Just Buy an Umbrella Already

I owe all of you an apology. This review was technically "due" last week, on December 23rd. But, and here's where I proffer up excuses when as far as I can tell you really don't give a flying rat's ass, last Thursday was my last day at work before a year-end, sanity-restoring, very much needed break. And although I was able to compile my notes together for this review, I was simply unable to write a single word. My writer bone was simply snapped in two. So for a few days, I let it be. I went where I wanted to go. Did what I wanted to do.

And as of this morning, I feel oddly healed. Partially.

So, Vishwa, are you ready for me?

Back in the months I spent in the monastery in the Alps, there was an unusual fellow from Colombia who had the chamber adjacent to mine. When it would rain, he would wander outside and just wallow in self-pity and self-loathing. He was otherwise such a nice person, but this behavior indicated so clearly his underlying demons, it was of no great surprise to anyone when he was hospitalized for a series of mental and emotional breakdowns. As I understand it now, he is stable and runs a chain of Tae Kwon Do dojos, so perhaps the breakdown was necessary.

I mention this only because Vishwa's blog -- A Walk in the Drizzle -- seems to indicate early on a similar sort of potential downward spiral. For those of you sick fucks who think it might be fun to see someone spiral into the pits of despair, I suggest only that you will be disappointed, because that actually never seems to happen. That said, he expresses such a joy at the misery of walking in the rain, at the self flagellation thereof, that I was in the early years a bit worried about the guy.

Instead, though, we get a person who is contemplative and spiritual, and yet possessed of a pragmatic core. He spends time with a spiritual leader and yet works in IT. This sets up a conflict inside of him. The spiritual and contemplative side bemoans the fact that working in IT doesn't feed the spiritual, and yet the pragmatic side rules the roost. It's fine to want to be a philosopher and what not, but you don't get dental with that, and the part of him that likes to eat and live with a roof over his head wins.

Vishwa writes well enough. I wasn't constantly wanting to bash him over the head with a Strunk & White or anything, but his boring choice of templates is a bit of a canary in the coalmine for what's to come. His writing is a bit self interested for my liking. He splashes a bit of humor and humanity here and then, and rewards the patient reader with a nugget of truth about who he is rather than what he's thinking about, but it doesn't come often enough. He comes across as a navel gazer who only occasionally looks up to interact with anyone who might be in front of him.

To complicate matters, his last post was three months ago. And I really hate reviewing abandoned or retired blogs. On the one hand, like studying Latin is nice because it's a closed system that never needs updating, a dead blog is easier to review because you never have to worry about a recent post completely changing your whole perspective, but on the other hand it seems a bit pointless. If you are done, you obviously don't need tips on how to improve.

In the end, I have to conclude that Vishwa is not living up to his demonstrated potential. But he isn't totally abysmal. So, for him, I proffer a single star.



Consider it a belated Christmas gift.

Hoochie Coochie Man

Christmas in the Raptor family is a low key affair. We nod politely at our neighbors who're desperate to inject some cheer in their lives since the only other attempt at family bonding is during turkey day, and is almost always a failure. I mean, imagine a herd of stegos staring quizzically staring at meat, not knowing where the grass is. Still, this season gives me the chance to empty whatever's left of my scotch inventory and stock up for the coming year.

This time of the year, I need all the help I get from inebriation, for there are more colors to behold than an acid trip in a 70s disco. Kind of like today's blog. Cogent Ascending is authored by someone who describes himself thus "My mind is the waste management facility of the gay intellectual". I must confess, that makes no sense to me, and would have made no difference if I wasn't this hungover. My pounding head aside, this review took a lot of hard work. Well, a lot of focus anyway. I use a battery of filters and blockers to keep my browser light and functional, and to blot out shit I can't be wasting my time with. So when I fired up cogent ascending, I was surprised to see large empty spaces and captions floating in the middle of whitespace. I turned the filters off, and lo behold, my eyes were subjected to more flesh and absurdities than a B-grade horror flick. And this review would have taken a lot less effort if EVERY FUCKING POST didn't look like it was printed on a pamphlet for a lame garage sale.

Jorge(?), your interests are listed as "writing, reading" but how the fuck do you expect your readers to appreciate any of that if you fuck up the presentation so bad? There's a reason every piece of prose is written in left-to-right orientation, and no "personal preference" justifies formatting otherwise. I deserve a fucking medal for braving on, for tolerating this assault on my senses. Jorge rips on creationists, homophobes and religious douches. These days any talentless schmuck can get a soapbox to to pick right wingers (hi Fallon!), so reading the blog bored me. Making fun of Palin is like tweeting. Everyone does it and no one brings  anything original to the table.

Look Jorge, don't get me wrong - it fills me with uncontrollable rage that a section of the society is still persecuted against. I cannot fathom why you puny humans need legistlation to deny basic happiness to your own kind. I see the need for debate, and can understand why someone in your position would be so cynical and bitter. What I don't get is why you try so hard. When things are this bad, a blog should write itself. It doesn't need to be supplemented by lousy pictures, bad formatting and histrionics. Fine, even if it is "your thing", it makes no sense cramming it down your readers' throats 3000 words per post.

You're an opinionated, educated, gay man living in Vegas. I see opportunity. I see you have a platform. I see you wasting it. Clean up your act already. Here's an exercise. Write 5 posts in a row with no pictures and a 200 word limit. Right now you're that out of control wierdo at the bar who won't shut the fuck up. I have a lousy hangover and your stupid blog sure didn't help. I'm going back to sleep.

For your terrible formatting and all those stupid pictures you get a solitary finger








For banal self indulgence you get a meh

What Has She Got That I Don't Got?

Boobs for a start. But I digress.

When I first opened Helena’s blog, as I do any blog, I read the first couple of posts, checked out the layout and had a gander in the comments. First impressions? Neat - a bit girly pink, but in non eye-molesting shade, wannabe Hyperbole and a Half personalised header, widget bar that is a bit wide and full, but perhaps I am just envious because this young lady has decent amount of followers. Unlike myself.

Next I headed to the archives – starting in January 2009. When I got there I wanted to stab myself with the closest stabbing implement. What were all these links? Could I be arsed figuring it all out? No. So I moved on. It was in September 09 that I found a post that I didn’t have to click on to read, nor was it the crap arse badge fest of February 09.  In 09/09 I found the wondrous tale of Larry the Majestic Palm. Holy crap - hold me back. I doggedly continued my trawl and well, what can I say? She is cute, she is inoffensive, rather wholesome and delightfully crafty. Some posts definitely tickled me and she done taught me stuff I never knew.  This was hilarious but unfortunately Helena was only the conduit to the awesomeness. I also liked this idea for the shopaholic in your life.  This post took ‘Life in the Pitts’ to a whole new level. As an aside, I recall a rather famous blogger professing her love for the lack of a shower. Perhaps because it is stinking effing hot in the Antipodes we shower once, even twice a day. To not do so is foreign and horrifying to me. Aside over.

Did Helena hook me in and make me want to read more? In a word - no. I actually thought I had found a blogger who was happy just to blog, show us her wares and prattle on about her husband. But alas - she is also one of ‘us’. If she wants to join the gang, I do wish she would practise a bit more. (I do NOT mean write more; the sheer volume of her blog has cramped up my scrolling finger.)  If a blog is not a place to hone one’s writing skills, where else can one do it? I think Helena already has the idea that she can do it here. It sounds like she has some sad stories that need to be told.

Helena, you provide a space that is fun, friendly and mildy diverting. That in itself is no mean feat. (Other than our initial archival linky link disagreement, I had no beef with you) However, if writing is a lifelong ambition, you need to start getting on with that. It doesn’t mean I want you to get all wankery and introspective and start wearing a tweed jacket with leather elbow patches, but I do want you to experiment with words, rather than just blurt out the funny thing your husband said. Get some imagery and atmosphere going on. Now go!

Exit Music (For A Blog)

Radiohead apparently made In Rainbows to be a track-by-track companion album to OK Computer, their monster album from ten years prior; all you have to do is alternate the tracks (giving them each a ten-second crossfade) and you’ve got yourself a complete, flowing super-album with songs recorded a decade apart. It sounds amaaaaaazing, seriously. It’s nerd-honey poured directly on the tongue of your ear, the most orgasmic headphone rock ever spliced together by man or beast, and if I had more ears I’d be catatonic. As it was, I almost shit myself when "Paranoid Android" shifted into "Bodysnatchers" and had to borrow one of the kid’s diapers as a cautionary measure…

What? Oh, the blog. Right. So, I’m kind of blissfully gurgling as I start my read, getting my head repeatedly kicked in by the awesomeness of RadioheadÜberAlbum, when I hear this muted caterwaul blip through the chorus of "Electioneering"; I pause, thoughtfully, expecting to hear the kid upstairs wailing away, but no - there it is again, like a shrill champagne flute resonating with the echo of a tortured budgie and it’s in my headphones. Slightly panicked, I tenderly pause my music and listen instead to what I soon discern to be Mariah Carey.

Ah, I think. Super Single Mom must have a music-player at the bottom of her blog. I’ll just scroll down, shut Mariah up, and then go back to reading whilst Radiohead kills me nerdly. Sure, no problem… but for the fact that she has FORTY FUCKING POSTS on the main page. Oh, I counted - oh yes: More than a couple, twice twenty, the big four-oh, FORTY. Ah, I think. She doesn’t really care about her readers, then; she’s more interested in an overabundance of posts right off the top because… well, I actually don’t know why. I calmly return my music player to the "rad" position (if sopping-wet syrupy pancakes were distilled down to sonic vibrations, they would be "Reckoner" coming out of "Electioneering") and go about sifting through said overabundance.

Eventually, I find that she uses some variation of "beyond X" ("it was beyond fun", "it was beyond painful", "I am beyond tempted") an awful lot. Let’s link that! I say, excited to find something remotely noteworthy to write about. But, lo, what’s this? "Function disabled"? I cannot pull the links to individual posts without creating a link on one of my own blog’s pages? Surely I’ve made a mistake somewhere, I say, my voice rising. SURELY I’m not going to post a review without any links, the lone indicator we Askers have of proving we read our assigned blog. I click the archives, hoping that this link-dysfunction is but a front-page issue, but as "function disabled" zings me click by click, over and again, something that sounds like a trash-can being stabbed with a chainsaw interrupts "No Surprises", and it’s WHAM! singing "Last Christmas". Oh, of course - I switched pages, which means I get another snoot-full of autoplay. Awesome.

In what can only be considered a foolhardy maneuver, I figure to escape by clicking on another month in the archives section instead of scrolling down and shushing George Michael, but there I find the archives… missing! Ah, I think, smiling mirthlessly. Those fucking snowflakes she has cascading down the page are messing with the sidebar loading. I turn off iTunes. Ah, I think. She is trying to murder me.

What the fuck, Crystal? Why would you do that to me? You can’t just autoplay me like that, not when you’re trying to get me to hang around and read your shit. As a reviewer, however, you’ve got me by the short hairs because I have to read your shit, though now I’m doing so with a heart heavy from Radioheadlessness and am thus enervated. Here’s the thing, my dear, about your writing: you’re not, really. Technically, sure, you’re putting words on the page in sentences that far too often end with multiple exclamation marks, but you’re not delving or crafting or creating anything. You’re pedantically writing down what happened without any flair or verve and strangers who happen upon your blog are given utterly no reason to care. You’re trapped in a vent/update/upload-pictures-of-kids cycle, and without the glue of interesting writing to hold it all together your blog is only a facebook profile with autoplay music and snowflakes.

(Instructions to readers in regards to the next paragraph: when I say this post, imagine a hyperlink to the actual post, but then click here, scroll down to the bottom, turn off the music, then scroll back up about a third of the page to Who cut the cheese? from October 19. Thank you.)

Example: This post about your kids fake-farting in a pharmacy should be hilarious and yet, sadly, it is not. Why is that? Well, partially because "He was using his lips, his arm pits blowing on his arm" doesn’t make a whole lot of sense, and partially because kids fake-farting really isn’t anything close to "insane". Now, a kid shitting his pants, taking off said shitty pants and folding them inside out to paint a feces-mural of The Last Supper across the pharmacy bulletin-board, that would be insane. Blowing a mouth-fart into the crook of an arm? Kids do that all the time.

In fact, most things happen all the time. To everyone. Constantly. So, instead of merely telling me what happened, show me what happened, and I’m not talking about photographs; I’m talking about constructing a narrative that paints a picture for your readers and allows them to participate, at least cognitively. When you announce "X happened, and that makes me feel Y", it’s stale and lifeless; if you start with X, skip Y, and go to Z (the consequences of X), you can allude to how you feel while letting readers reach their own conclusions. A blog might seem like a monologue, but that doesn’t mean you have to talk at people.

Merry X-Mas.

Breakfast of Champions

My favorite thing to do when I first wake up is to pour myself a cup of freshly ground coffee, go out on my balcony, and read the local paper while enjoying a cigarette.

Yep, that's right. I am a smoker. I've wasted a ton of money, at the end of the day I smell like an ashtray, and I can't even walk quickly without having an asthma attack. Not something I'm proud of, but there it is.

A lot of good things have come out of my dirty, filthy habit though. For instance, I've met people who are now close friends because we were both outside freezing our asses off. One such friend has a theory that smokers are more interesting people, since you have to be pretty emotionally damaged to willingly sacrifice years off your life for a quick fix.

Which is why, given the choice between blogs, I chose to review "Inspired by Caffeine and Nicotine". I figured someone who chooses those particular addictive substances for their blog title has to be interesting.

I wasn't wrong. Robblogger is a sci-fi fan with a twisted sense of humor, who plays fucked up pranks on his very patient live-in girlfriend. He also hates the general public and writes opinionated and snarky posts about popular culture. I like it. He reminds me of my friend with the "Smoker Theory".

However, there are lots of things I don't like. 90% of his posts are rambling, stream-of-consciousness-type monologues. This blog would be much easier and more enjoyable to read if I could follow what the hell Robblogger is saying. Sometimes it's like reading the blog of an ADD-riddled drunken monkey, hyped up on too much coffee and cigarettes.

Oh, wait.

My advice to Robblogger is the same advice we end up giving almost everyone who has potential. Tighten that shit up. Edit, edit, edit. Cut out everything that doesn't move the story along and is just filler to make your posts longer. (Jesus, I have no idea why your posts are so fucking long.) Split them up into individual stories and post them separately. You bitch about people Twittering about their tuna sandwich at lunchtime (agreed), but your blog is filled with similar shit that your readers have to wade through to get to the good stuff.

The other huge faux-pas . . .blogging about blogging. This is coupled with a seeming obsession with getting followers, getting page views, and making money off of blogging. Booooooring.

No one wants to read about blogging. They want to read stories about your life and they want to be entertained. Your blog is only 4 months old. You have more followers and readers than you really should at this point. And this obsession makes me wonder if you only submitted here to get page views/money from clicks. (P.S. That's why there are no links to specific posts in this review. I don't like being used, ass.)

And making money off of blogging? We all wish. I know it's hard to pay the bills when you're unemployed (believe me, I do), but begging for money from strangers on the internet, while posting about how you just bought a new digital camera? Sorry, Charlie, but fuck off.

I'm really pissed right now. This guy is enough of an asshole, I think he'd fit in around here. Maybe even be capable of doing a couple guest posts if he got his writing act together. But the obsession with clicks and page views and making money off of this kind of make me hate him.

For that, you get a:







And for being an amusing asshole:

If All Your Friends Jumped Off a Bridge, Would You Do It Too?

I know that none of you care about my troubles, but I have to tell you the truth. The thought of writing a review for today's blog just makes me feel exhausted all of a sudden. It's not that it's a particularly bad blog. Indeed, if that were the case, I would have something to sink my fangs into. And it isn't that the reviewee is particularly problematic or annoying or anything. In fact, based on the very little I know about her, I actually think that I'd really like her. She has a great optimistic way of looking at life that I can only imagine is infectious in person.

I am exhausted because her execution is just another in a seeming endless series of blogs that are in essence the equivalent of Cheech and Chong's "How I Spent My Summer Vacation."

That the details vary from blog to blog matters little. This one lives in Chicago. That one in Bangalore. This one's in IT. That one's a nurse. That one over there's a teacher. Ho hum. She has a dog. He has a two year old son. Whatever.

I think that it is very telling that the only reason Prathima even has a blog was because other people she knows have them. And that it was pretty much dormant until she spent a certain amount of time unemployed, when it seemed to give her something to do to while away the hours when she would have rather been working. Even now, it seems that the only thing driving her to write at all is so that she is not strictly a consumer on the blogosphere.

As much as I admire those who want to give back to the community, I do want to let everyone know -- you don't necessarily have to give back in kind. Not everyone needs a blog. Especially if you're not necessarily all that enthused to say anything.

I realize that this is overly critical and possibly even harsh, but the fact is, you seem to derive more pleasure from reading others' blogs. And that's okay. Maybe I am reading this wrong. Maybe you do get jazzed up writing about a day in the life of an H4 visa holding individual residing in the US of A, but if so, that excitement just didn't come across.

My advice to you. If I am reading you wrong, and you really are really excited to be writing these blog entries, try to find a way to convey that excitement to your reader. Convince us of something. Tell us what you love and why. Tell us what you fear most and why. In other words, challenge yourself and us. Expand our minds through what you uniquely bring to the world.

I'm not going to tell you the versa to that vice I set up up there. That is to say, I will not suggest that if you are writing out of obligation, perhaps that is energy best spent elsewhere. Far be it from me to tell you what to do with your energy, and if you think that this is making the world a better place, I won't ask you to stop. But I haven't found anything in here to keep me coming back if you keep on with what you're doing.

As it is, I am feeling compelled to introduce a whole new rating. You don't deserve anything negative. You didn't even earn a "Meh." I am taking ths opportunity to introduce the brand new "No Stars" rating. Again, you seem like a really great person, so it really isn't personal.

Now pardon me while I go take a nap.

Bull's Pizzle

In my everyday gig I have to be encouraging and positive and nice. So when I got the chance to rip people apart I was fairly ecstatic. My students are a captive audience, and not in a good way. They don’t choose to be there, they have to be. But bloggers - ah, dear sweet, misguided bloggers; they indeed choose to inflict their words onto the world. One would then assume that they would be competent at what they do and have some awareness of their skill. That would then mean that if I paddled their bum it would be called for.

However, I must admit that being negative towards even the most deserving of muppets can harsh one’s buzz. I am all about me, and keeping me happy, so for this review I am going to try and be constructive and helpful; get some feel good vibes flowing round the place. And yes, it will quite possibly be excruciatingly boring.

If E-Rizzle handed me this blog and I were to give it a carefully considered comment in a teacherly fashion, I believe this is what I might say:

E-Rizzle,

As you were instructed, the assignment was for you to hand in a blog that was engaging, thought provoking, well written, possibly amusing, and well presented. You needed to give a clear sense of yourself, your life and stories.  

Your blog is well presented, even though white writing on a black background isn’t my cup of tea.  

You say that your blog is not a mommy blog, which technically it isn’t; it is a hopeful-mommy-to-be blog. So there is a lot of talk of eggs and PCOS and jealousy over those who are up the duff while you are not. There a lots of ‘update’ style posts that may be interesting to your loved ones or friends from your previous blogs, however a new reader will not be immediately engaged or invested as one of the aforementioned readers. What can you do to hook in someone, like an AAYSR reader, to continue reading even after finding out your eggs are scrambled? I believe that many may find some common ground in stories such as a this but they may find it hard to get reach said common ground when they have to wade through your other posts which often end with ‘I am sorry that was so lame.’ If you knew it was going to be lame, why did you post it?  

I really liked this story; hilarious, but it could have been shortened and tightened to make sure you don’t lose your audience before they got to the good bit. I found your story on flatulence a bit belaboured. The scenario you paint is not my experience. My partner and I are quite happy to back up to one another in bed and let one rip, whereby ruffling the bedclothes, ladylike-ness be damned. I am just sorry that your bottom is not so untethered.  

You are a lawyer, and therefore intelligent, and possibly well-bred however I do not feel it is necessary for you to show how bad-ass you are by throwing in a few ‘fucks’, ‘piss’ and, my personal favourite, ‘spooge’ into the mixture. I believe that it detracts from your writing, as well as jarring my delicate eyes. Even so, I do understand that we are all adults here.

E-Rizzle, I quite like you and I get what you are going through, however your writing doesn’t move me. If you would like to resubmit this assignment for a higher grade I suggest (if you haven’t figured it out already) you:

• Drop the swearing. It just doesn’t sit well for some reason. 
• Try and tell a whole, stands-by-itself story in a post. Check out Mr London Street’s 100 Word Posts for an insight as to how one may do this. By all means have bits and pieces updates, but keep them to a minimum.

I hope that this feedback has been helpful and I wish you all the best with your pregnancy. Until you decide to work using your full potential I give you a:

So Asskers, how was that? Anyone care to incur the wrath of a ‘karmic crowbar’ and have at it? I don’t know about you but I feel all sorta warm and fuzzy.

Death Trap

A few weeks ago, there was a spirited discussion on this blog about Indian kids showing up en masse seeking reviews from the soulless jerks that run this outfit. Amidst the usual talk about skull-fuckery and sodomy, we were left scratching our crania for answers. This week is the perfect example of a week in the life of this blog - 1 blog was decomposed cat litter, 2 blogs are from where this guy lives. And this guy.

I've always thought humor was universal, that a man eaten alive by a pack of compys would be as funny in Swahili as in English. But reading today's reviewee has me doubting that assumption. Forgive me for the bias, but "Kaushik's Magical World of Nonsense" already sounds like a bastard child of H2G2 and the Discworld series. But I shrugged off that feeling and dove in for the review. Kaushik, from his blogger profile, is a shoe. Well that didn't make any sense, so back I went to his blog. It appears that Kaushik is a student of the assembly line of Indian geniuses "Indian Institute of Technology" which means he'll soon make more in a year than I ever have.

Where do I begin? I ignored the 2 latest posts - I don't read poems, and will not follow you on to your "other" blogs. So a post imaginatively titled "My trip to Bhutan" is a start. As I read on, I realized I was badly mistaken in my bias and that I was in the company of a literary heavyweight who made words do his bidding. His thoughts opened up a tired old predator's mind to the mystical wisdom from the east. His posts were sublime, evocative of what every aspiring writer hopes to become, and should finally change everyone's opinion about bloggers from India.

Just kidding. Kaushik rambles on without pausing once to breathe, think or contemplate editing. He repeats phrases and humor "devices" (lame ones at that). Back to your post on that trip to Bhutan - I tried reading it Kaushik, I really did. About a third into that cesspool of minutiae, I scrolled down to check on how much was left and all I could do was yell "FAAAAAAAAAK YOU". Why bother with verbiage if it adds up to nothing? Why is brevity such a lost art? Stretching a story out for comedic value has worked in the past, but it took a Kaufman-esque reveal in the end to keep things interesting.

I do not need to prove that I spent time reading your blog, that I tried searching long and hard for something redeeming. And what I dfaskl;dfhasfkljas';asjdglkasdgjaskl;dgjasdkl'gjasdg. Wait sorry, that was me banging my snout to the keyboard in frustration. You seem to have attended some sort of writing workshop, and if this is the product, I'd suggest asking for a refund. And the heads of the idiots who encouraged you. It also appears that you've authored some prose or a play or whatever the fuck this means. Good lord, mercy be upon the souls subjected to your dimwitted humor.

I really have no "advice" for the reviewee, some things are beyond repair. To those looking for some entertainment this Wednesday afternoon, I'd recommend stabbing your eyes with something sharp and metallic, and downing a gallon of bleach. The ambulance ride will keep you more engaged than this inane collection of thoughts, poems and "jokes".

Five Fuckin' Flamin' Fingers.