Category Archives: Just Weird

Bloggers are from Earth, Blogs are from Webspace

business blogging2

This post just might be a cleverly disguised apology for being a bad blogger, and giving bad excuses as to why this is so. But there are times where blog and blogger just won’t connect. You’re not making an effort any more. They’re hanging out with other blogs and making you question everything you know as real, saying things like, ‘Bachelorette Frog is not supposed to be relatable.’ I know – who is this guy?

These following points are toxic when it comes to you and your blog making it as a couple. If you’re having trouble connecting with yours, you are not alone – but by admitting your mistakes and realizing that you can change, all is not lost.

LACK OF IDEAS

Andy Milns eats chocolate replica of his brain, London, Britain - 16 May 2012

Aaah that old chestnut, she says, using a really tired cliché. This ‘I have no ideas’ claim is a common issue, but really is no excuse.  Coming up with ideas is what the whole writing/blogging shabang is all about, yet I can sit there and ponder for 4 whole minutes and still nothing of any worth is produced. I consider writing about rain, that sucks, right? Christmas, that’s a big thing. And how about when an orange peels off all in one? Satisfying.

Many a lecturer and writer and guru, sexual or otherwise, will tell you that ‘inspiration’ is simply a tiny spark that can appear in the most mundane situation, and you have to capture and nurture it yourself. So if you’re sat watching the TV and that eureka moment spontaneously occurs during a Fruit Pastilles advert – QUICK CATCHIT CATCHITQUICK! That little spark is rare, for me anyway. In contrast, when you’re staring at the wall, mentally rubbing two damp brain cells together – no spark is going to spring from that. Ideas have to be squeezed out of you in this life, squeezed from your inner-most depths! So go look at some birds or something.

Oh... couldn't hurt.

Or that… couldn’t hurt.

ARROGANCE vs DOUBT

annex-march-fredric-dr-jekyll-and-mr-hyde_nrfpt_03

‘Post it…. post it good.’

On those rare occasions that a spark may occur, I then put it out by thinking, ‘But who cares? Who cares what I have to say? And what authority do I have to say it?’ The answer is none – most of us bloggers don’t, LOL. And for that reason, usually, when you write something that you plan to publish to the world (because y’know, the entire planet is reading this), you have to push yourself to be as arrogant as hell to get through it.

Sometimes I picture my arrogant side as the most dick-like contestant on Junior Apprentice – all one eyebrow raised, stood in front of the Shard saying, ‘I may not be published, but boy, do I have books COVERED!’ –  *replaces the dust-jacket on a hardback whilst smirking* – Oh yeah. I am so hired.

Sadly for the progress of Cloud Corinne, my arrogant writing side is often screamed down by the manically paranoid side, who presumes that if I dare to press ‘publish’ on some dull post about hair colour, we will all get Gonorrhea of the eyes – or worse (no one will read it). You will always fight the ‘What if I suck?’ bug in this business, but occasionally you should let Arrogance win. For too long, Self Doubt has reigned supreme over this blog, so nothing ever gets posted. And the world seems drained of colour, I know. It’s tough for everyone.

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COMPARISON

buzz_e_woody

Do you know how many blogs there are out there? I’m going to say six million jabillion as a rough estimate. Whatever I’ve written takes a bashing when it’s compared to not only better quality of content, but pretty font, cool widgets, and an extremely sexy layout, all topped off with 300 comments per post saying things like ‘Oh that is SO YOU! Because I feel I know you because you post regularly, despite having a kid and three other jobs, and dear God, you’re awesome.’

Usual thoughts: ‘Why am I writing this to no one? Someone else, somewhere else is writing better things to other people. I give up right this minute – this minute I say!’ *skids mouse 10 cm*.

This may seem rebellious and totally unhinged, but it can result in your blog being neglected or even feral, and do you want that on your conscience? It will throw up an ad for cheap polyester jumpsuits from Taiwan whenever it’s disturbed, and you drove it to that.

When I see Cloud Corinne all forlorn and dusty like a Furby that wasn’t ever tipped upside down again… because it just always needed ATTENTION and sometimes you just want your Muller Corner in peace without being reminded that you’re crap at mothering… it hits me – I love my blog really. It is my husband but also my child, born out a need to tell everyone stuff that nobody cares about. It’s all a bit sick, really. I am a single woman, yes, but I don’t know what that has to do with anything.

And if you’re writing for yourself in the end – that’s what will keep you coming back, so the comparisons don’t matter.  Fight the drawbacks and you and your blog will skip away on your journey together; you, walking with feet as humans generally do, your blog on your laptop under the safety of your arm, where it will forever stay. Until 2027, when I’m just assuming here but technology will be all, ‘hey, blogs are also hot men now – mostly naked, but others in nice shirts and skinny ties.’

***yes 2027***

x

When Devouring Brains Leaves a Bad Taste

If you were ravaged hideously by your local zombie community, thus becoming zombie yourself, what kind would you be? Personally I’d be your understated office-wear version; the kind that was simply chomped by a roaming corpse whilst queuing for a salad. The bushes would ladder my tights as I dragged my heavy limbs back to work, flung my salad across the photocopier and fed on everyone’s flesh. Because it’s lunchtime, and I’m just your classic zombie office-chic.

Others however, would visualise themselves slightly differently when undead.

I realised this last weekend as I watched a parade of corpses stumble through town during Bristol Zombie Walk 2012. Around Halloween they appear in masses, groping the fronts of buses, stumbling into puzzled living folk and smearing blood all over the windows of KFC. This culminates in Castle Park, where they drink cider from 2 litre bottles and get down to some filthy (because of blood and pus) zombie beats. David Attenborough, despite all his admirable achievements, has missed this spectacle.

But as I absorbed this occurrence and thought, not for the first time since moving here, ‘Bristol is very odd’; I also realized that difference in taste exists among these misunderstood monsters as much as it does between you and I. And I don’t just mean the taste they all share, that being, for brains. I will illustrate as follows:

 More akin to my preferred style, the classic office zombie is not one to be disregarded. Despite the word ‘kill’ written in blood across their notepad, or some spontaneous hula hoop activity, they are what I consider to be the most civilized of corpse-folk.

Demonstrating ‘spontaneous hoop activity’

But then the boundaries start to get weird.

In preparation for this parade, people obviously think, ‘I aspire to be the best kind of zombie. If I were to be zombified, how would I express my ‘swag’?’ And so, through the medium of being dead, they reveal their inner-most selves.

X Some think, I would like to be an example of produce.
Like. A carrot. WITH A TASTE FOR BRAIN.

X Or a nanner. WITH A TASTE FOR BRAIN.

Nanner, we’re just as confused as you are.

 Others choose the often under-represented zombie pensioner community. The bright colours do wonders for their off-green complexion, and the popular layering technique hides oozing flesh wounds with ease.

 Then there’s true style. You can never go wrong with Bridal Couture, and blood soaked lace is really set off by the Autumnal setting. How proud they must be, surrounded by their trembling, decaying family. Let’s all remember, next time 28 Days Later is on Film4, that THEY CAN LOVE.

…and go on to have children and zom-dogs.  

ZomDog JD. There are no limits!

But if when deciding your zombie outfit, you find yourself blushing with shame-induced pleasure, this is where you’ll fit in. This is the downstairs floor of Zombie Ann Summers. This is the blacked-out window store of the Zombie ghetto. Undead, everyone is equal – no matter how sick you were as a living being – so some may decide to slip into the trackies of a deceased, recently-outed paedophile, or another loveable dead celeb… =  X

‘Touch me Jimmy!’ ‘- You’re too old!’ <— actual words that were said

But this zombie season is all about being your own hero, especially a dead one. Anything is possible in the afterlife/death. Be they Olympic heroes… =  

…SUPERheroes  

…Supreme beings (but dead) 

Or your most disturbing childhood toy! X – all idols can be paid homage.

Then, dotted in amongst the norm come the vom-zombies. This specialist mode of style is for the most hardcore of brain-munchers, and could cause blindness due to volumes of bad taste – unless you enjoy seeing the Stig’s arm being mashed up into his open head. But I predict the standard office zombie would see this as somewhat of a faux-pas – I mean, his bone is exposed to the world X

Then, as my sister (who was visiting, and mildly horrified) and I ducked away and left them all franken-bopping to Fatboy Slim until the early hours, we gave thanks that even non-living minorities are tolerated on the streets of Bristol. Thank you Bristol Zombie Walk 2012 for celebrating the in-styles of the underground zombie community, this Halloween season.

For way better photos than I managed to take (they staggered past at an annoying pace) you can look here –  BRAINS