Live Blogging as a Last Resort

It's come to this. I'm so out of ideas for how to respond to shitty writing that I'm going with "live blogging".

While I don't endorse the column, it does help to read Neil Ferguson's "Lush Life" review of Doobie's (2201 Lombard Street, 546-0316--the 215 is understood) from the June 22, 2005 Philadelphia Weekly (a.k.a. the weekly that panders to the suburbs) to understand my critique. Cliff Notes version: Neil Ferguson is full of shit.

11:59 p.m.: Sentence 1 and 2--Neil establishes that he's aware that Doobie's, "a neighborhood institution (if nothing else)", has changed its facade. Brilliant observation of the obvious, but let's go on. Ferguson then uses his mental powers to imagine what people who drink regularly at Doobie's are saying, complete with cursing (cuz everyone uses the 'F' word when talking about the local bar). The "if nothing else" parenthetical note is the weak catch-all.

12:00 a.m.: Hooray, it's Friday! Boo! I'm still reading this shitty column. Neil goes on to reveal that he was down with the Doobie's scene before it was spruced up, he even listens to music when drinking (and can read what's in the jukebox). Good for him, his 4th grade teacher is proud.

12:02 a.m.: Damn. It took me 2 minutes to read a couple sentences and write a response. Still haven't changed my mind that this column's a piece of shit. Maybe I should reveal here that I had the idea to "live blog" the column after I read it the first time. This is a reactionary piece, but a live reactionary piece of my second reading. Neil takes a stand on the side of smokers in the proposed Philadelphia smoking ban. Way to go out on a limb. He even cheapens the use of Nazi symbolism to promote an unhealthy lifestyle. Hey, I'm against a smoking ban, too, but I'll save Nazi comparisons for something legitimate. Seriously, he's really going to compare a ban on smoking to mass genocide? "Shithead" isn't a strong enough term for Mr. Ferguson. In his words, "This is a bar, after all, not a health farm", or a concentration camp, right? Asshole.

12:03 a.m.: "Hooray for me!" Sorry, I'm watching Chapelle's Show while I read this shitty column. Needed something to smack the taste out my mouth.

12:04 a.m.: Ferguson makes a "personal criticism": he hates people. There you have it. He doesn't want to drink with people who take themselves seriously. Fine. So why doesn't he just hang out on Delaware Avenue? Because he's a piece of shit.

12:05 a.m.: Ferguson proclaims himself an authority on "cool", and lays out ground rules for how to be cool. He addresses his readers directly by declaring himself a "professional" of cool and declaring: "The basic rule means not trying". Shit. Kids, if you are reading this, be aware that anyone who purports to be an authority of cool is a fuckin' authority figure. Fuck the man. Fuck! The! Man! As soon as you claim to be an authority on cool you forfeit any coolness you may have had. Sorry Ferguson, your cool pass (if you ever had one) has been revoked.

12:06 a.m.: Ferguson can't walk and chew gum at the same time. While sippin' his lukewarm beer and trying to keep his balance on a barstool, he takes issue with people who can drink and knit at the same time.

12:07 a.m.: What a surprise, Neil Ferguson is a belligerent drunk. The Lush Life auteur threatens to, "shove the needles where the sun don't shine." I'm calling his bluff. That's some pretty tough talk for an alcoholic. Guess what, you're not Hemingway. I was talking to some knitting friends of mine and they've proposed a "knit in" at Doobie's. They encourage you to show up.

My prediction is Neil will have more (knitting) needles in his ass than the last time he visited the VD clinic. I've wasted enough time dissecting this turd.