Sysomos Inc. is a conduit of social media providing figures and analysis of media use; it reports on who we bloggers are. There are other similar services but I took my information from Sysomos. The blogging 'revolution', as it is called, began only about seven years ago, among young people (21-35 years old) and they remain the biggest percentage (53.3%) of users today. Older bloggers, those over 50, account for only seven percent. Interestingly, bloggers are split about half and half between male and female.

The United States, as you might expect , account for the most bloggers (29%), followed by the U.K., but Canada is number five (3.93%) in the world. Breaking it down even further, in North America, they tell us that only one Canadian province is in the top ten of users - Ontario.

So here we are and there are you: an aging, gender-neutral, Canadian communicator, for whatever reason, devoted to techie conversation, albeit mostly one-sided. How are ya?

Oddly, this information makes me feel better. No wonder I garner so few likes (but such dedicated ones!) because my audience is small. Also I don't advertise. If anyone notices me, it's by word-of-blog. I'm not writing in a vacuum, but I am in a kind of limbo and you are a border-line groupie. What else? It's likely you are a communicator as well, therefore with something of your own to say. Go ahead and say it. Comments are free for the making, and with impunity, but not without attention.

Big Brother or Sister is watching.

That's the title of one of the chapters of my book. I thought I finished it yesterday, but this morning as I swam, doing my wet meditation, I was thinking about the difference, if any, between real and imagined events as they lock into memory. Both are real, also evanescent, shimmering in the mind's eye.

When I was working on my play "The Horsburgh Scandal" with Theatre Passe Muraille, the collective company's method was to improv scenes from material gathered in their research excursions. For weeks I wasn't allowed to write anything while they worked from my research and theirs and came up with ideas as they played. And play it was, very amusing and stimulating, but we didn't have a play, a drama, something to present to an audience. Finally, in desperation, I wrote a synopsis and an outline of a play that didn't exist yet, though opening night was fast approaching. Many of the scenes in my putative play already existed in the actors' memories. They had already happened, not really happened, nothing you could report as fact, but they existed in these people's memories and that's what I counted on. The actors played from their memories.

Does that make sense? Whatever gets locked in one's memory becomes real, even if it is acknowledged as fantasy. It's there.

I think I have to add something to my chapter on remembering. My blog and my book seem to be blending. My mind to me a playhouse is.