Readers voted 60-40 against comments. Their reasoning? It's distracting. As one potential commenter put it:

In truth we would rarely opt not to read them. ... Blog comments have the power to hammerlock one's attention. ... We'd be impotent to resist looking over the rantings and counter-rantings. ... Not only would comments be an incredible drain on one's time (especially if we check your blog several times a day from work), but it also exposes readers to the nasty underbelly of blogging.

Writers are a sensitive bunch. We're like flowers, really. I exaggerate [Not much! –day ed], but all creative types crave validation. And it takes a long time to trust that whatever you made is just good, without praise from critics, strangers and high school English teachers. One of the things I like about keeping a private blog is that only a few of my friends read it and I don't get any feedback. For one, I'm too much of a flower to take it. And for two, I don't have to think about whether what I write is good or bad, which lets me just write.

But having instant feedback is exciting and fun. No judgment, but I have a word document where I save all the nice comments I've gotten at Gawker. Plus, reading comments is a great way to seem engaged with work while actually just being self-involved.

Of course, the flipside is that people can be nasty, too. Most people objected that to my claim that Gawker commenters are "mad." Because of the Gawker invite system, executions and the Darwinian nature of comments, the site doesn't stand for calling our west coast editor "fucking retarded." But you guys are quick to point out any grammatical failings and let me know when things are old.

But even though I'd love to continue on about me, as yesterday's experiment showed, commenting isn't all about the writer. A good post will encourage a dialog amongst the commenters. Often a mediocre post will do the same. And after, say, the 40th comment, the conversation becomes hard to follow for the casual observer. But as a public forum, and as a business model, that's a good thing. Commenting is also an opportunity for office drones to prove themselves to be real writers. Our own Richard Lawson was discovered as a commenter, and as 8Millionth admitted, "more people will read comments on a popular blog than the same words written on an unknown blog."

But getting back to me—a friend mentioned that he likes reading the comments because people talk to me as if they actually know me. That can be fun and weird, like when my family's dog made the comments last week.

Of course, the person I am in real life (very clumsy, occasionally socially awkward) and my online persona are two different things. But maybe not that different. Earlier today I sent my dad a sappy email and then asked how much financial aide that would get me. His response: "Zero because you spelled aid wrong."

Eveyone's a commenter.

One guy, Edward Wasserman, a professor of journalism ethics, thinks the rudeness of certain commenters detracts from the overall discussion:

The extreme license given individuals to vent, dissemble, excoriate and indulge their hates verbally, winds up destroying the expressive freedom that other people, less bold and less opinionated, need. ... The overall result is a less expansive, less robust sphere of expression &mdash and sound, worthwhile thoughts aren't shared.

If someone isn't bold enough to express his or her opinion anonymously in an online forum out of fear of meanie commenters, that person is a wimp. Sorry, it had to be said.

Wasserman goes on to say there should be rules. Even at Gawker, there are rules: the unfunny are executed. But what about major news organizations? How should they police the smarter than you, more insanely random than you, boring and bored? And frankly, are these people even worth policing/ Do most Times readers care about the vocal group of commenters?

And so, I open it up to you, the commenters. Why are you here? Why are you so nasty? What should be done with you?