Itisi

The nebulous ramblings; grammatical & punctuational experiments of a girl born on the fifth of November

Tag: Humour

Blogging Advice You Probably Can’t Use

The last few posts have been a mixture of snark and angst, so I thought I’d do something different this time. Inspired by a number of new bloggers I’ve met in the last week or two, I decided to share what I’ve learnt about blogging over the years. Trust me, this is useful stuff. Forget all those people who tell you how often to post, or how to install WordPress plugins, this is what you really need to know.

- There’s a man in Germantown, Washington County, (USA) who is quite scary. I’ve never met him, but he’s turned up here twice looking for something so odd, I can’t even include it in the posts listing weird search terms – and if you’ve seen those you can imagine how odd this is. Really, it’s weird in a totally-not-funny-makes-you-feel-kind-of-sick way. Go away nasty man!

- You can spend hours crafting what you consider to be the finest post you’re ever written, yet only three people will read to the end, and no one will comment. The next day you post a picture of a lolcat, it gets over 100 page views and a dozen comments within 10 minutes of publication.

- Of course, that finely crafted post may never see the light of day because your blogging platform of choice will eat your best posts. You can publish an endless stream of those lolcats, but the day you write something worthwhile, everything will go haywire and your post will vanish into some kind of vortex, never to be seen again. I’m pretty sure they’re all out there somewhere, just whirling around. You know how you hear about those random showers of fish, Saharan sand or gerbils? One day that will happen with blog posts. They’ll come raining down in some obscure, out of the way place such as Basingstoke. People will be shopping one minute, the next, they’ll be dodging missives containing film reviews, rants about annoying ex-boyfriends, tutorials about WP plugins and the better lolcats.

- Some people read your blog when they’re drunk, you can tell because they leave seriously strange comments. Yes, I am looking at you and you ;-)

- No matter how long you’ve been blogging, or how good you are at it, someone who only started last month but has read a book about it, will try to give you advice. This usually consists of changing your theme to the same one everyone else uses and adding lots of adverts. When you politely decline their ‘advice’, they’ll become quite irate and dismiss you as an amateur. Three months later you’ll still be blogging, their blog will have disappeared.

- Good news for singletons -  bloggers can have groupies too! Really. As your subscription numbers rise, so does your physical attractiveness. This is why Pete Cashmore is widely believed to be the second most attractive man on the internet, and Darren Rowse is known as the Tom Jones of blogging. Actually, that last bit isn’t strictly true, but I have a feeling some of his readers throw virtual knickers at him as they read his latest post.

- You’re either a blogger, or you aren’t. Like the advice giver mentioned above, some people just don’t get it and will give up in weeks – seriously, most bloggers stop within three months. Others stick around. Oh yes, we might have times when we say we can’t do it anymore, but it calls us back like a siren song. Even as you lie prostrate on a chaise longue, one arm draped elegantly across your forehead like the heroine in a Victorian melodrama, bewailing your complete lack of talent/inspiration (and seriously irritating anyone unfortunate enough to be within earshot), deep down you know, you will go back to it. And I did.

Hope that was useful, feel free to share your wisdom in the comments.

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How Cricket Was Invented

Apparently, there’s some cricket thing going on. Ordinarily, I would know nothing of this*, but, for some reason, people keep talking to me about it. I’m not entirely sure why, but am tempted to ask, is it ’cause I is English?. If it is, I hate to disabuse these people, but we don’t all love cricket. There is no natural law that states s/he is English and shall therefore love all things crickety.

The truth is, most of us couldn’t care less about it. I personally think it is, quite possibly, the second most boring sport in the world**. I also have a theory about how it came into being which I will share with you today. I shall then pack a bag and head for a non-cricketing country to escape all the abuse I anticipate may be hurled at me.

My theory goes: Cricket was never actually intended to be a sport. It was invented by a group of men who decided it would be cool to stand around for hours, not doing much apart from smoking pipes and comparing beards***. The problem was, more industrious people (women) kept asking them why they were standing around not doing much, which made them feel pretty darn lazy.

The day was saved when one of them had a brilliant idea. He grabbed a plank, sent someone home to borrow an old tennis ball the family dog played with, and the two of them provided a diversion for all the other standing-around chaps. His gamble paid off, in fact it worked really well! People were convinced and wanted to know what this new game was. The bloke with a plank had a sudden moment of inspiration when he heard a grasshopper, and christened the game, cricket.

Of course, the only way to keep up the subterfuge was to turn up day after day to play ‘cricket’. Eventually, their ranks were swelled by other men who liked to stand around not doing much, and lo, the second most boring sport in the history of humanity was born.

And that’s what really happened! Honestly ;-)

* To give you an idea of my lack of interest in it, today I tweeted that the cricket had kicked off. I have a feeling that’s not how matches start.

**  The most boring? Golf. Which was invented by men who liked to wander around the countryside with other men, but were a bit insecure about their masculinity and felt they needed an excuse to do so.

*** It was the 19th century or something, they all had beards, even the women.

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