Where did the faithful readers go?

After a while you notice where your readers come from every day.  Oh look, there's old whatshisname from Greenbelt, Maryland.  Littleton, Colorado is in da house!  Hey, my nephew Moe from Columbus, Ohia. God love ya, there's who-sy from Groton, Massachusetts.  And who can forget the one and only hmm-hmm from Antwerp, Belgium.  I love you all!

But there comes a time when even the most constant and reliable of readers ceases to come to the site.  Did they move?  Change jobs or get fired ?  (Most visitors are slacking off at work.)

Did they have a terrible accident? 

Did they...d-i-e? 

Consumed by the need to know and the deep compassion I feel for even the wounded sparrow, I

...I went to look for one of my very constant visitors after I noticed that he had been missing for several months.  I didn't know his real name but I did know his ISP's location and his handle thanks to occasional comments on mondosapore, eBob and other important wine sites.  I'll just say his name was Joe.  Good old Joe -- such a constant presence!  He'd stay on mondosapore for a good amount of time every day, hitting page after page, and I cherished him for the good stats I was earning.  Then one fine day, no more Joe.  I fretted.  I even began to doubt myself.  I worried.  I went on the hunt for Joe.

After six exhausting weeks I finally tracked him down in a hospital in Springfield.  No state -- just Springfield.  You may think that's coy of me, giving the most generic place name in America for the man's location, yet it was in fact a real Springfield.  But there are privacy issues here.

What I discovered was disturbing. For Joe could no longer read wine blogs.

It got worse.  Because he could no longer read about wine, he had ceased to care about drinking wine, buying wine, or even sniffing corks.  What I found in that sterile hospital room with its muted colors and odors of plastic and prescription drugs was a man bereft, adrift, terrified of the sudden clarity of the world as seen through eyes that no longer viewed the world through the prism of a screen.

This shook me to my roots.  But I put on a brave smile and radiated serenity.

Joe was wary at first.  He clutched his blanket and pulled it up to his chin.  His eyes darted from side to side.  "Why are you here?"

"You know who I am?"

"Yes!" he ejaculated.  "You're that blogging guy.  Italian wine.  Terry 'Strappo Mimmo' Hughes!  Oh, I know who you are!"  The poor soul was bathed in the sweat of terror.  "I know all about you," he concluded bitterly.  "Way too much."

"I found you," I said as soothingly as possible, "because I was concerned about you.  I hadn't seen you visit mondosapore for a couple of months.  Before that you were there every day, promptly from 8:45 to 9:05 every morning.  I'd see Springfield pop up on Sitemeter's location screen, and I'd say to myself, 'There's my pal in Springfield.'"

"You were tracking me?  Now you're stalking me?"

"I beg your pardon?"  I sat down and tried to take his sweaty, shaking hand.  Joe snatched it from me in something of a panic.  "No, no, Joe, nothing like that.  It's just that you see your regular readers hit the site and you feel good.  It's like there's some channel of communication even though you've never met them in person.  You begin to wonder who they are, what they look like, what they do.  What wines they like best.  What their favorite music is.  Their favorite color."  I paused, feeling that I wasn't getting through to him.  "What they're wearing.  Who they love.  What excites them.  What makes them feel alive,"  I whispered.  Joe quaked with fear as he pulled his blanket almost to his eyes. 

"So," I resumed briskly.  "You're in this place because..."

Joe averted his desperate eyes.  "I'm an addict.  I'm in a 12-step now.  WBA.  Wine Blog Addicts.  I started out reading one or two blogs, you know, just out of a general interest in wine.  Reviews mostly.  Light stuff.  I was happy then.  I'd go to the store and get a bottle of $12 Shiraz that someone gave a 92, and it was nice.  It worked.  I learned some stuff and didn't spend much time on the blogs -- 10, 15 minutes a day.  On all of them."

I whistled in amazement.  Joe nodded.  "I know," he said.  A faint smile flickered on his wasted face. 
"But then I wanted more.  You always do, I guess." Long pause.  Joe looked into his dark heart.  "I found spume.  Then Fermentation.  I loved the rage, the emotional range, the topicality!  I loved Bigger Than Your Head  -- it made me feel smart to read it.  And on and on it went.  After a while I was up to 50-60 wine blogs a day.  I even tried to read the IWG but he was too archetypal for me.  I'm a tolltaker.  I need concrete things, specifics. 

"I read more and more.  Even more on weekends.  I'd go through a hundred, 150.  That's when I'd catch up with the new blogs.  I'd go through everyone's blogroll, looking for new thrills -- for bloggers who were out there -- more and more out there, outrageous.  People who were willing to put themselves on the line.  They fascinated me.  They riffed on wine but it wasn't about wine.  It was about the turmoil in their souls.  Their broken hearts and dreams."

A very long pause.  Joe stared into some unfathomable place.  "That's when I discovered mondosapore." Bitterness deformed his face and his voice became distant, cold.  "I found your cursed blog, Terry.  It was the doorway to hell."

I wasn't prepared for this.  I gasped for air.  "What do you--why--I don't--"

"One night when I had drunk a little too much I read one of your posts."  Joe gave a strange little laugh.  "So funny too, because it wasn't even about wine.  It was entitled 'Rum and me.'  Do you remember?"

I did. I loved that post.  I wrote it in the depths of a horrible depression and it reconnected me with lost worlds, mine and New England's.  I smiled wistfully.  "I remember, Joe.  I'm glad you liked it.  That one meant a great deal to me."

Joe spat.  His hand seemed to brush away spider webs of dreadful entanglements. "It meant a lot to me too.  Then I read another one, where there was this photo of your mother.  You were a year old. The Dylan Thomas reference."  Joe sighed.

I remained silent.  I knew where this was going.

"There were others.  They meant a great deal to me too.  I...I got to the point where I couldn't leave the computer.  I waited for you to post.  I wanted to know what was going through your mind, what was hurting or angering you.  I felt as though my personality was sinking into yours, blending.  While I waited for you to post I read other blogs, and I got more and more into them, too.  Their worlds.  Their lives.  I wanted to fade away.  To escape from the prison of my own personality.  Escape my horrible life as a divorced tolltaker on the turnpike.  I wanted to go to far-away places and drink all sorts of interesting wine and eat great food, just like you.  Even if it just meant bitching about them."  The sun was setting and the room was growing dark.   Joe's face was obscured.  "You were the one I felt closest to.  I still do." 

I whispered, "What do you want, Joe?"

"Do something for me," he said coaxingly. 

"Of course.  What is it?"

"Go to that mirror."

I got up, feeling a peculiar sense of déjà vu.  I went to the mirror.  I felt giddy, strange.  Like my feet didn't belong to me at all. I knew what I would see.  And I knew what Joe would ask me.

Comments

[dhonig]

This is absolutely brilliant. Thank you.

[David J]

Kudos.
Remember 'Cool Hand Luke'? 'Stop feeding on me!!'

[David J]

Kudos.
Remember 'Cool Hand Luke'? 'Stop feeding on me!!'

[Morgan]

seeing your name on mondosapore for the first time reminds me of that wonderful feeling each spring when the new phone books come out.

the new phone book is here, the new phone book is here. im somebody.

[strappo]

You always were somebody. Just not somebody significant.

Till now.

[Morgan]

huzzah! huzzah!

[strappo]

djr -- thanks for all the comments. May I now call you Joe?

[David J]

Joe who?

[Strappo]

David David David. Do me a favor? Look in that mirror.

[David J]

I have, I am, I do-- but I keep the lights dim.

[wolfgang]

Great post, Terry, and thanks for the inclusion!

- wolfgang

[terence]

Grazie WW. I think it may go in the mondosapore Hall of Fame. Now I need to write 9 more to round out the top ten.