One mind says: I am not attached to Gawker. This being gray or not being gray is all an illusion. You are a child of the universe, no less than the moon and stars and burners. Grays are peo...anonymous avatars, too. And don't you relate more to the grays, anyway? Aren't those your people, the oppressed masses? And don't you deserve it, honestly? Is this perhaps karma, for having mouthed off a little too loudly a little too often, since preschool? Sadly, one does tend to continue to make the same mistakes over and over again in this life, and that is why it is samsara, endless suffering. And besides, you do not care. You have your posse of BALKers. And your so-called "opinion," or whether it gets ungrayed on Gawker, does not matter to you. There are bigger three-eyed fish to fry. Get off keyboard and go do the dishes, they're smelling.

The other mind says: Y'know, I was reporting and writing news back in the old days, when it was hard. When you had to get off your ass and drive 6 hours to get one quote, or spend all day on the phone until your ear turned to cauliflower. Information was not available at the touch of a Google. I've traveled, not the entire globe, but I've been places and know stuff, OK? Moscow. Peoria. Paris. Two Egg. (Yeah, that's an actual town. See how much important knowhow is in one little smartaleck licorice? Are twizzlers considered licorice, or just twisty red-flavored candy?..) Aside from my many fine personal attributes like my good taste in hats, I have "contributed" to countless Gawker convos. OK, the worth of some of those comments can be challenged, but who among us has not tried to rewrite after 16 minutes have elapsed and been like CURSE YOU, KINJA, YOU TEMPTRY SIREN LEADING ME TO AN INFINITY OF FACEPALM BAD WORD CHOICE SELF-RUIN! Besides, I'm kinda guessing I made valuable contributions. I would go dig some of them up now but I think people who lurk old comments are lurky lurkers. Let's forget the past and lean in and move on and pretend I never took Ambien and typed sometimes, ok fine. Anyway, Gawker, I've had cancer. Yes, I'm going there! I'm a cancervivor, a word I saw on a billboard for Florida Hospital and if that multibillion-dollar healthcare conglomerate can play the cancer card then I damn sure can. I'll accept pity votes. I've been through some other deep shit too. I'm 51, which is more than half a century, so put that in your pipe and smoke it (if you're in a legal state, naturally) and you don't get to that age without having slogged through it, y'know? Can I get an amen from all the oldsters in the house? But hey, I also like youngsters and in fact am probably about emotionally 13, so it all balances out.

So in conclusions, my two minds say that it's not very nice of Gawker to not follow me after all these years, but hey, what can I do, in this as in so much of life, it is not up to me, it is the universe that puts us where we are and teaches us the same lessons until we learn something. And they agree that I am not writing this because it is some clever ploy to finally get Gawker to follow me, because I don't play those kind of games, k? I was in 'Nam with Raincoaster. Maybe.

Also, isn't it funny, and maybe a little sad (don't say that to my face, jerk!) that I've spent all this time pondering this and going so far as to open my soul to Gawker and expose this deep deep insecurity and need to see that magical FOLLOWED BY line in that little circle up there on the left. To quote Shakespeare (HEY LOOK, GAWKER, I'M CONTRIBUTING SHAKES FRICKING SPEARE)

Should we watch this ridiculous scene? Lord, what fools these mortals are....