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March 21, 2006
Disturbing Amazon Reviewers
It's been a very exciting time here at Casa Pain Management. First, I found out that my computer-related injuries, charmingly called "mouse arm" here in Sweden, may be carpal tunnel syndrome and may require surgery. (Kids, don't ignore those twitches.) Then my lower back turned on me. It was something like the scene in Alien in which everything appears to be fine, until one of the crew members starts screaming in agony and an ugly critter bursts out of his abdomen. No alien actually clawed its way out of my back, but it sure as hell felt like one was trying.
After several days of bed rest and effective if boring drugs, I'm back, temporarily at least, at the computer armed with three things: a headset, a voice-recognition program and a substitute-swear-word regimen created by my daughter (my pain-provoked outbursts didn't impress her much). I'm allowed to say ship, kit or cheddar but shit is officially off-limits. As it should be, since it's not included in the vocabulary of my program. (I'm going to try to teach it, but don't tell her.)
Anyway, late last night I stumbled upon the dark spawn of Jeff Bezos' community-building tactics: disturbing Amazon reviewers. These are reviewers who appear to be twisted, cranky or worse. I know tons of people have spent practically their entire lives analyzing Amazon and its citizen reviewers but not me. So I was unprepared for the amount of raw weirdness masquerading as chirpy reviews.
Today's featured reviewer uses her real name on Amazon, but it would be mean to include it here. Read the excerpts below and then judge for yourself: Is Reviewer X scary, sad or refreshingly feisty?
From review of Astro Turf: The Private Life of Rocket Science by M.G. Lord:
"This little book tells all about the unlikely beginnings of the JPL, going from science fiction to science fact. My son is a patsy for NASA and takes large groups of young people on tours at this Lab and they stay for days on end. He too will feel what it is to die young when they think he knows too much.
"Like Ms. Lord's grandfather whose door would not open, but two others escaped, before the train demolished the car and dragged him a long way down the track. Her father was only 46 when he died but he looks like an old man. That's what leaks from nuclear and atomic production will do for you. Maybe Jeff will last one more year. He's already having false heart attack symptoms."
Poor Jeff. His life can't be easy. From a review of An Unfinished Marriage by Joan Anderson:
"She feels that 'true learning comes from our own impulses' -- please! When will this person grow up? This book is her sequel. 'Every beginning is always a sequel, after all, and the book of events is always open halfway through.' If her marriage was so bad that she had to go to sea for a year, I wonder what Robin did while she was gone. He'd be a fool to languish in his new job, wondering where he had gone wrong; could be she was the person responsible for all the mess. She was like a peregrine falcon who scavenges off others or perhaps a green-winged teal, called a wigeon. She was not a normal woman, not forgiving and understanding. A man goes where his job is. Christine refused to follow Jeff to his job until she got pregnant. Joan was too old for that ploy."
From a review of the audio CD of High Plains Tango: A Novel by Robert James Waller:
"The Indian Flute Player, like son Jeff, charms the desert animals around the ceremonial fires. Carlisle fights city hall (if there be such in the western small towns) and this one is forever changed by one man. There is a triangle with a waitress in addition to the woman he calls a witch, which makes it decidely uneven. Carlisle, after all, is college educated, but like all men like to indulge in the lower-class women on occasion."
Last but not least from a review of Talk to the Hand: The Utter Bloody Rudeness of the World Today, or Six Good Reasons to Stay Home and Bolt the Door by Lynne Truss:
"My pet peeve is the noisy popcorn eater at the movie theaters. Since it would be counterproductive to complain to the manager, as the theaters get big bucks for those supersize containers of popcorn, I've had to just get up and leave. No one can enjoy a movie when the person sitting behind him continues to chomp on their popcorn without regard to the other moviegoers after a certain time. If I have a small popcorn which I can't consume during the loud previews, I save the rest to eat later in private. Not many people would be that thoughtful; they paid for it and they will eat it as they please. Manners has nothing to do with it -- it is their right."
Gentle reviewer, I beg you: just once, finish your popcorn. It might help.
Posted by Deborah Branscum at 02:01 PM | Comments (0)
March 14, 2006
How to Comfort an American Wife
Say good morning to wife, the wife from Northern California who complained last night that her waist has been crimped by wool tights, long underwear, or long pajamas 24/7 since late October.
Blithely ignore fact that previous efforts to cheer her up about Swedish winter ended in near disaster. In bold, evasive maneuver, pick up morning paper just before she reaches it and read aloud from article on weather. Shield page so wife cannot read potentially alarming headline: “March May Be Coldest Since 1942.”
Point out, helpfully, that there has been only 78 days of snow and ice on the ground in Stockholm this year, nothing like the record 149 days of snow and ice during the winter of 1969. Notice wife wincing. This, add quickly, means snow started falling much, much earlier in 1969, not that there is potentially eight more weeks of ice and snow destined for Stockholm this year.
Point out, helpfully, that the average temperature this month has been a piddling -6.4° Celsius, nowhere near the record-setting -9.6°C average of the especially chilly winter of 1942. Skip over parts of article that mention long underwear, cold front over the weekend, and effect of ice layer on overall temperatures. (No point in reminding wife that ice build-up at back entrance of apartment building makes it impossible to fully open building door.)
Put on thick parka over warm clothes and kiss distracted wife goodbye. As you leave apartment, notice wife gazing out the window. She has spotted seagulls on the roof of the building across the courtyard. They remind her of the seagulls in San Francisco and the East Bay. The birds have been missing for months, and now they're back.
Your wife smiles.
Posted by Deborah Branscum at 11:21 AM | Comments (0)