Posts Tagged With: Rant

Intelligence – Is Lacking (a review with spoilers… PLEASE READ THE SPOILERS SO YOU DON’T FEEL OBLIGATED TO WATCH IT!)


Well that was an easy title wasn’t it? Pretty much says it all right there. Peace out Blog readers! *drops mic*

But seriously. I watched this epic piece of garbage last night in my ongoing quest to watch crap TV shows so you don’t have to and let me tell you… it’s a doozy. Let’s start with the basics, shall we? Bear with me. This might take a while…

Intelligence is about a guy who ends up being a high value intelligence operative because someone put a computer chip in his head that allows him to access all sorts of top-secret classified stuff. Sound familiar? Yeah… it did to me too…



But where Chuck set up its characters right off the bat and had their flaws built-in from the get go Intelligence shows the lie to its name by dropping cookie cutter perfection into the plot. Josh Holloway’s Gabriel doesn’t JUST have a computer in his head. He is a Tier One Former Delta Force operator. And he looks like he just stepped out of an underwear ad. Oh and he’s snarky. What’s his starting character flaw? Something happened to his WIFE! GASP! zzzzzzzzz…. but otherwise the only thing missing about this guy is an animated sparkle to his teeth.

Then we have Megan Ory as Riley Neal. Easy on the eyes. WAY TOO EASY ON THE EYES. Yvonne Strahovsky in Chuck provided the cute… nay beautiful… fantasy to the charming fable whereas Megan is apparently here to be the butt of Gabriel’s dismally ineffective wit. And what sort of a name is Riley Neal anyway? Which committee of power suits concocted that? Where is the percentile table they rolled it up on? I mean COME ON. Who would come up with something like that? It’s tailor built for Megan’s tough, pretty demeanor. It’s like they had the name and poured Megan Ory into it and golly gee willickers, focus group, she fits! Ostensibly her ‘role’ in this travesty of drama is to protect Gabriel because she is a Secret Service agent Specially Trained For Protecting People and SHE has been selected because of her capacity of dealing with ‘difficult’ people. Oh and she’s amazing at her job too… so amazing that she was stabbed four times while protecting the president’s kids and STILL got them to ballet practice on time (an actual line – i’m not kidding). Because apparently she had to do it entirely herself as the Secret Service couldn’t afford back-up that day. Budget cuts you know. Damn that sequester.

In spite of that Ory is the most watchable part of the show. The kid’s got something. I can’t quite put my finger on it but there is something about her that’s waiting in this character. It’s like she believes that this dog of a plot could get better if they threw out the idiot bums who were bong hitting while writing it and is just waiting for that to happen. On the down side though, in terms of last nights ‘plot’ they completely blew it in spectacularly stupid fashion. Not only does she fail to protect her target but ends up being ‘saved’ by him not once, not twice, but THREE FREAKING TIMES during the course of one hour long episode. Way to go Secret Service! Way to go writing team for not just dipping your toe in the waters of feminine stereotypes but jumping in with both feet, wallowing, swimming in it and then drinking the whole pool of it like it was an oasis in the desert.

Finally there is Marg Helgenberger as Lillian Strand. Lillian is essentially the same character Marg played on CSI so… yeah. Just go watch that show. It’s better than this one and she’s better in it. Which should tell you all you need to know if you’ve read my thoughts on the cretinously godawful CSI.

Next let’s go to the plot… Lets not. Someone kidnaps someone…. there are bad guys… they want the chip… you’ve seen it done better on Chuck. Let’s just skip to the end in which the bad guys are predictably vanquished. (with the help of a Chinese Intelligence asset standing in for the Deus Ex Machina in the episode)

So the bad guys are vanquished. Riley Neal karate chops the traitor in their midst in the throat and he goes unconscious. They capture the renegade Chinese agent that kidnapped the scientist. They are all in the same building at this time. They exchange bad Chinese renegade guy to swap for information on Gabriel’s wife (gasp! Snooze) and then we see the evil traitor guy shifting on the couch as the Chinese gal they implanted with a NEW chip wakes up… They are apparently NOT captured…. even though they were in the same building at the time and the last scene we saw them in they were both unconscious. Seriously writers? I mean come on. Honestly… My cats can write better than that. Did you not have this read by your friends? Did you fire your continuity editor due to budget cuts? (damned sequester) or did you rush this crap project to the green light so that you didn’t miss out on the big pile of cash you had coming? No one i know would have made this kind of mistake. NO ONE! People i know who don’t even WRITE wouldn’t make this kind of mistake. People i know who don’t even READ wouldn’t make this mistake.

All in all Intelligence is one of the most hackneyed, simplistic, idiotic, stumbling, shitty endeavors produced for the small screen since last years Golden Boy (you can read my review of that hunk of frozen dog shit here) Don’t bother. Tell your friends not to bother. Write to the studios to tell them to send the writers back to grade school so they can learn the basic fundamentals of plot continuity. Tell them it is not okay to hire twelve year olds to write produced scripts. Tell them it isn’t okay to rush something into production so they don’t miss out on the stack of cash. Tell them… just tell them… in a universe in which they are competing with Game of Thrones, Justified and any number of professionally written shows this just smacks of disgusting laziness.

Here’s the Executive Producer: Michael Seitzman

And the show is on CBS on mondays if you really want to torture your eyeballs and your writing soul. I don’t recommend it. In fact…. kill it with fire. Purge it from the memory. Or read a book.




Categories: Mystery, Uncategorized, Writing | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 1 Comment

A Few Unkind Words About Beta Reading…

Statler-and-Waldorf-ShoppingUp to a few months ago I’d never heard the term ‘Beta- reader’ and honestly I kind of hate it. I’m not kidding. I get the relationship between it and the whole computer program, game-playing culture and I’ll freely admit that it fits but ugh. It sucks. But it still fits so we’ll run with it until something a little more poetic comes by. Anyone? Please? Come up with something better. It grates on me. So fix it people! Please your weird blogger.

Anyway. For the time being we’re going to run with it.

I get the concept. You have a few select readers – or victims – peruse your erstwhile completely untested and frequently quite unfinished manuscript to work out the kinks. Sort of like sending the babe off to kindergarten – if kindergarten was Lord of the Flies. Which it sort of is isn’t it? Writers need this sort of thing. Nothing flies when it first tests its little wings. You have to give it some time, some encouragement, let the people you trust shower some advice and attention on the little feller and get some air under its wings. That’s what it’s all about. In theory at least.


Many folks seem to think that beta reading is a nice way to sharpen their critical teeth on someone else’s work. You get the input back and within the first sentence you can practically envision that reader furrowing their brow as they slip on the tweed jacket they’ve reserved JUST for this purpose. They clamp the pipe they don’t smoke between those sharpened teeth and then they bite. Hard. Right into your little bird that hasn’t done a thing to them except peep hopefully at them. They seem to think that this is their chance to show their chops (choppers) at VALID LITERARY CRITICISM. Like that’s actually a thing. Like that’s exactly what they should be doing.

Well stop it. If that’s you… close your salivating mouth. Save it for the book review published to much imagined praise in the anals of the New Yorker. (Yes… that is what I meant.) Here’s a tip: YOU ARE NOT HAROLD BLOOM. And even if you are Harold Bloom this is not the time for it. Your basic job, that you have been entrusted with, is to be helpful. No matter how godawful the thing you’re reading actually is you are NOT permitted to say things like ‘why are you wasting my time’ or ‘didactic’ or ‘good lord, you should really think of doing something else.’ You may think these things and that is perfectly fine but your job is to be helpful. You are reading for concept, flow, tension, character. You are reading for compassion. Act that way. Be critically brilliant somewhere else on your own time.

Now I’m sure we’ve all sat in some tiny room at one point or another around a table at which we are being fed piecemeal to the class and masticated by a professor whose own books didn’t sell well enough to avoid having to teach. How did that feel? Good? Nah. I’m guessing it sucked. Was it actually helpful? In my case I can say all it did was puff up my own writerly ego and made it don armor against such stuff. You know how it goes: first it’s “good lord that hurt like lemon juice on a bee sting.” Then it’s like “oh yeah? what the hell do you know you little turd. Wait till I get a chance to review YOUR stupid story…”

Do not give a writer an excuse to grow a whopping ego. It’s pretty much the worst offense any writer can ever commit. They start thinking stupid things like ‘I am the author of the universe.’ or worse ‘I made that.’ If you are Beta Reading you first goal should be – really – to help said writer to put down that ego. The ego is the biggest impediment to decent writing there ever was. Which is amazing considering the best writers ever had MASSIVE egos. Maybe that’s why. They somehow managed to put it away while writing then looked upon their own works and thought ‘dang. I’m pretty awesome.’ and then they believed it. As Ricky Roma put it in Glengarry Glen Ross: “your job is to HELP US. Not FUCK US UP.” 61586534_640

To do that you need to have some compassion. Realize that the person behind the excremental piece of trash that you are slogging your way through is trying to do the best they can. They are doing the best they can. AND THEY CHOSE YOU to help make it better. Why? Yes. Because they kind of think you’re at least a little bit awesome. That’s called respect. What happens when you dance around on their blessedly ugly little bird? They stop thinking you’re in any way awesome and now think you’re a total turd out to kill the things they love. And why would they think that? Because you just did. Congrats. Douche.

So have some respect. You wouldn’t go up to a friend who just had a baby and say ‘Awww… Congratulations… but seriously, don’t you think it’s not too late to abort?’ If you are I’m guessing you don’t have too many friends and have gotten used to being punched in the face. And besides, I know you think you were a virgin birth that came borne fully on a sun-beam to the tune of angels but really you came out kinda tiny and gross just like the rest of us. Harold Bloom might be a titan of literary criticism but at one point he too was a geeky little book nerd and you still aren’t him. So have a little humility and appreciate when someone wants you to read. Take it seriously. If you don’t think you can reign in that penchant for critical brutality (or worse yet, think it’s somehow necessary to ‘toughen someone up’ – sadist) then DON’T AGREE TO DO IT. It’s that simple.

Categories: Mystery, Writing | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , | 4 Comments

Right writing

You’ve probably popped in here to get my long-awaited words of wisdom on plot. Yeah, sorry to disappoint but that post has been delayed yet again. Just think how insightful it will be when I actually do get around to it though! Nope. This one is about getting it right. That’s pretty much the be-all-end-all of what you’re writing. Write right. Hemingway once said something about it. His idea when he sat down to his little moleskine notebooks was to write one true sentence. Tim O’Brien took that theme a little further in his section on war stories in The Things They Carried. Buddhism has hammered it into maxims that I am constantly forgetting: right speech, right thought, and then I lose track.

Write right.

I know what you’re probably going to say: “But, dude. I write about vampires and stuff.” I don’t care. Get it right. You can’t possibly tell me that your four hundred year old bloodsucker is perfectly fine with taking his senior year over again for the three hundredth time. That’s the trick.

Now here’s the extra crispy corollary to that trick: You Will Fail. Actually You Must Fail. One of the most charming and amazing thing about reading Hemingway, to me anyway, was how his characters failed so beautifully. If you’ve read A Moveable Feast it isn’t too hard to see how Hem himself failed gloriously. It takes an amazing amount of talent to wrap your most painful failure between two covers and publish it posthumously. What a jerk. Failure, after all, is its own amazing truth. It’s right, in other words.

Now, not content to stick completely to one topic I’ll tell you why this is so important. See, I spent a good long time farting around with my writing: plonking out little stories where and when they’d strike me. I was sort of aimless. Y’know? Just putting words on the page, whipping up some characters with some stuff and throwing them in a blender and seeing what came out. It wasn’t a lot of fun, actually, but it was writing and that enabled me to call myself A Writer. Yes. In caps. Just like that. A Writer can scribble away for hours in coffee shops. A Writer has an opinion on books that you must listen to because he’s A Writer.

Uh huh.

The thing is, I kind of cracked my mind a few years ago and after that just cranking out any old story wasn’t good enough. I wanted to write the stories that I actually felt and frankly I wasn’t really feeling any of them. I could make it look like I did and – just to polish my own beret – some of them were pretty good. So once I got my head back together I started working on stuff again. At first it was simple little stuff. The Short Man. Just a little story about a detective trying to find a killer. But it fit. And it fit well. It might not have been terrific but it fit well. And it was a hint of something that was… yep you guessed it. Right.

Now I’m not saying that it was true. In fact, I really didn’t know shit about writing mysteries. Truth be told I still don’t. I really don’t think anybody does. Mysteries are messy, which is why writers are constantly reinventing them and why defense attorneys are still so mighty popular. You put a guy on the floor with holes in him. How did he get that way? Yep. Sounds simple enough and for some writers that’s where it stops. Intrepid hero finds the bad guy and saves the day. But it’s never that simple as any attorney – prosecuting or defense will tell you. Heck it’s not that simple for a detective. Stand yourself in front of a witness who has every reason in the world to tell you what happened to the dead guy and have them lie to you. You know they’re lying. Why in god’s name are they lying? And that’s just one aspect of an investigation, right?

Well that’s what I mean by getting it right.

After a while with my detective I realized that I could make this thing sing. Maybe you don’t see it if you’ve read them, but – again being honest here – I don’t care. I feel it. I can see the potential and I want to get it better, why? Well it’s simple. But before I get to that let me hop back one more little step to explain something else about me.

I tend to yell at the tv a lot. And the radio in my car. Which I foolishly keep on the news. That should tell you something about the dire state of musical radio in Milwaukee that I’d rather listen to the news. One of the things I yell most often (a running theme of my rants of which my cats are avid listeners) is that none of it is actually helpful. In fact, it’s the opposite of helpful. Which is hurtful. Thanks. I know. I’m getting to that. And lately I’ve been feeling that way about fiction and TV too. I grew up in a time where… well… they created characters like Magnum, Indiana Jones, Han Solo. We were outside until dark when we could be and hated rainy days because it meant being forced to play boardgames with your brother or *Gasp* share your toys with them. Which meant sharing your world. Yikes. The Horror. I know you’ve heard all this claptrap halcyon days shit before. I won’t bore you with it. But my point is that it was – hell – it is good to look at guys like Magnum, who always tried to do the right thing, and want to be that guy some day.

We now live in a world that loves to believe its much more complicated. Somehow we’ve come to believe that we’re deeper, wiser, more intricate. Fact is, it’s the same world but we’re sorely lacking in folks to help guide us through it. That, I believe, is what makes us think it’s a lot more complicated. It makes us feel better that our problems are bigger than us. We’re helpless little waifs in a dangerous, wolf infested world. But it’s really a damned lie. It’s the same world only more people are out there shouting wolf all over the place and keeping our heads spinning. Yes. There are wolves. There always are but it’s getting a little hard these days to tell a wolf from a poodle and while you’re waiting for some gibbering head to tell you which is which your sheep are all gone.

And that’s where I pull this long segue back to writing. I figured I could do it right. Right by me and right by the world I wanted to help make by writing. I wanted good people. I wanted people who worked hard to be good, honest, right, true. Sure Meg’s a smarmy wise-cracking detective but I know there is some part of her that believes in the good she’s doing. But that’s not to say she’s a starry-eyed upholder of the red white and blue. No, she’s seen far too much for that, and so have we, but that doesn’t give us the permission to be exhausted by it. That’s what I mean about right. Write right. Write true and keep in mind the world you want to create, a world you may feel is slipping by the wayside. Meg’s my avatar to hold back the crap i yell at on the TV.

So that’s what I’m doing and some folks are going to say ‘that’s not realistic. Realistic is gritty, dirty, putting a jaundiced eye on the ugly things in the world and not flinching.’ I say that’s bullshit. People flinch. They should flinch. They should turn away from the awful things in the world. Witness doesn’t mean staring vacantly at the terrible. It means being human – being affected. It means you didn’t want to see but you did and now you’re just a little bit haunted by it. I’m not interested in being presented with the realistic on a silver platter. What sort of horrible platter is that anyway? ‘here folks, it’s a yummy four course dinner of pain and suffering, get used to it because tomorrow you get more of the same until you insist it’s steak tartar.’ Screw that. Resist the awful. But be right and true.

Now I’m not saying ‘go forth, minion writers and create an army of captain america’s to fight the demons that plague us.’ Nope. I guess I mean: unless you’re ready and able to stand over a slaughterhouse without batting an eyelash don’t pretend that the slaughter is just okey-dokey, or that ‘hey, this is really going to be an awesome motivator for my main character’. Unless you’re willing to chat with the devil and shake his hand don’t pretend you are. Write what you feel and make it true. If it pisses you off enough to yell at your television, put that into your characters, your plot, your settings but work really hard to be true to them too. Seek that authenticity if you can. If you write about firefighters get out there and talk to some. If you write about soldiers, find some. If you write about housewives, etc. Take whatever they tell you and put it through your own experiences. How do YOU feel about this or that. That’s what I’ve been preaching about with the seminar’s I’ve written about and the TV Shows i bitch about.

Think about why you’re writing. Ooh. There’s another eightfold path thing! Right action. If you’re motivated by adoring fans and people being dazzled by your riches and awesomeness please try to think deeper about what you’re doing. You are creating worlds. You’re creating readers. You’re creating the taste by which you’ll be enjoyed. Someone famous said that. Byron maybe?

Shelley once said ‘Poets are the unacknowledged legislators of the world’. Sad thing about that is we’re doing about a good a job of it as the actual legislators of the world.

If you ask yourself the question ‘why am I writing this’ and the answer is ‘cuz buff dudes with swords are cool’. Try again. You can still have fun but make it matter. Trust me: its way better when it actually matters. It’s even more fun.

Oh yeah, and Fail – but make it worth failing at.

Categories: Deep Thoughts, Mystery, Writing | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

The Long Delayed NaNo post.

The last time i got through NaNoWriMo i tried to blog every day while i was working on what i shall now euphemistically call ‘The Thing’. This year i’m just lollygagging my way through and enjoying the view from the lofty heights of novelling. What’s the difference? Well i’m a heckuva lot less neurotic about the whole thing for one thing. Last time it was a brawl. A fight. An epic battle. I’d never done one before and i was sort of out of the writing game seeing as i was recovering from… well… recovering from something.

This year i’ve been there before. The novel i worked on never got finished. it may someday, but it’s doubtful. It wasn’t about finishing the novel, though, and that’s the big thing. I was stuck. A lot of things had happened since the last time i scooped up the pen (or keyboard) and i didn’t quite know how to get anything kickstarted. Nano changed that, in a good yoda-on-your-back, yeah-just-you-try-to-pull-that-xwing-from-the-mud, sort of way. So good, but brutal.

NaNo isn’t supposed to produce Ulysees. Any idiot who thinks that is the point had better not start or they will risk thirty days of madness probably followed by thirty days of rehab. It’s about doing it. Just doing it. Putting words on the page. Making characters, listening to their stories and working furiously to get it out before those characters disappear and you never even get a postcard from them. Unfortunately i’ve been hearing a lot of garbage to the contrary this year. I’ve been hearing about the aspirations of the young and the writerly are unworthy – how they should just stop, reconsider, do something else, play tennis, sing karaoke, anything but bother with struggling over words.

I’ve read at least three different articles from three different twits complaining that NaNo deluges the literary world with an army of wannabes and neverwills. Now these articles are awfully clever, well written, crammed with the zingers and belly-rumbling witticisms we’ve come to expect from the legions of post grad lit scholars who’ve bombarded the interwebs with their polished artillery shells. They’re so. much. fun. to. read. And even more fun to blow raspberries at and ignore entirely. ’cause basically, who gives a rats ass? Well… folks who’ve dumped a stupid amount of money and ten years of their lives studying words and the construction of literature do, of course. Because if anyone could do it, what the hell did they spend all that money on?

Well i spent about half that studying words. I work in a cubicle farm. I get paid in peanut shells (yes, shells – no peanuts inside) and bile. And dammit i’m a writer. Yeah sure. He’s a writer. I made a grand total of thirty five dollars writing last year. But you know what? I write. I write because that’s what i do. I get home from my awful job after an awful commute through awful clogged, dreary, usually dark streets and i put myself in my awful little writing studio and i sit down and write for nothing. NOTHING. Why? Because i have to hit 50000 words in a month. I have to write. I have to. There’s just nothing else. It’s that or an awful lot of drinking.

So to those of you who made it and shove your anvils of caustic wisdom from the clouds of your brilliant precipice upon which the literary light shines, congrats. Kudos. Clap. Clap. Job well done. Now do as you’ve always done in times of high literary stress – devour each other. The rest of us schlubs have work to do. We’ll write our Nanos. Our silly little fiction about dragons, and wizards, and oversexed ninja gargoyles, our Doctor Who Fan Fiction. Why? For the same damned reason people sing Karaoke. To sing. Not to be a damned professional with an opinion. I think the world has quite enough of those.

Categories: Fiction, Uncategorized, Writing | Tags: , , , , , | Leave a comment

Please Pardon the Following Rant

My Printer is the example of why Capitalism does not work like it’s supposed to. I am not a dumb buyer. I do my research – sometimes to the point of paralysis which results in my pocketbook’s being happy because it is not thereby emptied of it’s contents. So, in purchasing my printer – An HP POS – i did as i usually do: I researched the hell out of it. My criteria was reliable printing, wireless, and ease of finding cartridges. The reviews and customer junk said that the HP was, well, adequate. I wanted a little better than adequate. So i was looking at the Epsom – little more spendy but i’d heard many good things about them in the past.

I went to the store (this was two or three years ago now) and was chatted up by an apparently knowledgeable salesperson who advised that the Epsom is a good printer but it was hard to find replacement cartridges and people had reported issues with the printing. So, on his sage advice, i went with the HP. And i have cursed him and his family ever since.

See this is how it works. The Epsom is a better printer. But they had too many HP’s in the back room and there was a sales push going on to push HP products. Which means, essentially, that the bastard lied to me to pad his paycheck.

Yes. The Cartridges are easy to find. Which is a good thing because i apparently need a shit load of them to keep the effing thing running. As far as the reliable printing business goes – yeah. Its laughable. I can hit the print button and sometimes a full 24 hours goes by before the thing actually prints. I’m not kidding. There have been times when i have been sitting on the couch in disgust a day later, watching TV and all of a sudden the Printer gets the bright idea to print yesterdays work. Which it does happily as though expecting a little pat on the head and an ‘attaboy’.

Now i don’t blame the printer – who’s actual print quality leaves a lot to be desired as well. It tries. It’s not it’s fault that it was born a POS. I blame the salesperson. In a ‘FREE’ market, driven by supply and demand my demand was for the best printer i could get. His demand was to sell me the thing that was going to pad his pocket which was driven not by supply (as he had the Epsoms in stock). This is called manipulation. Maybe it isn’t the grand scale manipulation we all have seen and know and loathe but it is still manipulation. If this actually WAS a free market economy based on quality of product and customer satisfaction HP would be out of business because their product blows. But it isn’t, you see. The market is not even remotely free. This sort of jiggering (which folks frequently refer to as sales) happens on every conceivable scale of the market and at every level.

So i ask you – how is it free? If free is a post apocalyptic world of barbarians brawling each other over scraps, or the baser instincts of human nature run amok then yeah – it’s a free market. Free as in L’etat c’est moi free. Free as in ‘of course you’re not COMPELLED to buy this thing, but we’re not going to tell you that you have any other options and we’re going to do our damnedest to make sure you never ever ever ever know about the other options available to you. So yeah, you can go with the other guy… whatever his name is.

Now don’t get me wrong. Capitalism is a great idea. A terrific idea. As good as an idea that proposes that all people are equal and should have a slice of the pie so that they can survive and maybe even thrive and pursue that terrific happiness (whatever that is – i can sell it to you right here for 30.00 bucks. What? You’ve heard you can get it somewhere else for 20.00? Nonsense. No i don’t know what that’s called. Sounds like a scam to me.) Nope. It’s a terrific idea. I love it. It has elements of natural selection in it, and the bizarre twisting vagaries of human desires in it – who knows what people will want if you just show them. In it’s purest form it tingles the senses of a righteous machination that is fully lubed and hums along merrily. Supply and Demand, Life and Death, Kill or Be Killed, The Law of the Jungle… I love it. But just ask a wolf in alaska under the shadow of a hovering helicopter how it feels about the law of the jungle. If he could speak i think he might say something about ‘Oh. It’s a great law. But i think the rules are a bit rigged in your favor, sir. If we were ACTUALLY on equal footing, well… That spot under your chin looks might tasty.’

But some folks are going to say – well that’s the way it works. The strong survive. The weak get shot by a helicopter or buy crappy printers and then bitch about it. Sure. I get that. That doesn’t mean i have to like it. And where does that leave us? If the strong survived on it’s own merits, as i mentioned earlier, that little HP would be pummeled by the wolves of the Epsom. But that HP had an ace – a circling salesman with a backlog of HP’s that he needed to sell. He swooped around when he saw me coming and all the things i had at my disposal – enough speed to do research, teeth, keen eyes, ears to hear him coming, didn’t do me a damned bit of good.

So the population survives in the free market – much like the world. There are more HP’s in the back room than there are Epsoms. More HP’s means more sales OF HP’s, which means more money FOR HP, which means they can hire more salespeople to sell them and promotions to promote them and as long as that goes along as it should – more more more more – then anything better doesn’t have a chance. (Whaddya mean better? HP is the most popular printer on the market. It had the most sales of any other printer in it’s class last quarter, just lookit it. It’s pretty. And they made sure you can get your cartridges ANYWHERE, don’tchaknow.)

You might as well stay in the trees. Either that or make damned sure all salespeople are muzzled and chained to a wall. Yeah. I mixed up my metaphors there for a second. It’s a RANT. Let it go.

Categories: Uncategorized | Tags: , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Blog at