What prompted all this nipping and tucking, you ask?
Well, I spent hours last night online trying to figure out how to get my Facebook business page to interact with Google Analytics. I even posted a question about it to a group of friends who I know have a high percentile of technical prowess. The hours spent proved futile when I woke this morning to find that one of those friends had sent me a link about how the new iFrame format of Facebook (FBML is no longer) is not compatible with Google Analytics.
Waaaaaahhhhhaaaaahhhhaaaa!
The time I could have spent working on a design was wasted in trying to find out statistics on who is checking out my Facebook page. I'm currently having a love/hate relationship with Google Analytics because I absolutely love checking the numbers and there is an astounding amount of information provided to let me know who my readers are. Nothing you should be worried about...don't fret, I'm not the government and I'm not spying on you. But I hate that I can't use if for the purpose I want.
I feel like little kids must feel right before they throw themselves on the floor and start kicking and screaming.
I just want to know how long you spend reading my blog, if you got there from searching Google or if you clicked over from my Facebook page and what country you live in. Is that so bad?
I know, I know. You are thinking "Why does she need to know these things?"
Curiosity! It might have killed the cat, but I've got nine lives, baby and I'm going to live each and every one of them to the hilt! I just want to know! I want to know that you are there! I want to know that someone is reading my blog!
And I wish I could also know if someone is reading my Facebook business page too.
I rarely get comments on my blog. Something I yearn for. Some semblance of recognition that I'm not writing all this for naught. Yes, get out your violins and play me a sad, sad song.
Well, okay, it really wouldn't ever be for nothing. I get something out of putting pen to paper - or fingertips to keys.
But like any writer who blogs, there is a longing to know that someone hears, someone reads, someone is out there listening in on my ramblings and I'm not just talking to thin air.
I'm not, am I?
If there really is someone out there reading this right now, will you please do me the great honor of leaving me a comment? I don't care if the comment is "I read your blog today." I don't even care if you say "Your blog is stupid." I just want acknowledgement that someone is actually there.
So, I went out and got all gussied up. I'm expecting compliments...I mean comments. Come on, you can do it!
Until next time,
I read it :) I'm not sure if your analytics give you any information (or even a clue that I read it) as I'm not logged in (except for now when I'm here to comment) and I don't even go to the page to read your blog. I subscribe to the RSS feed which Safari picks up. Don't think for a minute this minimises how cool I think you are, but I have a "Friends Blogs" folder that I click on, and all of my friends blogs dump into a single webpage view...
ReplyDeleteI dunno if that sounds horribly geeky or not, but it means I know generally within an hour or two if any of my friends have a new blog entry, Safari picks up the post, but I don't have to go directly to the blog to read it unless I want to comment or read comments... So there!
BTW, yesterday's post made for very intense reading - the past few days have been very emotional for everyone, and while I know people who live in Japan, a few in affected areas, certainly nobody as close to me as your kids are to you...
Jess,
ReplyDeleteI have subscribed your log with feedly, and most of the times I read your posts in this reader. But now i've decided to come over here and speak up.
I love your blog, because it is a mixture of personal writing and writing about your Zazzle experiences. I know this feeling of writing into the void, but be sure: there are real people reading and following your blog!
Thanks for commenting you two! It's nice to hear what people think of my writing.
ReplyDelete