Ten Years Old

Ten years ago today, I registered the domain name tomhop.com for the first time. This Web site remains as infrequently visited now as it has been since before Al Gore was chosen as President by a majority of the American electorate.

I’ve been renewing the domain once a year ever since; I’ve never renewed for more than a year, because in a way, I’m always astounded that the Web as we know it, as we experience it, continues to exist. It’s already a difficult-for-a-layperson-to-fully-grasp quadrillion-tentacled octopus. But I keep expecting it to be, say, colonized by zombie-clouds run by the Swedish mob, or poached by a consortium of Romanian aspirin-by-mail dealers, or purchased outright by a shadow holding company of cryogenically frozen pharmaceutical-industry billionaire gangster-tycoons.

In the past week, I’ve been digging through a few years of infrequent posts—I can’t imagine what it’s like to dig through old posts when you write a blog more frequently than once or twice a month—and one thing I’ve been reminded of is that links become dead rather quickly. Over the years, they also go dead rather thoroughly. Also—and this is not unrelated—the written posts with what feels like the longest shelf life are the ones that are meant to stand alone. Not writing meant to point elsewhere, or comment on something that someone else wrote, published somewhere else—just short things, nothing but what they are, sent out into the void.

Whatever the lesson is there, it applies to everything, I think.