Since I started writing in my blog again (after traveling into the vast reaches of space over the last year), many of you have written and asked me to destroy my computer and return to Uranus. But there were two of you (thanks Mom and Dad) who wanted to know what this whole 31 days to a better blog dealio is. Mom, Dad, meet Darren Rouse. He has a blog called Problogger.net, which, coincidentally, is designed to help people write better blogs. Very lucky he picked the name Problogger when you stop to think about it.
Today's assignment is... oh, wait. I'm a day late. This is day 7 and it's day 8, so CrankyPants is actually catching up on missing a day of improving his blog. Yesterday's assignment was to link to another blog and say a few nice words about it. I did that above, as you can see. And most days CrankyPants would be satisfied with doing the absolute minimum so he could spend the rest of his day doing valuable things, like daydreaming and watching NBA basketball games and thinking deep thoughts (examples of deep thoughts: why do I exist? Is that really Dirk Nowitski's haircut? Does anyone not find Drew Barrymore adorable?). But today is not just any day. Today is the day after the day I was supposed to do this assignment, which makes today yesterday. And yesterday was a special day, because it's not today. Confused? Don't be. Or, as my Grandpa Schlomo likes to say, "Get to the point, you putz." My point is: I'm going to link to TWO blogs. That's right, two. Could you ask for a better deal? You could, but then you'd be greedy and I'd have to kick you in the shins. So here's the second link: Heymarci.com (You gotta click on "blog" to get to the blog, but I'm going to assume you can figure that out because you're a genius). Marci, a former New York Times blogger (yes, that's impressive) is the lovely and amazing and inspiring former lawyer turned journalist/teacher who convinced me to improve my blog. You should visit her site if you're interested in any of the following:
--Writing;
--Changing your career;
--Short women who grew up on the Jersey Shore;
--Blogging;
--Classes in journalism;
--Drew Barrymore.
Go ahead. Check out her site. I dare you: http://heymarci.com/ Or check out Darren's if you have a hankering to improve your blog (or to make a living from blogging): http://www.problogger.net/
Now, one last very important... oh, wait. Grandpa Schlmo has gotten into the cole slaw again. I gotta run. Until next time, have a Cranky day...
5/13/2009
5/07/2009
a GREAT list
For the past year, CrankyPants has been traveling on a spaceship to the outer reaches of the galaxy. For those of you who have swamped this blog with letters begging for more posts, I have bad news for you: you don't exist (although I did get one letter from my Aunt Edwina asking me to leave my Uncle Abe out of my posts, because he's getting a swelled head). For those of you who have not swamped this blog with letters, I have this to say: I love letters. Who doesn't love letters? No one doesn't, that's who. So write me. According to my doctor, I do exist. And I'm lonely. Which brings me to the point of today's blog: blogs.
I'm writing today because I'm taking part in a "31 days to a better blog" program and even though there's no way my blog could be better, I have acknowledged that one way it could be better is if I wrote in it more than once a year (although several of my therapists vehemently disagree). So here I am. Today's assignment is to create a list. Thus, with no further ado, drumroll please... Here's a list of eight things CrankyPants could have been writing about the last year, but didn't because he was busy fliring with alien lifeforms:
1) Barack Obama. I love the guy. Except lately he reminds me a little of George Bush, who I love as much as I love that kid on Winslow Drive who used to beat me up every Saturday morning just to keep his nails short. More and more Barack seems like a member of the club. You know, THAT club. I'm no financial expert, but being a blogger and a jerk, I feel qualified to say that the financial system isn't going to get fixed by rewarding bankers who make money out of nothing in the first place. Give money to people who make useful stuff. Maybe stuff to improve our environment. Or solve our energy problem. Or keep dogs from pooping on my front stoop. Whomever! Just give it to someone who produces something good and useful in the world. Maybe give it to, say, a fabulous blogger playwright? I'm just thinking out loud here...
2) Slumdog Millionaire. A few years ago I made the claim that Crash was the worst Academy Award winner since Gigi. I was, of course, correct. But this year's winner has me pulling out my teeth and clipping my nose hairs. The nicest thing I can say about Slumdog is this: it's a heck of a good episode of Who Wants to be a Millionaire. At least that's what I told people for the first few months after viewing that sentimentalist, dreary, cynical crapfest (the kid plummeting into the shit got off easy since he didn't have to sit through the movie). But I've come around on my thinking: Who Wants to be a Millionaire has had some interesting guests. Some real people with real personalities. It's actually better than Slumdog most days. So why did the movie win? Because it's simple, stupid and really, really stupid. It's just stupid. It's... well, it's stupid.
3) The decay of modern civilization. See above. Plus, the closing of newspapers and the decline of the publishing industry, and the decline of the environment, and the rise of emotionalism and the decline of Tom Brady's knee.
4) Television. Amidst the decline of modern civilization, television has hit a golden age: Battlestar Gallatica, The Wire, Freaks and Geeks (okay, that's going back a bit), The Sopranos. And I'm leaving out a handful of others.
5) Angela Rommelcurd. She's this hot babe that hangs out around Jupiter. We had a little tryst last year, but I don't like to kiss and tell. (Hold up your hands if you thought I was going to use "Uranus" in the first sentence of this paragraph. You make me sick).
6) Dating. Actually, in a meta sort of way, I have written about dating. That is to say, I've said, by saying nothing, all there is to say about my romantic life. (Except for Angela Rommelcurd, of course, who exists only in my brain). Why is dating so difficult? I thought it was because I have high standards: half a brain, a whole body, emotional stability. But it turns out I have too-high standards. Oh, and apparently women have standards, too. Who knew?
7) Hair. How is it that the hair on my face seems to be getting grayer all the time? And my hip is aching? And don't tell me it's because I'm aging, because I'm not.
8) Bunions.
I'm writing today because I'm taking part in a "31 days to a better blog" program and even though there's no way my blog could be better, I have acknowledged that one way it could be better is if I wrote in it more than once a year (although several of my therapists vehemently disagree). So here I am. Today's assignment is to create a list. Thus, with no further ado, drumroll please... Here's a list of eight things CrankyPants could have been writing about the last year, but didn't because he was busy fliring with alien lifeforms:
1) Barack Obama. I love the guy. Except lately he reminds me a little of George Bush, who I love as much as I love that kid on Winslow Drive who used to beat me up every Saturday morning just to keep his nails short. More and more Barack seems like a member of the club. You know, THAT club. I'm no financial expert, but being a blogger and a jerk, I feel qualified to say that the financial system isn't going to get fixed by rewarding bankers who make money out of nothing in the first place. Give money to people who make useful stuff. Maybe stuff to improve our environment. Or solve our energy problem. Or keep dogs from pooping on my front stoop. Whomever! Just give it to someone who produces something good and useful in the world. Maybe give it to, say, a fabulous blogger playwright? I'm just thinking out loud here...
2) Slumdog Millionaire. A few years ago I made the claim that Crash was the worst Academy Award winner since Gigi. I was, of course, correct. But this year's winner has me pulling out my teeth and clipping my nose hairs. The nicest thing I can say about Slumdog is this: it's a heck of a good episode of Who Wants to be a Millionaire. At least that's what I told people for the first few months after viewing that sentimentalist, dreary, cynical crapfest (the kid plummeting into the shit got off easy since he didn't have to sit through the movie). But I've come around on my thinking: Who Wants to be a Millionaire has had some interesting guests. Some real people with real personalities. It's actually better than Slumdog most days. So why did the movie win? Because it's simple, stupid and really, really stupid. It's just stupid. It's... well, it's stupid.
3) The decay of modern civilization. See above. Plus, the closing of newspapers and the decline of the publishing industry, and the decline of the environment, and the rise of emotionalism and the decline of Tom Brady's knee.
4) Television. Amidst the decline of modern civilization, television has hit a golden age: Battlestar Gallatica, The Wire, Freaks and Geeks (okay, that's going back a bit), The Sopranos. And I'm leaving out a handful of others.
5) Angela Rommelcurd. She's this hot babe that hangs out around Jupiter. We had a little tryst last year, but I don't like to kiss and tell. (Hold up your hands if you thought I was going to use "Uranus" in the first sentence of this paragraph. You make me sick).
6) Dating. Actually, in a meta sort of way, I have written about dating. That is to say, I've said, by saying nothing, all there is to say about my romantic life. (Except for Angela Rommelcurd, of course, who exists only in my brain). Why is dating so difficult? I thought it was because I have high standards: half a brain, a whole body, emotional stability. But it turns out I have too-high standards. Oh, and apparently women have standards, too. Who knew?
7) Hair. How is it that the hair on my face seems to be getting grayer all the time? And my hip is aching? And don't tell me it's because I'm aging, because I'm not.
8) Bunions.
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