, and everyone gets to respond. Most of the younger generation, especially teens, do this.

Postscript: For those of you reading right now, I really do encourage you to share whatever thoughts you have in the comment form. It’s easy to use, it won’t broadcast your email address to the world, and it will provide linkage to whatever site you choose if you do so choose. Be a man and sign your name; use at least some form of legible English; try to make a modicum of sense. Even if you think I’m dead wrong, or if you think I’ve missed a category, above. Or if you’re Geof Morris and rather invested in the blogosphere.

Finally, what class of blog reader are you? Feel free to invent your own category in the comments.

A reminder.

If you want me to listen to you, there are a few things you need. First, I’m going to have to respect you. Second, you’re going to have a compelling reason. Otherwise, you’re just another gasbag flapping your lips.

If this seems arrogant, I assure you it’s not; it’s life. Get used to it.

Sweet Vishnu, make it stop!

If I have to see another blog by another set of newly-minted parents doing nothing but posting picture after picture of their baby eating, their baby cooing, their baby smiling, their baby frowning, their baby in clothes, their baby in a diaper, their baby in a bonnet, their baby reading the Belgic Confession, their baby in the forest, their baby in the living room, their baby in the bath, their baby near a stream, their baby in a jumper, their baby with a rattle, their baby with other babies, their baby with other babies and other babies’ parents, their baby with other babies and small animals, their baby waterskiing, their baby lighting Rome on fire, their baby farting, their baby crying, their baby lying down, their baby being held up, their baby being cradled, their baby being entertained by pictures of war-torn Kosovo, their baby having its diaper changed, their baby being outclassed by others’ genetic material, their baby burping, their baby gassily smiling, their baby sleeping, their baby holding on to a finger, their baby wrapped in a “bundle of joy blanket” or any of a seeming million other precious moments that simply must be kept on a the internet for all to see as if the web is a pageant for every infant without a deformed face, I’m going to jump off a cliff. A very high cliff.

My mother had 11 of them, bless her soul. Babies are special, sure. To you personally, sure. And I’m not entirely serious about this post, but certainly one or two of you fresh-out-of-the-box parents can think about something (anything!) interesting other than your poopy progeny?

This weekend by the numbers.

Dollars spent on petrol: 20
Mentions of lung cancer: 5
Times spurned by cat: 3
Movies watched: 1.6
Coffees drunk: 4
Hours of sleep: 10
Waterfronts visited: 1
Meals eaten: 1
People at said meal: 7
Personal emails received: 2
SimCity games accidentally lost: 1
Curses leveled at SimCity: 4
Major highways traversed: 5
Hiphop albums played: 1
Sudoku games abandoned: 2
Poems written: 7
Insulting messages written on pictures of the Rt Honourable Tony Blair’s wife: 1
Episodes of The West Wing watched: 3
Books left unfinished: 1