Communication Breakdown

The average readership on a blog is something like 1.3 readers. This is what I'm told by the roomer in our house, Dan, who worked for the Miami Herald online edition and is teaching new media at Princeton for a semester.
This is where you hit the wall. I've said mostly what I've wanted to say back when the blog was a novelty and fun. At this point, I should go back to the ancient art of e-mailing.
I look at the prodigious prolific put-out of Rambler, and think I can keep up. But he had the advantage of a geographic divide, which shouldn't matter but does, at least at first. Novelty can carry you a respectable distance. As an outsider, what the insiders do is strange and notable. I'm just sick of my situation, and hence don't feel like writing about it and making others sick.
But I know that some others are occasionally checking the output, so I'll talk about somebody else. A woman. Named after Ireland. And not the one married to one of my former best friends.
She called yesterday and said she had come back from New Orleans to NY. Then started to utter the scariest two-syllables in the language for single men: ba-by.
The horror! I knew she was half-kidding, but the idea of a six-fingered little mutant conceived by me, with my screwed up DNA, sent me packing for the hills.
I should have known. I was watching "Chucky" on On-Demand. My kid would make Chucky look like Mother Theresa. An adult lifetime spent too often in hospitals and institutions is not a qualification for fatherhood. I know heredity is a crapshoot, but for now it looks like the dice was loaded from the start.