I should be reading The Lacuna right now. I have book club in three days and I haven’t read a single one of the 500+ pages yet. In my defense, I’ve turned into a phlegmbot, and my cold leaves little time for activities other than nose-blowing, whining, and trying to purchase a packet of Sudafed (this last is harder than boarding a plane when your name is on the no-fly list).
[Dairy-related aside: I’m riding out this megacold in my home-state of Wisconsin, America’s Dairyland, no matter how hard California tries to rob us of our crown–you have enough, California!–so was thrilled to see this New York Times piece suggesting the link between phlegm and dairy may not be so sound.]
Back off, California.
Available reading-time is largely devoted to the apartment listings on the glutted and overwhelming Boston Craigslist (if you’re vacating your fantastic but reasonably priced Boston-area apartment, hit me up!), and reading reviews of area realtors. As with most review-based online experiences, I like to read the terrible/one-star reviews first. This isn’t to poison me against opportunity, rather it feels like a sort of insurance–the loonier the poor-review-givers (The soap was waaay too sudsy!), the easier it is to dismiss their complaints (“[Moby Dick is] is too nautical for me.”) and proceed with confidence.
This spelling error did more than any favorable review to make me want to stay here.
The difference between the largely-bonkers online commenting community (YouTube commenters–what happened to you in your life to make you this way?) and the populist reviewing culture on sites like Amazon and Yelp comes down to intent. Sure, plenty of reviewers are vindictive, poorly informed, or just like the sound of their own voices, but I’d wager that even more of them review because they want to share something they love, and they want to, well, help people. And they have helped me! They’ve enabled me to buy plenty of books I was probably going to purchase anyway, but to do so more impulsively and with just a shade more anticipation. They’ve helped me avoid hotel rooms in dicey areas and bridal boutiques with especially overbearing salespeople. They’ve sent me to countless restaurants armed with specific ideas of what to order, and how delicious I can expect it to be. I should really start giving back. Why do I put so much faith in these communities of which I’m not, technically, a part? Shouldn’t I do my share to up the number of thoughtful, genuine reviews? I’m going to do this. Contribute! Just as soon as I finish The Lacuna.