There are four types of blogs I cannot stand. Since mine is made up of all the four in equal measure, a little self-criticism is in order. If you recognize yourself as one of these four, get help because there is still time. I am. I am trying to hate the sin but love the sinner.
And there ain't nothin' wrong with some self love:-)
He hates his life. It is so sad and nothing ever goes right. She writes poems and cries at the sunset and probably keep peacock feathers in her BOUDOIR (and she calls it that). He uses words like lyrical to describe things. She is completely focused internally. She has lost so much in her life and love. On rainy days, she likes to sit by the window and weep. When he is happy, he feels so guilty, he cries. He is a cross between Marvin the Paranoid Android from HHGG and the sensitive guy from Bedazzled.
The cure: A titrating dose of SSRIs for depression and please, please get laid.
Nothing ever happens in the utter boring existence of this character. But he has to let you know all the minute details of the pointless waste of space that his life is. She has acquired a new love or a child. And while we may think that the acquisition is a cross between an ape and velvet Elvis, she thinks the sun rises and sets for her new love. So we are invited to step into the endless stream of pure drivel about how he looked oh-so-cute in his purple velvet shirt or how his friends debate if he is going to win his first Nobel prize in Physics or Medicine. Never mind that he earns a living as an accountant for a supermarket. She is supremely happy in her life, in all the details of its pointlessness. He is chirpy. And of course, don't forget the pictures. She always has pictures of Mr. Velvet Elvis with his three friends on a trip to Australia.
It would be interesting if the whine and the bore collaborated on a blog together.
The Cure: Get a life. Buy a life. Whatever you do, keep it to yourself. Things are much more enjoyable that way.
He knows everything about something. He is the self-appointed expert in nylon kite flying or toy soldier painting. And he assumes that the world in general shares his enthusiasm for his purpose for living. He endlessly waxes on the fine details of using the right red paint for the hat of the period Napoleonic miniature soldier. Occationally, he is quasi-academic and speaks of epistemological privilege. Nobody has a clue of what he is talking about. He was born with a pocket protector.
The Cure: There is no cure; none has been invented so far but I am sure some pundit somewhere is writing a blog about it.
He is the greatest intellectual masterbator ever. He has opinions on everything and would like to take you head-on on everything from the fine art of chinese tea-making to the war on Iraq. He gets his jollies through perfecting his craft of arguing. She is angry with you about something else but wants to prove your point wrong on something tangential because she can't say she is mad at you for something else. The action at the Master deBator blog is mostly in the comments section.
The Cure: Real masturbation, two or three times a day. Use the web for what the rest of the world uses it for, obtaining and using quality porn.
Of course, I am skipping the word acrobat, the one who likes to twist and turn the language on its head; the one that likes the sound of his own voice.
If you read this closely, you realize that the cure for blogging in general is more sex, masturbation and drugs. Unless you are a bore. Then the cure is to get a life with sex and masturbation
while on drugs.
Did someone just say rave party? :-)
