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Ever hear the saying “everyone’s a critic”? Well, it’s true. So when Pip and I decided to jump on the critical bandwagon, we knew we needed a gimmick to set us apart from the crowd. That’s why we’ve decided to give you something you can’t find anywhere else: completely pointless back-and-forth reviews of anything and everything. Books, movies, music, food, ads, household cleaners, shapes, different brands of toilet paper... you name it; we’ll review it. We were inspired, of course, by The Brunching Shuttlecocks, but our format is a little different. Ebert and Roeper give thumbs up or thumbs down. Brunching and Entertainment Weekly use letter grades. James Berardinelli uses stars. And here at Boredom we have the incredible scale of Acclaim or Disdain.  Here’s how it works. If we hate something, it will get a mark from the “disdain” end of the scale. A disdain 5 is the worst possible rating something can get. It is given to things like head lice or Here On Earth. Disdain 4 is second-worst, disdain 3 third worst, and... well, you see where that’s going. 
Here On Earth: Proof that Jesus died in vain. If we like something, it’ll get a mark from the “acclaim” end of the scale. Acclaim 5 is the best rating something can get, and is given to things like The Others or tigers and lemurs. Acclaim 4 is the second-best rating we give, acclaim 3 third best, and so on. 
Lemurs: better than monkeys. If something gets a zero rating, that means we didn’t hate it enough to ridicule it, but didn’t like it enough to praise it. Either that or we can’t remember a thing about it. Zero ratings go to things like beige shirts or that pineapple-headed guy from Nsync. 
Pineapple Head: the one who’s not Justin, J.C., Lance, or that other guy. Got that? We hope so. Now, on to the ratings! July 30, 2002 The first ten pages of Margaret Atwood’s The Blind Assassin: Pip: Back in May sometime, I decided to try Margaret Atwood's newest novel, The Blind Assassin, mostly because I've liked Margaret Atwood's books before (like The Handmaid's Tale, The Robber Bride, etc.), and also because Amy owned it, meaning I didn't have to actually put any effort into finding it at all. Amy: I owned the book, yes, but I had not read it. I tried, but had to stop after ten pages because I was completely and utterly bored out of my mind. I thought perhaps Pip would have better luck. Pip: Yeah. So. A blind man in Jersey can see where this is going. Anyways, the reason we're only reviewing the first ten pages of The Blind Assassin is because I could only withstand so much pain before deciding that even Where The Heart Is would be a less heinous evening read than this book. Amy: And that's saying something. Pip: I would tell you what the basic plot of the novel is if I was sure it had one. Apparently it has something to do with some woman talking about her sister who wrote a book about some people who had Quaalude-induced conversations together, or maybe with the sister's cat, I don't really know which. Amy: I remember something about a woman who didn't like crust. And there were sacrificial virgins and ravening wolves in the story the people in the sister's book were telling. Or something. I'm very confused. Pip: Actually, now I think about it, good ol' Margaret probably would have been better off sticking with the virgins and wolves and screwing this whole "framed narrative" nonsense. If I wanted to listen to old people reminisce about things that happened when they were young, I'd go visit my grandfather. The virgins and the wolves, though, that I could get into. Amy: But weren't they in space? I think that would be a little too ridiculous. Pip: Whatever, dude. I take it back. NOTHING could have salvaged this sweltering heap of rubbish. The flies themselves have forsaken it. Amy: I expected more from Ms. Atwood. I expected, at the very least, to find a likable character within the first ten pages of The Blind Assassin. Ravening Wolves and crust-hating women and the most interesting character in the novel being dead from the get-go just ain’t gonna cut it. Pip: Besides, I really LIKE the crust on the bread. Maybe this book redeems itself somehow much, much later on in the 600+ pages that make up its length. Somehow, I doubt it. If Ms. Atwood had written only one book like this, I would have been willing to be lenient. Everyone, after all, has their off days. But in The Blind Assassin, she has written AT LEAST two apparently independent novels, and there is just no call for that. I give the first ten pages of The Blind Assassin a mark of Disdain 5. The only honour due to Ms. Atwood for this book is that she has finally balked a reader who could forge through everything Jean M. Auel wrote. Amy: I concur with Pip's rating, but I give the ravening wolves an Acclaim four. I like wolves. To recap:
The Blind Assassin: insane, and yet boring. 
Ravening Wolves: fucking awesome. The New Subway Guy: Amy: I hate that fucking Subway guy! He's such a condescending pansy-ass little bitch! He taunts a poor burger joint drive-thru worker by asking for some ridiculous southwest-chicken-whole-wheat-teriyaki-garden-caesar-bacon thing, and then peels away laughing when the poor kid truthfully replies that it's not on the menu! What a fucking bastard! Pip: I bet you Subway Guy beats up little kids for their lunch money. He sodomizes puppies. He's had liposuction. He impregnates girls and leaves them to rummage for scraps on the cold, empty streets. I don't really know that any of this is true. But if it were, I wouldn't be surprised. He's so smug, so condescending. "Stupid kid," his smile and rueful head-shake seems to say. "I didn't want to have to ridicule you in front of millions, but how else were you to see the error of your ways?" Bastard. BASTARD!! Amy: And then he goes to Subway and eats his disgusting concoction while laughingly wondering (while chewing with his mouth open, of course) whether he made the burger kid cry. SHAME, Subway guy! SHAME! Pip: I cannot conceive of why Subway ever thought that unleashing this bastard upon the minimum-wage slaves of America would sell their product, but they were wrong. Hideously, hideously wrong. Amy: I thought Jared was bad enough. But now, NOW I have come to appreciate Jared! Sure, he was weird-looking, and really really boring, but all Jared wanted to do was prance around in his newly fat-free body, spreading the joy of a healthy Subway diet! Jared never taunted minimum-wage workers! In fact, he hardly talked at all! Pip: Jared, in fact, seems more and more like one of Jesus' apostle buddies, just roaming the countryside, spreading the good word of Subway to all and sundry. The new Subway guy, however, is like the Fundamentalist preacher who comes into my variety store every Sunday and glares at us while we make his lunch, because he thinks we shouldn't be working on a Sunday, even if he is willing to eat it. Like this man, the new Subway guy is not just sanctimonious, but hypocritical, as well. On behalf of every fast-food whore, I give the new Subway spokesman a rating of Disdain 4. I don't hate him as much as I hate some other commercial presenters, but dude. He hoped he made that poor kid cry. Amy: I give him a Disdain 5 because his commercial’s so awful that I have to change channels when it comes on, and I hate doing that because I’m lazy. I hope he gets eaten by ravening wolves. Pip: I hope he gets eaten by fat, middle-aged men. Bon Voyage. To recap: 
Pip’s rating: he does bad things to puppies.
Amy’s rating: I would boycott Subway, but I like the food. A note to our readers: We want to review two new things every Monday. If you have a great idea for something funny we should review, e-mail us. The link's on the main page of the site.  |