I know what you’re thinking. “Enough with the worthy but dull Web Standards stuff, Bruce. Give us some bile. Vent some spleen. Publish a rant”. Well, gentle readers, to celebrate the Feast of Saint Tracey and the Immaculate Surfboard, here’s a special triple rant that’s been building up for a couple of weeks.
I FUCKING HATE: –
The Saturday Guardian magazine
I read the Guardian because I’m a lily-livered bleeding-heart liberal. Always have done. I like to be fed doom and gloom stories about global warming. I want reports of obscure conflicts in countries I’ve never heard of, which manage to give me the feeling that I’m somehow personally reponsible for the misery and poverty.
So what’s with the fucking glossy Saturday mag? It’s full of fashion for chrissakes. It’s completely superfluous, as every woman who reads the Guardian either has cropped hair because they’re a Social Worker or a lesbian (generally both), or they have long hair with split ends and a centre-parting. Regardless of hair, they all wear tie-dyed batik and sandals. They’re school teachers, for fuck’s sake, and in my experience, teachers care about fashion as much as Human Resource directors care about humans. I know; I used to be one.
The Guardian mag also has a page devoted to “natural medicines”. It might as well have a page devoted to the Flat Earth society. I don’t want to divert into a side-rant about homeopathy, but let’s just point out that, of all people who die of causes other than accident or old age, up to 99.7% die because they took water with an alleged trace of some daft herb instead of proper medicine. Guardian editor: you are risking your readers’ lives! Stop it!
Anyway, the main rant-inducing bit of the Guardian Saturday magazine is the really smug section called “Let’s move to ..“. This week it’s Romania, which is (according to the breathless prose of their feverishly-wanking author)
“the nippiest little investment opportunity in Europe”.
What a load of mean-spirited bollocks. Houses are not “investment opportunities” – they are homes, and they are also part of communities. All that’ll happen is that loads of fashionably-dressed (and thus uncomfortable-looking) Guardian readers will buy second homes, and even when they die because pricey flower water failed to cure their diseases, the locals will be priced out of ther market and unable to afford to live in their own areas.
Nice one, Guardian.
Companies that don’t reply to job applicants
We live in a busy world. Time is money, but politeness costs nothing, my mum used to say. Particularly these days when it takes a second to send an email and HR directors have assistants (by law, aeroplane blondes who make up with Argos sovereign rings what they lack in academic achievement) to send their emails for them.
So I applied for a web developer job that sounded interesting (must be Standards, accessible blah blah). And waited. A week. Two weeks. A month. I heard nothing. I sent an email asking for feedback on my obviously unsuccessful application. I heard nothing. I phoned and spoke to the HR director who told me that my current salary was higher than they were offering, and therefore they’d offered the job to someone else.
How rude is that? How difficult is it to reply to an email an say “Dear Mr Lawson, unfortunately we want someone with really advanced skills but wish to pay them tuppence ha’penny. So you haven’t got the job”.
Fucking charming. They didn’t publish the salary they were offering and so I wasted my time writing the application. They can’t be arsed to acknowledge it, although it takes no time and it costs nothing. Not only is it completely fucking rude, it’s also bad business. HELLO BUSINESS PEOPLE!!!! – people who apply for jobs with you don’t live in a vacuum. They may very well be customers of yours, and take exception to your monumental arrogance. Next time I get the urge to hire a consultant to help me with social and economic development “challenges”, I won’t be phoning Ecotec, that’s for bastard sure.
Still with me? Right…
Fuckwits who use TXTSPK
We all make typos from time to time. But I get really pissed off by people who think it’s kewl to write on a keyboard like they’re texting with a mobile.
Take, for example, a recent comment defending Eric Clapton from a previous rant of mine:
man, u reall should get help or smthing.. so ur critising music by “how hard is it to play” omg … dont critise someone who rly is better than u
Now, what’s the point of spelling “you’re” as “ur”? How much time does it save? Let’s be honest about this: if you’re the kind of person who listens to Eric Clapton’s mawkish whinnyings, you’re a sad twat whose life is an empty void stretching from now until your unnoticed, unlamented death, and therefore you don’t need to save time. You’ve got all the damn time in the world (just no friends or chance of a sexual partner). It’s just stupidity or laziness on your part. Either way, fucking stop it.
That goes for all of you.
Over and out.
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