In one simple declaration, a piece of my blog anonymity almost came to an end:
You’re the Private Man.
It was bound to happen eventually. I won’t go into lurid details but one of my blog’s readers just happened to be sitting two bar-stools down at a local watering hole, my dog sitting on the stool between us. He was a friendly British guy and we were talking about dogs and some other inconsequential stuff. That’s when he hit me with that phrase.
I was absolutely stunned. I was so stunned that I forgot a good deal of the conversation we had. The beer didn’t help. Hopefully the reader can fill me in when I run into him again.
We talked a bit and I immediately got rather paranoid. Did this guy search me out? Did he have some ulterior motive? The Southern Poverty Law Center has only recently given the Manosphere some attention, after all (no linkage from me). We talked more. Nope, he’s just yet another Manosphere reader quite familiar with Manosphere blogs.
He promised to keep my identity and blog a secret from anyone in the village where I live. Thanks, reader, I do appreciate it. But dammit, I forgot his name! The next day, I asked the bartender if the British fellow was a regular and she told me that yes, this guy lives here and frequents that particular bar. His sitting next to me was indeed a coincidence.
It’s hard to say that having readers in my small village is significant to me or the Manosphere. Perhaps my blog’s reach is wider than I had previously thought. Or, perhaps my village attracts the type of guy who would gravitate to the Manosphere and the subjects covered by all the blogs here.
I am going to be quite circumspect about posting any more personal information about me, however. Because of Julie, I’ve already hidden one post and have decided against posting another one that’s already written. She knows that I blog but I won’t tell her how to find it. It’s not much of an issue, yet.
Carry on with your bad selves.