Another week of pruning comments from my websites‘ spam filters. Not as good as the previous week, but good enough to make me want to do it again, so here goes.
Here are the gems that Akismet vacuumed up for me this week.
Let’s all sing together.
“As a choral musician myself, I can relate to Br. Mark’s comments. I never had the talent or discipline to be a soloist, but I’ve always loved choral singing. Currently, I sing first soprano with a 75-voice master chorale. The most important skill I’ve learned over my nearly 40 years of singing in choirs is to listen to those around me, to be a complement to the others, to not be a selfish singer of prideful arrogance about my own skill, but to be a generous member that can blend into the totality of the choral sound.”
Right before dropping in a link to knockoff Hermes bags.
“Spring lasagna??! Love this idea!”
I have never published a recipe.
I am not your cousin.
“I was suggested this web site by my cousin. I am not sure whether this post is written by him as nobody else know such detailed about my problem. You are wonderful! Thanks!”
I may well be wonderful, but I assure you that I am not your cousin.
It’s your thing
“No matter if some one searches for his necessary thing, so he/she wants to be available that in detail, thus that thing is maintained over here.”
Go on then…
You must have come across some spam clangers yourself. Any to share?
For years, we believed my eldest aunt’s story about the identity of the white man who got my grandmother pregnant.
Joycelyn was the eldest of my grandmother’s two daughters, and although she was only twelve years old at the time, she was more reliable than anyone else who had given us information. However, no one else had any information for us, so my mother had no choice but to believe.
The very best spam comments on my blogs this week.
I publish a number of websites, and this inevitably means pruning a lot of comments from my spam filters. Most are vile, if I’m honest, but some are silly enough to crack a smile.
Comment spam must be the bane of internet publishing, but it doesn’t seem to be going anywhere any time soon, so here are some gems that Akismet vacuumed up for me this week.
“Tired of debts and loans? I’m tired of working for my uncle? Every weekday reminds you of marmot day?”
Well, I say… this one surprised me. I was genuinely wondering if I’d missed celebrating marmot day this year. This has got to be the best spam comment I’ve had so far, though – I gained an education about rodents and public holidays, which I certainly wouldn’t have gone in search of.
I wonder what this guy’s uncle’s business is about, though; if it’s not marmot wrangling, I’d be disappointed.
“Whooo hoo! That is fantastic news!! THANK YOU for trying it and sharing this lovely review.”
It wasn’t a review post. But glad I got you excited.
“Link exchange is nothing else except it is only placing the other person’s website link on your page at suitable place and other person will also do same in support of you.”
This isn’t groundbreaking information, but the dude then proceeded to leave the longest list of links I’ve ever seen – all for prescription drugs. I put this comment in a suitable place on my site, of course: the bin.
Liposuction costs in case you lose your tough copy.
“You know about them as quickly as yet sent to you, an individual even have digital copies of everything in case you lose a tough copy. You may choose liposuction costs them pertaining to your computer or phone, or to print them out.”
I can only imagine this is a product of Google Translate, but seeing how many spam comments are left in Cyrillic, I might be missing out on stacks of comedy gold… so thanks, weird spam dude, for attempting English.
Go on then…
You must have come across some spam clangers yourself. Any to share?
As artists or writers, we are taught conventions and traditions of thought and practice. In fact, I should go back to the start – as human beings, we’re taught to follow conventions and traditions.
People work well with established routes towards fixed outcomes because they’re efficient and they make us feel safe. Clichés, stereotypes, tropes, archetypes, whatever – the repetition of a recipe is attractive because we know what we’re likely to get before we start, and we don’t like to fail.
There are many benefits to be had from learning the rules and why they’re there; in fact, I’m a firm believer in knowing the ins and outs of your craft in order to be able to know the best way to break the rules to get the results you want.
I speak and write Bajan whenever I like, with the firm knowledge that my spoken and written English is very good. I paint in a very traditional way because I enjoy the process and the meticulous frame of mind it puts me in. I know the rules and when to ignore or incorporate them.
My problem with traditions comes when they restrict thought, and even worse, rip you off.
Tradition is just marketing in disguise.
Most of us make purchases blindly, because of the way it makes us feel. It’s not just the rush of having new stuff, it’s the sense of becoming a part of a tribe or a family – the sense of belonging.
When you’re a visual artist, you tend to cultivate your sense of belonging through your chosen medium, but beyond that, you place yourself at the end of the long line of artists, some of whom have become cultural titans.
Some of these names are trotted out to sell everything from chocolates to cars. The cultural capital wielded by the names of long-dead famous artists is immense, and if you want to think of yourself as using the same material as them, therefore being like them – belonging with them – then you’ll surely pay a premium for it.
Really, tradition for tradition’s sake is a huge money-waster.
For example, you can buy a party dress for a few pounds, but a wedding dress will set you back an awful lot, despite the fact that any dress you wear to your wedding is a wedding dress.
You can buy materials from a hardware store and knock up a “masterpiece” (another term redolent of unhelpful tradition, but that’s another story), but you can get fleeced in an art supply store and come away with little more than a sense of belonging in the club. That’s not to say that there aren’t many specialised artists’ materials that are worth their price, but too often there’s more than a hefty premium for the right branding.
How many products can you think of that have nothing to do with art, but bear the name of a famous artist? How often have you seen the Italian Renaissance referenced in aid of entirely inappropriate clobber, or French impressionists plastered across incongruous tat? Start in the museum or gallery shop, and end in the second hand car dealership.
The trouble with tradition is the appropriation of cultural highlights for commercial gain.
I found a masterpiece in the loo at work, for example. Duchamp was not the artist being referenced.
Traditions are like a cozy duvet, but most of us who are able aim to get out of bed at some point during the day.
Tradition for its own sake is ancestor worship.
Personally, I don’t understand the appeal of doing things you don’t like and being with people you don’t like in places you don’t like because it’s traditional – that’s just doing things to keep dead people happy. Really, being overly dependent on received methods of working, thinking and acting is a sure way to be restricted, unhappy and broke.
I enjoy art and writing that understands its place in history, its influences and its roots. This doesn’t mean it has to be a pastiche; on the contrary, knowing where you’re starting from can help you to define where you want to land.
I was reminded of the inevitability of aging as I was happily bussin’ a wine to Arrow singing “Long Time”… although to be specific, it wasn’t so much the wining that was my undoing as the jumping up and down to the bit where he goes “oh oh, long time!”
I went from “oh oh” to “aye aye” when I came down and nearly dislocated my left knee. I had to style it out as I didn’t want my sudden infirmity to become apparent to anyone else in the house and was reduced to chipping for the rest of the song. And it’s a surprisingly long song.
Jump, skin out and wine up yuh body? More like jump, skin out and sit down.
Ah, for the days when I could hop around for the entire length of Preacher’s Jump And Wave – but one cannot remain 14 forever. I told my mother and aunt about my mishap via WhatsApp but I didn’t get a single “cuddear” for my pains, just nuff lols. I suppose they’ve been through it themselves, and to be fair, I did choose a fairly ancient song to make me catspraddle so I suppose it was funny.
Now, for anyone who moves away from home, there is a lot of comfort to be had in the soca from their childhood or young adulthood. We don’t like to let go. Krosfyah was part of my 90’s but Arrow was part of my 80’s, and the 80’s made some soca classics that keep hotel bands going up to now. So I was taking it way back… but this nostalgic trip became too literal.
The word ‘nostalgia’ comes from the greek words ‘nostos’, meaning ‘return home’, and ‘algos’, meaning ‘pain’. Hence, ‘homesickness’. I think I had my share of pain for my mental trip back to my youth, so from now on I might have to stick to listening to Gabby singing “Emmerton”.
I always end up crying, but at least I won’t be limping too.