As an experiment, I've switched on the Screen Anonymous Comments option of this diary.
This was rather a difficult decision for me, as I firmly believe in free speech, anti-censorship, and not cutting the sound off when someone in the Big Brother house says anything vaguely interesting.
So I came up with a personal rule: I'll only censor completely anonymous comments that are unkind to my own readers. That doesn't happen very often, I know, but I want to ensure it doesn't happen at all. Everything else will go straight through, including any unkind comments on myself. Anonymous comments that sign off with a name will always be allowed, and are encouraged.
As this diary is a performance on the world stage, I'll lap up the hecklers, but am uneasy about meta-Altamonts. Throw milk cartons at me if you must, but leave my readers out of it, please. Goodness, that's the butchest thing I've said in my life. Badge-wearing Dickon Edwards Readers should be rewarded for their excellent taste and extreme physical beauty, and it's the least I can do for them. So that's why I've done it.
It's not so much <i>what</i> anonymous whelks of no woman born say. It's their anonymity per se. Anonymity is a waste of life, and has no place in the world of Dickonism, where identity is all. If you have something to say, why don't you put your name or even a nickname to it? Oh dear, I sound like John Leslie.
The only thing worse than anonymity is anonymous impersonation. I find "amusing" fake web diaries extremely unfunny, bordering on the devastatingly tragic. And that's coming from <i>me!</i> We can smell our own.
I'm referring to people pretending to be Michael Winner, or Alan Partridge, or <a href="http://www.livejournal.com/userinfo.bml?user=dave_rowntree">Dave From Blur</a>. Do these people <i>really</i> require impersonation anyway?
I'm mindful of that admittedly rather useful (and probably American) popular catchphrase for defining one's existence. The one with connotations of meeting St Peter at the Pearly Gates:
"So what do YOU bring to the party?"
The Impersonator: "Er… (looks at feet) someone else…"
"I see. Well, better luck with your next life. Next time, try and be yourself more. And David Dickinson less. It was quite funny at first. On second thoughts, no it wasn't."
I'm always intrigued as to which diaries on the Web come in for the most angry comments from strangers. Today, I came across a diary entry that's attracted all kinds of reactions: extreme abuse, extreme laughter, extreme revulsion, extreme sympathy, extreme suspicion of the author's veracity. Quite a feat. Warning: do not read if you are an easily-offended animal-lover, or a squeamish vegetarian:
http://www.livejournal.com/users/siamang/43717.html
