As a web developer I have very strong opinions about what a site should or shouldn’t do. If I’m frustrated with a site, I don’t come back to it. Unless I literally can find the information nowhere else. But if I’m forced to put up with a site, I will turn on it and spread my hatred.
Now, let’s say there is a site that goes by the name “AsiaPeerSharing.” Said site requires a membership to gain access to their content. That’s fine. I have a bazillion spam email accounts. I’m used to that type of behavior.
Then I click on the registration link and I’m taken to a page that tells me I have to turn off my ad blocking. They claim it’s to keep their site free, well it’s not. It’s to make their site hated. Apparently don’t understand their users. If a person has AdBlock, they added it. They hate ads so much that they went out of their way to get rid of them. Shoving ads down the throat of a person who does not want ads is poor form. Making someone look at ad when they don’t want to is not going to induce that person to click on it. Most ad revenue is based on a click. So you aren’t getting any money that way.
There are other ways to get revenue. Pop ups. Obnoxious evil, vile things. That’s what I expected when I turn off my adblocker to register for this site. What I got was a billion times worse. In order to register, I had to fill out a “survey.” And by “survey” I mean add my email to a spam bank. I also had to agree to “receive promotional emails from this site and trusted partners” in order to complete any of the surveys. They required my name, my street address, and my email address to finish the survey. It’s disgusting.
If someone is smart enough to have adblock they are also smart enough to give a fake email address, street address, and name. Do they seriously think that any one gains from this. I’m angry and I’m upset to the point that I’m ranting about this. The spam bank gains nothing except a fake email and address. The site the put up the ads loses all credibility as they’ve tied themselves to a spam bank. I post my rant and discourage others from using this evil service. Sure the site got a few cents off me, but now I feel like their greedy scum and I’ll avoid their site at all costs. Idiots.
I understand the purpose of ads and I have ads on my own site. But I will not force ads on someone who hates them. I don’t want the animosity of my readers so they are low-key. I may not get much revenue, but at least the revenue I’m creating is genuine. People click on my ads because they interested in the product. Not because they are forced to click on the ad. The advertiser is happy because someone is interested in their product. The reader is happy because they found something worth clicking on out of their own perogative. I’m happy because I got some money to offset hosting costs. People with adblock are happy because they have no idea they were supposed to see an ad.
Along the same lines of people who force me to view ads are the people who force me to listen to music when I visit their site. If I want to listen to music, I will turn it on myself. I don’t want to music to come on when I’m not expecting it. I don’t care if you are musician or just a fan. You ask me first! Or I’ll adblock your stupid musical widget and rant about you. And if I can’t adblock it, I’ll never come back.
Best way to drive away fans ever. Seriously, if I come to your homepage and find a song playing, I won’t click on another link. I won’t investigate your site. I’ll leave. It’s hard enough to find a visitor. This will just make them bounce sooner. If you want to turn them from a passerby to a fan, they need to look past your first page and with autoplay they won’t.
Chances are if you are looking for music, you’re probably already listening to music. I have sound pouring out of my computer at all times. If something plays that I don’t expect, I’ll close the window instead of searching everywhere for the off button.
One site in particular has an autoplay widget in their sidebar. Which mean each time I go to a new page the same song starts playing. I hate the song. Even if I loved the song I wouldn’t want to hear it every five minutes. If you want to stop it you literally have to stop it playing each time you go to a new article. Music players also increase load time by quite a bit, which also increases their bounce rate.
I respectfully asked her to change this as her content is fairly decent:
Deeno: Is there any way that you could disable auto play for your music player. I love your site, but it drives me a bit batty.
The Other Site: Hi MadDino! I can stop the autoplay for my music player but the problem is I have other people who wants the player on. I’ll lower the volume of the player. Here’s what you can do too, once you hear the song playing just click the pause button and the music stops.
Deeno: Stop the song from playing each time I go to a new page? I often listen to other music as I browse the internet. I don’t want to argue or be rude, but the amount of people who are scared away or bounce because of autoplay far outweighs the amount of people who like it. They aren’t vocal because they don’t stay on your site long enough to comment or read a single word. Just a few thoughts as a web developer.
I didn’t want to unleash my full rant so I tried to be brief. I don’t think she’ll actually listen to me, because it’s worked so far for her. She has a decent amount of hits, but I wonder how many people are cursing her name each time they enter her site. I also wonder how many people think she’s a stupid teenager who has no idea what she is talking about.
My next argument will be that if I can turn off the music, the people who can turn it on. If they like it enough they should turn it on themselves and it won’t kill innocent passersby in the mean time. She’s shooting herself in the foot. I shall smite her with my almighty logic.
Nevermind. Apparently my attempts to educate the idiots have failed. She deleted my last comment. And the autoplay is still there and now it’s playing a shrill whiny song that is ten times more obnoxious than the first one. Obviously, she realizes that she doesn’t have the brains to fight my argument so she’ll just bury her head in the sand, singing merrily along while she suffocates.
Sites, please reconsider the image you are showing. You’re being obnoxious. If you stopped doing this perhaps people would like you and stick around because of your content. You’re making your content less valuable, by forcing something that has little to do with your site on your visitors. I hope your databases corrupt and dinosaurs use you backups as chew toys. Sorry, I assumed you were intelligent enough to even keep a backup in first place. That was foolish of me.
I don’t know if I’m the only person like this, but I won’t answer my cellphone unless I know who is calling me or unless I have a good guess. If someone I don’t know wants to get a hold of me they need to leave a message.
Normally I don’t get calls that I have to worry about, but this last week or two I’ve been getting phone calls twice a day from the same number. I don’t answer and they don’t leave a message. Seriously? You can find the time to call me twice a day, but you can’t find the time to leave me a short message? If you left me a message then perhaps I’d call you back or answer the phone when you call back 12 hours later.
It’s annoying that you keep calling me and you are quickly becoming a stalker. Don’t you realize that I’m not going to pick up the phone? If your last dozen calls didn’t make it through then chances are your next dozen aren’t going to make it through either. Especially when you find your calls going straight to voicemail.
Even more suspicious would be when the voicemail changes from
You’ve reached Deeno.
You’re reached Deeno. If you are getting this message it’s because you keep calling me and I don’t know who you are. Leave a message and I’ll consider getting back to you.
Seriously, Mr. Stalker get a hint! I don’t care who you are and at this point even if you leave a message, I’ve already proven that you are an idiot and I don’t want associate with you.
Another pet peeve. What type of person calls you at 9am? No sane person should be awake at that hour, much less waking other people up with their inane phone calls. If you are going to call someone that early, you might as well make sure you don’t have to call them again. By leaving a stupid voicemail.
Everyday I have to wake up at 5am for a class that starts at 8:30. Why would you do such a thing you ask? Well it’s certainly not for my health I can tell you right off the bat. The fact is that if I don’t get to school before the clock strikes 6:00am I won’t find a spot anywhere even remotely close to my school, I might as well go by bus, but then I might or might not make it to class, because bus drivers hate students (because most of us pay less because of a student card) and they pretend that we’re not at the bus stop and just go past us (unfortunately we med-students are easily recognizable with our white uniforms)– those bastards…
anyways parking…so in Mexico we have parking attendants, that aren’t really hired by anybody, they just sort of appear, and “help” you get out of your parking space, by giving confusing directions, which I ignore because I’ve come closer to hitting a car or curb by listening to them than by using the two handy dandy orbs that were given to me by my creator, or what I colloquially call eyes. However these attendants, also “save” parking space, sometimes half a block, for people that pay them extra money to have it saved. of course this is actually illegal, nobody is supposed to “save” any spaces on public parking areas, but these people are somehow immune to the roaming police officers, and continue to save spaces with disregard to public policy.
I don’t believe in paying people for space that is public property, and thereby free of charge so I’ve gotten down and moved the illegally placed cones… unfortunately these attendants are vengeful biatches and I’ve been locked into a space from which I couldn’t move for two hours, also my car has been subjected to bumps and even what looks like a punch on the roof… which makes me want to scream! I hate them and my damn school parking that allows them to appear and demand payment for spots!!!!!!!!!
Why can’t the school friggin’ make a parking structure behind the school on the school owned lots? The land is there, the money is also there, they just friggin gave each school official a raise! why don’t they invest it in the school, instead of being money grubbing officials? and I wouldn’t mind paying an annual fee for that parking lot, I’ve done that in college, at least that way I can get away from the annoying-space-saving-vengeful-dastardly-bastard-parking-attendants, A.K. “viene-vienes” (they’re called that because that’s the phrase they repeat when telling you to back up- literally it means “coming-coming” but they’re really telling you “keep backing up”.)
But no, I have to continue to wake up waaaay before it’s even light here and get my tired ass moving before my brain can function. I hated parking so much I started biking to school but that took an hour for me to get to school, and it makes me paranoid, afraid of getting run over by the crazy drivers. Seriously a lot of my mexican friends make fun of “chinitos” driving, but I think they haven’t seen their own driving, they are crazy, stop signs apparently mean “give a cursory look and continue without stopping.” Also a red light means “if there’s no car coming, gun it and run through it.” Yeah it’s nerve wrecking for a person on a bike, I only did that for a month before I gave that up. So that brings me to having to get to school hours before class begins, hours before the library even opens so I can waste some time there before my class starts.
by: the Princess
This post shall be dedicated to the other ranter with an ATM peeve, Michael.
The ATM is a huge point of social controversy. Apparently, ATM courtesies are not as obviously common sense as I once believed they were. Because of this, I believe these courtesies should be made known to the ATM-using masses.
Proper etiquette has yet to be written down and made available for public consumption. I will volunteer for this weighty task. Why? you ask. Because I’ve had quite enough of ATM improprieties and space invasion.
I always thought that it was common knowledge to give the ATM user his or her space to deal with their personal money matters. When you queue up, you stand several feet back and patiently (or impatiently) wait your turn (with ATM card in hand and ready for quick insertion. Yes, the double entendre was intended.)
Today as I prepared to deposit my checks for the week a man stepped beside me, deposited his paper bag full of Christmas party liquor beside me and took his place a foot behind me. His family followed suit.
I know that they make the screens especially so that they are only available to the user, but WHO in their RIGHT mind, stands directly behind you as you put your pin number in, access your checking and two savings accounts and peruse information that is protected by law?
So I turned around and said politely,” Excuse me, sir. Could you please step back a little bit?”
This very machissimo Latin male was completely affronted and puffed up his chest. “Wha’? You think I’m gonna do some’in?”
I wanted to say, “I don’t know you. How do I know if you’re gonna do something or not?” I knew that if I said that (or anything else), no matter what it was, it would only incur his ire, so I merely stared at him patiently, waiting for him to move back. His wife implored him to move back as we had a staring contest. Finally, he moved back and I went about my business. Then, I turned, thanked him and left. Up yours, asshole.
WHAT THE FUCK?!
Seriously, it didn’t have to be a big deal. Why did his pride have to enter into it? Perhaps he didn’t have the common sense to give me space, but he could’ve graciously moved back and gone about his day with his family.
Instead, he made a fool of himself in front of his wife and child and seriously pissed me the fuck off.
After this posts, I’m calling the bank to have the 10 commandments of the ATM posted on every ATM. You must click, “I accept these conditions,” before being allowed to continue with your business, fuckers.
I worked flippin’ hard for my money and I’ll be DAMNED if an ego-maniacal man is going to get in the way of that.
PS As the dedicatee of my rant, Michael gets his choice of icecream.
by: the Princess
Just to clarify before we begin, I do not have a penis. I was born with a very cruel uterus that hates on me once a month and perfectly functional girly parts. I am positive I’m biologically female (my gynecologist is pretty sure, too). I don’t want a penis. I don’t need anything dangling between my legs. I don’t want to adjust anything when I sit down.
So why in the world do I get at least 10 junk mails a day asking if I want to enlarge my penis? Didn’t I just say I didn’t want anything between my legs? Why would I want to make it bigger? Besides, why would you want to try questionable methods on a most-prized body part?
If you’re going to tell me it could apply to my boyfriend. First of all, I don’t currently have a boyfriend. Second of all, if he can’t use it, making it a few inches longer isn’t going to help him in that department. I’m sorry. Third, why the hell would I give him something that could make it wither away and fall off?
And what you doing spamming my e-mail?!!! Get your face out my business or I will go Miami on your ass. If you ain’t see a Miami girl rage, you ain’t seen nothin’. Don’t mess with the 3 – 0 – 5.
¡Oye! If I ever catch an asshole who sends them or writes the programs that send them, we will have some words. We will have more than words. We are gonna take it ou’side. Hokay?
Definitionof 3 – 0 – 5: It is the original area code for the Miami-Dade area. We who hail from Miami refer to ourselves as denizens of the “three – oh- five”. There is also a double-handed gesture that you flash. We gangsta, yo.
Opinions are like arseholes: everyone has one. It’s a saying that is as old as Noah’s Ark but, unlike the story about Noah’s Ark, the saying is entirely true.
Most people will claim to be an expert of some kind in at least one subject, be it trickle-down economics, healthy eating or the best way to hold a thimble during a thunder storm. If someone wanted a discussion you could patiently listen, nod your head and then share your own thoughts on the matter. Maybe you will tell that person how or why they are wrong. Perhaps you will use a combination of sarcasm and condescension if the person sounds particularly ignorant. Or you may even take pity on them and buy them a slice of cake in Starbucks. No doubt you will insist that they use one of the plastic forks, just to make sure they don’t hurt themselves.
So then. Whenever a poll or a survey is setup for something – anything – the same three choices are made available. Agree, disagree and don’t know. Even in this age of Internet forums and Facebook supremacy those are the universal choices. And that last choice is the preserve of the buffoon. Why, in the love of everything that is holy, would anyone go to the trouble of clicking don’t know…? It serves no purpose to do so. It doesn’t help anyone. It doesn’t further the debate, it doesn’t influence anyone or anything. It is a worthless choice that should be struck away from forms and questionnaires across the globe.
If you don’t know enough about the subject to make a decision either way, that is fine and perfectly understandable. Just move on to something else. No-one actually cares if you don’t know. If I ask you whether Batman could beat Superman, your answer will determine whether I want to chase you out of the room in anger or slap you on the back and share a bag of Jelly Tots with you. If you say you don’t know then I just ignore you and find someone else. I want to be able to respond with an emotion stronger than indifference. I want to leap around the room with joyful nakedness or smash my fists against the wall in impotent outrage.
Imagine if something like The X-Factor had such an option. The farce would never end. People would actually phone up, listen to Simon Cowell’s disinterested millionaire voice thanking them for participating, and then squeal with delight as they press number 3 on their phone to let their lack of opinion be known. People would actually spend time and money telling millions of viewers that they don’t have an opinion on something. The process would take so long that Dannii Minogue’s plastic surgery would deflate. Simon Cowell’s mountain of riches would quadruple again and again on the interest alone. Louis Walsh would still be Irish.
So next time you are presented with option to announce that you don’t have an opinion on something please refrain from doing so.
Hello folks! This is Min ready for her first post on PURE RANTS.
First of all I have something serious to confess… I… I…
I love clothes! Make-up! SHOES! Purses! Accesories! They make me happy, give me a lift when I’m sad, in fact I’m a huge follower of the retail therapy line of thought… and I like to wear what I buy, there, I’ve said it.
And I like to wear it for myself! me, not you, not him, not the horse, ME! Is it that strange a concept? I didn’t use to think so, but after several times having to go through a series of questions that center around the notion that I was dressed up FOR someone, it’s come to my attention that it’s not so. Read the rest of this entry
Humans are diverse creatures and the fact that we are no longer living in caves eating fleas and poo is a testament to that. However, despite all our advances there is still one facet of humanity that still remains with us: Patience. Or rather, our lack of it. Depending on the situation a short delay of just a few short seconds can be one of the most infuriating things on the planet. Buttocks are clenched, fists are gripped and jaws are locked down with increasing fury as you stand there thinking “for the love of Shitting Christ, will you get a bloomin’ move on”.
A prime example of this is when waiting in line at a cash point. FAO Americans I believe you call these ATMs or teller machines. I don’t know what Swedish people call them but I bet their queues are full of blondes in bikinis so they probably can’t relate to any of this. Anyway. The demographic most likely to cause pain in these queues are… (drum roll) the ladies. Now before you all hiss at me, let me just say that women are great. They are beautiful, they are compassionate and, on occasion, they bless us with cute little baby boys and girls. Unfortunately none of these characteristics, as welcome as they always are, prepare them with the ability to queue in a manner that is either economical or efficient with time.
They will stand there, usually adorned with a dainty red coat or an expensive black scarf, patiently waiting in line like everyone else. When their turn finally arrives they calmly approach the machine… and all hell breaks loose That facade of being in control evaporates in an instant. The veneer of sophistication falls from their face and panic sets in. Suddenly they realise that they need to get their card out. Where is the card? In a purse, either of leather or plastic origin. Where is the purse? In The Black Hole of Everything that is known as a handbag. My God. After all these years you would have thought that they would be experts on this, but no. They will unhook one – ONE! – strap of the handbag from their shoulder and proceed to rummage around inside it, seemingly at random. The thought process seems to go something like ‘Need purse, find purse. Rummage around at random’. If that strategy doesn’t work? Doesn’t matter, DO IT AGAIN BECAUSE NOW I AM GETTING FLUSTERED AND PEOPLE ARE LOOKING AT ME AND TAPPING THEIR FEET AND TAKING PICTURES OF ME WITH THEIR CAMERAS BECAUSE THEY HATE ME AND OH MY GOD THAT OLD MAN OVER THE ROAD IS LAUGHING AT ME BECAUSE HE KNOWS I DIDN’T USE THE EXPENSIVE SHAMPOO THIS MORNING.
Seriously. Do the shoulder-strap ‘n’ search routine before it is your turn. It doesn’t matter if your lipstick doesn’t match the clasp of your purse or if the bit of paper with the phone number of the local taxi firm is a bit dirty and worn, no-one cares.
Maybe I am being too harsh. As a man I am used to just flopping things out of my trousers without a second thought, so getting my wallet out in under five minutes is something I am well-practised in.
Is it hypocritical of me to stand there staring at the delight that is a woman’s bottom as I amble around in my mind wishing death upon her? It probably is but I don’t care.
by: the Princess
“Is that a guitar?”
This is my LEAST favorite question that has ever been asked. I know that those who ask it are merely curious, but when they become the fifth person who has asked it in two minutes, I want to claw their eyeballs out. Read the rest of this entry
I pay over 10K in tuition, have a part-time job, full-time course load, take care of two children (not mine though) and practically save the world. So, in return all I ask for is a quiet ride on a working elevator. Just one working elevator without being crammed with half the world’s population in it would make me do the Charleston.
At the university I attend, there are several elevators – several, but what boggles my mind is why all of them are empty and everyone in the FREAKING university decides to use the one I just so happen to be on.
So one day I’m on the first floor and I have to get to the 10th floor for a class starting within five minutes. I enter the empty elevator happy knowing I wouldn’t have to break my back with a back pack twice my size, lugging it up the stairs just to get to class. But…I thought too soon.
Upon entering the elevator I find this musty old woman with sunglasses and a brown paper bag in her left hand. I stare at the floor avoiding any contact. She turns toward me and clicks the button on the pad to go the 4th floor. In the meantime, she uses a dirty toothpick from her pocket (GOD knows how long its been there) and uses it to clean in between her teeth – how HYGIENIC.
While I couldn’t help gawking, I start to hum a tune that would help me avoid watching her flick bits of left over food in between her teeth. I stomach the 30 seconds of torture before we got to the fourth floor. I sighed with relief when she got off.
However, the elevator stops again at the 6th floor, with two women getting on this time. One of them had a stench of a decaying mule and the other spoke incessantly about random sexual endeavors with men (and some women) and how she “gave it to them”. Her description of the “tasteful” last night almost led me to believe she was describing food, but after deeper analysis…I could no longer think of food the same way.
Finally, at the 6th floor, the two horrid women leave, but I smell of musty old mules at this point with no hope of return. However, as the elevator doors began to close again…a man sticks his hand between them. I growl at the sight wishing it would have shut on his fingers, but the elevator has betrayed me.
The man leered at me, contemplating whether or not he should mug me. I stared back at him giving him the FUCK OFF look. He retreated shifting nervously from side to side. He pressed the button for the 8th floor and I looked at him with hatred. SERIOUSLY…2 flight of stairs would have KILLED HIM? He couldn’t walk up 2 flight of STAIRS?
Oh, but how could he? He was obviously carrying a heavy coat which must’ve weighed more than the entire building – how could I be so INSENSITIVE and NOT UNDERSTANDING. I should give him a gold medal for holding the coat in the first place – I honestly didn’t think he had the energy to walk out of the elevator, but he did anyway.
As the doors to the 8th floor closed, I smiled with relief. I was ecstatic and thanked my stars that the elevator was empty and free again. There was no way – NO WAY – there would be any interruption…but I thought too soon again.
As I excitedly watched the digital screen turn “9” I held my breath in hopes the number would change to “10”, but it remained unchanged.
The elevator opened once more and I cringed at an unsightly mob hording the elevator. Several club members of a certain club that believes in “UNITY” crammed the elevator. Well…they surely believed in unity. Because when the 10th floor finally came, I couldn’t even get to the doors. They locked hands together as if they were surrounded by a camp fire singing some camp song. I tried to break through their bonds, but they were too strong for me – literally. The group stifled me in the back, pressing against my diaphragm in the hopes that I would just stop breathing and making groaning noises while asking “why did I take the FUCKING ELEVATOR?” To this day, I still don’t know.
As for my class – I was late. The elevator stopped back at floor 1 after it went down from the 10th floor. Instead of continuing my ride on the elevator… I used a shortcut – the stairs. I have gotten over the elevator since then.
I will never use the elevator again.