After seven long and dreary and lonely years, that clarebootheluce e-mail address of mine is finally getting used, by primitives from Skins's island wishing to express their righteous indignation at franksolich specifically, and decent and civilized people in general.
I have no idea why that is, but I'm always open to communication.
One message in particular from an irate primitive stuck out, charging that we "snoop" on the primitives, pointing out the example of the greenbriar primitive, the TOP PRIMITIVE OF 2009, in which her real name was revealed.
(Before I go any further, the record shows that the greenbriar primitive herself divulged her own real-life name before decent and civilized people were aware of it.)
I dunno about this "snooping" deal; I just got done reading a book by Lucius Beebe, reading words he wrote himself--using primitive standards, I guess I could be accused of "snooping" on the author, and even "stalking" him.
Decent and civilized people, unlike primitives, recognize and respect boundaries; I have no idea what anybody else here defines as "boundaries," but my own is that I watch, and comment upon, the primitives only on Skins's island.
I'm aware, for example, that the Die alte Sau, the dysmenopausal Kansas school teacher, the "Proud2BeLibKansan" primitive, posts on some web-site other than Skins' island, and in fact is more venomous and hate-filled there, but what the Die alte Sau says, and does, off of Skins's island is of no interest to me.
(Disclosure: there is an exception, that of Fat Che, on whom I occasionally check in his new digs, so as to be assured Fat Che's still eroding in obesity and deteriorating health, but there's a real-life reason for that.
(In case anyone has forgotten, it was Fat Che, along with Doug's ex-wife, the sensitive piano-playing primitive, the Bostonian Drunkard, some short little guy from the Mike Malloy site, and some rectal aperture from one of the "Santa" cities in California, who publicly posted my real name and address, and then threatened to, uh, "play baseball" with me.
(Per common sense, I gave the information to law-enforcement, who dismissed them all as "keyboard warriors," but as a courtesy to me, checked into them, and later showed me photographs of all six of them, which included two that were mug-shots.
("They're all 'keyboard warriors,' but I'd keep my eye out for this [Fat Che] character, however, this [Bostonian Drunkard] character especially, and probably the rest of them, couldn't hurt a flea with a bulldozer.")
It's the idea of studying something under "controlled conditions" (such as in a laboratory), in this case the "laboratory" being Skins's island.
As mentioned before, I've always viewed watching the primitives on Skins's island as a substitute for watching television; and as with television, one knows only what one sees on the screen, nothing else. One could, I suppose, go out and buy People magazine and the Soap Opera Digest, and read the tabloids, to get further information about the "stars," but I imagine even if I did watch television, I wouldn't waste my time.
It occurs to me that if personal information about a primitive slips out, it's the primitive giving it to the world on a silver platter, such as when the sparkling husband primitive unwittingly revealed his Italianate background when showing off his dogs, or when the late and much-lamented Gloria Swanson, the "Tangerine LaBamba" primitive, unwittingly revealed her real age in a heated discussion with the antagonistic Mrs. Alfred Packer (the "hippywife" primitive) about cheese food.
&c., &c., &c.
What one knows about the primitives, whether a great deal or very little, comes from the primitives' own mouths, nowhere else.
