Blot Bog Doom

This post pisses me off on a couple of  levels.  First, I’m annoyed that Halley is so cheaply bought.   "Search champs."  WTF does that mean?  This is a feel-good name for a focus group.  The idea that Microsoft will get some marketing traction out of inviting some tame bloggers to check out their goods  doesn’t annoy me particularly.  What annoys me is a decent free-lancer putting on airs.  We all have to make ends meet, and it’s nice to catch a little personal, professional, financial reward for doing something we enjoy with some people we like.  And Mary Hodder simply smells good, besides being a genius and all.  And Chris Pirillo is genuinely funny and charming and nice.  And so is Halley, really.  But jeepers.  Blogging qua blogging is so over.  It began to die four years ago when I got into it.   It was clearly dead when the likes of Liz Lawley over at the trade school honked on about it all and tried to enhance their professional reputations with "it."  Not that the strategy is a bad one.  Academia is deluded and delusional.  You can fool some of the fools etcetera.  But all this "we were there eating take-out chinese and chopping code into the wee hours of the morning with nothing but a sixer of Mountain Dew to keep our energy up while we went unappreciated by the purveyors of big iron…."  What bullshit.  Everybody is happy to make a few bucks.  The market around XML and web services has coalesced and reformed a couple of times in the last five years.  There’s bread on the table all over town, and WE didn’t put it there.  Adam Smith’s ghost put it there.  Blogging is over.  MMORPGs are what’s happening, wise men have told me so, and I suspect we’ll be retreating to the Darknet to live these second lives…  But there’s always a gig for a good freelance writer Halley.  Even on the web.

Anything you want to be

You can buy, even get it free

Make yourself a smoother dancer

Fill your head with easy answers

Never a backward glancer

It’s you who makes the rules

Heaven help the fool

No, never a backward glancer

Heaven help the fool

The middle of a pentagram

Heart of a star (what you are)

You can trade your soul for an electric guitar

Fool, lotta pretty vanity

No, not me

Fool, glorified insanity

No, not me

When they offer golden apples

Are you sure you’ll refuse?

Heaven help the fool

Are you sure you’ll refuse?

Heaven help the fool

Just like a deaf man dancin’

Like a blind man shootin’ pool

Heaven help the fool


Posted in Irascible Nonsense
2 comments on “Blot Bog Doom
  1. Don’t shoot me – I didn’t come up with the name. 🙂

  2. madamelevy says:

    “an amazing piece of prime rib WITH a gorgeous piece of salmon”
    oh, mr. bill. long day comin massa’s got me working…



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