I thought I would take a break from my self-imposed isolation this weekend (intended to allow me to complete my NaNoWriMo project) in order to comment on a rather extraordinary online event, particularly in the world of the blogging glitterati.

Or not.

(Glitterati, that is.)

Like most events in my life that have made national news, I was never present for most of them. Laurie Dann’s rampage in my hometown of Winnetka, Illinois in 1988 happened when I was still at school in Switzerland, so although Ms. Dann ended up blowing her brains out all over the bedroom walls of a daughter of friends of my parents (after holding family members hostage in their own home for several hours, down the street from my childhood home), I wasn’t really “involved.” Ditto, the 1993 bombing of the World Trade Center; I listened to accounts on New York Public Radio while safely ensconced in my Westchester dormitory. Ditto, during the 1999 rampage of Honolulu Xerox employee Byran Uyesugi, whose rampage, although it necessitated the lockdown of my office building, really did not cause me any personal grief other than being locked in and having to smoke, illegally, in a colleague’s office until the threat was over. Ditto, on September 11, 2001, when I was far, far away from the actual events, but worrying about several important people in my life, just the same.

Near the end of June in 2003, I remember descending in a plane to land at the airport at Ketchikan, Alaska, during a quick layover on my way to a vacation in Juneau. I was looking out of my window as the aircraft emerged from the clouds, and all I could see was water, probably less than 500 feet below the plane, as the plane prepared to land on a short airstrip in the middle of nowhere. Of course, at the time, it was beautiful to me, because of where I thought I was going. However, I do remember stepping out of the plane, looking around at the scenery, and meeting people in the airport bar at which I devoured a quick cocktail (er…beer), and thinking, “It must be really difficult to live in such an isolated locale. I wonder…just how many people who live here are harboring an isolation, not only physical, but emotional and psychological, just under the surface of the smiles on their faces?”

Of course, at the time, I chalked this up to being a life-long über-urban resident visiting the place for the first time. And I thought that until yesterday, when I first read the tragedy of Rachelle Waterman, who allegedly orchestrated the murder of her mother in yet another remote Southeast Alaska town, and chronicled the “discovery” of such in her blog.

Of course, we all know what could await us when we enter the world of blogging, even, I would suspect, someone who is only sixteen years old. And certainly my first thought upon reading her final entry was, “Honey. You will be lucky if you’re able to get back online to check your blog and answer emails following this escapade.” But what I wasn’t prepared to find were the steadily growing (at the time of this writing, dangerously nearing 4,000) comments to that final entry, by people who didn’t even know her, nor what she was truly experiencing in real life, but only that which she chose to share with people in an unlocked blog.

Of course, I am not criticizing those anonymous (to her) users who commented to that final entry (and several other entries, in fact) with well-reasoned comments on either side of the spectrum regarding what she allegedly did; we all have our opinions, and it’s only safe to say that if something is published online, “we” have the right to comment on it. I’m referring, instead, to those insipid posters who posted in those threads merely to be posting in “a legendary blog entry.”

This is stupid. And 99% of the nearly 4,000 comments are stupid. In fact, I would go so far as to allege that these nearly 4,000 stupid responses are exactly what this girl craved: attention. Most of the respondents are basically thanking her (despite what their comments actually say) for allegedly arranging to have her mother murdered.

Yes, I am aware that the online world is largely inhabited by pubescent teens who feel that a post in an alleged murderer’s blog will garner them some warped kind of “fame” (one idiot even responded in a comment with, “Woo-Hoo! We’re all famous!” and then posted this link). You are not famous just because you are one of 3,000 people who responded to a journal entry of an alleged murderer. You are simply retarded.

Again, this is not meant to disparage those who commented to her entry with actual meaningful responses regarding their thoughts on the situation one way or another. I simply wanted to record, for myself, the amazement I am experiencing that people would just jump on the proverbial blog bandwagon in such an insipid way.

And, to offer up this final thought (rather mimicking the thought I had last year upon meeting people in Ketchikcan, Alaska): who can possibly, truly know what went on in the life or the mind of this girl, most likely far beyond what she deemed suitable for posting publicly in her blog?

No one but the girl herself.

Does that still allow us to post to it? Apparently it does. She had twelve online friends and, at the most, twenty comments to an entry the last time I checked before even that entry was filled with comments from flaming despots. Now she has over 4,000 entries to a single entry.

Brava and bravo, blog readers with no lives and a lot of time on your hands. If this isn’t one meant for the Blog Archives of Flamedom or BlogDrama, then I don’t know what is.