When I was twenty I really got into William Gibson's works. Whenever I read one of his novels or short stories, I imagined the world like a great green grid with lines of light zig zagging, connecting, spreading out all the world. Everyone in his story, whether they knew one or another or not, were somehow connected to the plot. Now of course fiction is a contrived creation...it's a bit easier to make those connections logical. Life often seems about random. The connections made here do not often make much sense to the plot of one's life. But still I enjoy them.
Last night H showed me how my blog review of A Place To Bury Strangers was moving up on the Google results list. He said "People must be reading the review." I checked out my little world map and indeed I had many more hits than normal (I don't get many so it was a noticeable difference). I noticed that one of the hits was from where APTBS was playing that night. I did my own search and found a website that seemed to have a compulsive listing of APTBS web links. I started to explore the page, and found...gardening posts. Then I somehow managed to get on the Flickr site...and after a bit of exploring we discovered we were on Oliver Ackerman's father's site. It was cool last night...there was some great pictures of New Foundland, and we found...family photos. But today I feel like maybe I violated some kind of line, some kind of privacy. It felt too much like stalking.
Now I wasn't necessarily out to find this information. I was really just curious who was reading my blog. And I admit to feeling a bit "tickled" that perhaps the man himself had read my review. But then this morning, I wondered the price we pay by opening ourselves up to the web. What kind of ethics of viewing come to play in this cyber world.