I checked my Google rank and found that I’ve dropped a spot and am now the number three Shelley at Google, behind Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley and the Keats-Shelley Journal, Shelley in this case being Percy Bysshe Shelley.
Percy Bysshe Shelley, a poet who once wrote:
In the golden lightning
Of the sunken sun,
O’er which clouds are bright’ning,
Thou dost float and run;
Like an unbodied joy whose race is just begun.
And then there’s this Mary Shelley who happened to write an early sci-fi book, called Frankenstein, and whose mother was Mary Wollstonecraft, author of A Vindication of the Rights of Women:
It would be an endless task to trace the variety of meannesses, cares, and sorrows, into which women are plunged by the prevailing opinion, that they were created rather to feel than reason, and that all the power they obtain, must be obtained by their charms and weakness.
On second thought, I find that I am extremely happy and content to be number three at Google. In fact, considering the company I’m keeping, I’m honored.
(But I’m not happy about being the sixth Powers, behind that ridiculous Austin Powers and some trivial math stuff — something about powers of ten or some such nonsense.)