I read that abomination from Saturday and I don't give a shit about your introspection. Why do you insist on making this such a "professional" endeavor with all the hand-wringing and teeth-gnashing of a 4 pm meeting with the Trustees? If I haven't lost that copy of the map to your compound I found on rec.insanity.rys, I'm going to get in my Trans Am and make a night-time visit that will look like a cross between Brokeback Mountain, The Blair Witch Project, and Snakes on a Plane.
It's a blog, you increasingly-anal assholes. It used to be loads of fun. It occasionally still is. If you aspire to get yourself a little space on the Chronicle website or something, where you can ruminate on the "profession," then deal directly with them about it, and close this thing down, because you seem keen on ruining what was once in this space.
You're worried that people don't LIKE the site? You're all nervous because by a 6:1 ratio people didn't like that crazzy Michigan lady? Listen. Do you know how I know when I'm on the right track? It's when 6 people tell me to "watch out." Then I put the pedal to the metal and I'm on my way.
It's seems all I do is write to you assholes to tell you to get all four wheels on the highway. You're always veering off, taking little pictures of the scenery, buying trinkets for the folks back home. Fill it with gas and let it rip. Burn up the 4-lane, and quit looking in the rear view mirror to see if your passengers are happy. The shitheads and the weenies will hop out a window on a curve, and the folks who want to take the trip will be back there anyway.
Turn down the voices in your head, and turn up the Foghat. Don't make me come down there and kick your asses.