The Critic

Craig is at home. He sits at his laptop and begins a new blog entry -- some sort of drivel on the duality of adaptation versus customization -- when he is startled by a knock at the door. He gets up and opens it. Standing before him is a nondescript man who introduces himself as The Critic and asks to come inside.

Craig: No, why? What do you want?

The Critic: I want to talk to you about that drivel you're about to write on adaptation versus customization.

Craig: What? How do you know what I'm writing?

The Critic: May I come in?

Craig pauses to consider before moving to unblock entry into his apartment, and The Critic enters.

Craig: Have a seat.

The Critic looks around the empty apartment, and, seeing nothing conventional on which to sit, sits atop the Schwinn resting against the wall.

The Critic: I don't recall you writing about this bike on your blog, although I do recall you hinting at it.

Craig: I will, I will. I just got the photos.

Craig returns to the floor near where his laptop lies, beckoning with the blinking cursor of its open editor session.

The Critic: Why do you insist on using a Unix text editor to write these blog entries? And why do you continue to use that silly keyboard layout?

Craig: Dvorak? It's superior to Qwerty. I intend to blog about it someday. And Vim too.

The Critic: Good grief. Are you that detached from your audience?

Craig: What? No. What are you saying? I get plenty of positive feedback.

The Critic: Perhaps your friends and family are just polite people.

Craig: I thought you said you wanted to talk about adaptation versus customization?

The Critic: No, I want to talk about your blog entry about adaptation versus customization.

Craig: What about it?

The Critic: Don't write it.

Craig: Why not?

The Critic: It's garbage.

Craig: How do you know? You can't know what's in it. It's not written yet.

The Critic: Right, I don't know what's in it. I know only that these philosophical, uh, treatises of yours are awful. They're dry and humorless, and they're not particularly insightful.

Craig: What about inciteful?

The Critic groans.

The Critic: By the way, please stop trying to be clever.

Craig: But it's my blog!

The Critic: And you ought to be more mindful of your audience. Let's see, for example, quote, I'm not so sure I like this one all that much, end quote. This is a direct quote from your latest entry, and you're referring to your own writing. Maybe you shouldn't have published it in that case, hmm? How terrible, publishing such self-deprecation. Your mother reads this, you know. If you want to rid yourself of your readership like you've ridded yourself of so many other things in order to have, quote, less stuff to worry about, end quote, then you could simply start a new blog under a new name and not tell anyone about it.

Craig: No, no, I like having a readership.

The Critic: That last entry, which, by the way, I must say was far too much rambling, was tripe, through and through. None of your readers are cyclists, and they don't care what the Tour de Camel is, not that you gave any real meaningful description.

Craig: But it wasn't my main point.

The Critic: And what was your main point? The whole thing was terribly vague and uninspired.

Craig: What! Do you read my email?

The Critic: What?

Craig: Never mind.

The Critic: You used so many words to say nothing. You could have just written: I went for a bike ride. My head is still in a jumble despite whatever I may say to the contrary. That would have been just enough rambling.

Craig: That's a little mean to say that, I think.

The Critic: Look, I agree that it's a noble goal to write about topics that raise existential questions among your readers. But the question you're actually raising among your readers is whether they'd be better off spending their time not reading your blog.

Craig: That hurts.

The Critic: You're establishing a history of this stuff. I still don't understand the point of your essay on stoicism and epicureanism. It reads like a cross between op-ed and a bs-ed college essay.

Craig: Okay, I admit that one wasn't very good. I figured I would push it out and return to the topic later if needed.

The Critic: Please don't. And no more code dumps. That one on the Rubik's cube simulator was totally irrelevant.

Craig: I just wanted to share. No one has to read it.

The Critic: Don't worry; no one did. Uncool thoughts? These titles of yours are rather more annoying than clever.

Craig: You already criticized me for cleverness.

The Critic: Hmm... the one about introducing yourself as like the list was pretty good.

Craig: Really?

The Critic: Yeah, because it was short. What's with the pictures taken using your cheap phone camera? They're hideous even if they're of a cute dog and a green blob that I take to be a frog. No more phone camera photos.

Craig: Okay, okay.

The Critic: Let's not forget writing about the caveman test when you already wrote about it only last month if not by name. At least have the common decency to use consistent terminology. Are you already forgetting the stuff you've published?

Craig: Yeah, my mistake.

The Critic: I want to tell you to stop copping out by merely posting a link to others' blogs rather than writing your own observations, but maybe that isn't such a bad thing.

Craig: Now that's unfair.

The Critic: The jury summons one was good.

Craig: And?

The Critic: It was good.

An uncomfortable silence ensues. The Critic then stands, stretches, and excuses himself and exits the apartment. Craig sets about returning to writing when there is another knock on the door. Craig answers it expecting The Critic, perhaps for one last quip or maybe because The Critic accidentally left behind his nondescript wallet, and is surprised by the appearance of an unknown man standing before him.

Craig: Who are you?

The Censor: I'm The Censor. I'd like to talk to you about your blog and its display of excessive narcissism and delusional self-importance. May I come in?