The new voluntary website rating systems seems rather foolhardy to me. Like netfilters, ratings lack the ability to incorporate context.

Declan McCullagh looks at the challenges of a media behemoth like AOL/Time Warner trying to incorporate such an ill-conceived system in “Filter Plan Leaks Like a Sieve.”

I’ve been working on a system to rate my blog posts, so that you don’t have to think too hard about what the intentions of a post are. I’m still working out the details, but here’s a working draft of what I’ve come up with so far:

I
An “I” rating means a post is “informational.”
For example: Did you know babies poop a lot? They do.

CT0
A “CT” rating means that a post is a “cautionary tale.”

For example: Your friends will seem like functional representations of the human species. If they choose to have babies, all bets are off. You’ll get in the elevator with one of them one day and innocently ask, “How are you?” Instead of one of the usual generic responses, you’ll get, “The baby hasn’t pooped in 2 days.”

SAn “S” rating means that a post contains “sarcasm.”

For example: I like to hear about poop. I like it very much. Please tell me more.

WiGNWTT A “WiGNWTT” rating means “What in God’s Name Where They Thinking?”

For example: The ICRA website ratings system.

CR A “CR” rating means that a “crazy rant” will follow.

For example: Dog owners are just as obsessed with poop as parents! There are actually 2 kinds of poop people: baby-Poop People and Dog-Poop People! In a pinch, the Dog-poop People can talk to the Baby- Poop People! Everyone wins!

I’m pretty tired so I’m still ironing out the details of the rating system. It may not actually even be a very good idea, but it seemed like one at 3:30 a.m.

At 3:30 a.m. my cat started making the hacking “I’ve gotta hairball the size of Cleveland” noise. He was in the bedroom. The more he hacked, the stronger the signal that my sleepy brain was sending to my nervous system became. “He sounds awfully close by!” My brain kept shouting. My nervous system responded with, “What’s that weight on our chest?” My brain opened my eyes, and low and behold, the cat was sitting on my chest.

Of course, when you’re not exactly functional it doesn’t occur to you right away to just pick the cat up and toss him on the floor. That would require movement. Instead, you try pleading with him. “Please move to the floor. Please? Just hop off the bed. Please?” As if this is finally going to be the time, after years of failed attempts at verbal communication, that he gets it and trots off to the bathroom to attend to his hairball.

The pleading wasn’t working so I finally had to move him to the floor. He yakked and then I did the thing that all people with a vested interest in protecting their wool rugs do. I made The Husband get out of bed and clean it up.

Unfortunately the cat settled back on my chest and I couldn’t quite relax enough to sleep for a good long while.

No real point to this story. Since dog owners will be offended by the implication that they are obsessed with their dog’s output (and will tell you so, swinging their ubiquitous bag of poop for emphasis), I thought I’d pretend that cat owners talk about cat vomit all day. Plus, it was kind of funny.

That could lead to an additional rating…
H“H” is for humorous.

Example: My cat almost barfed on me last night but he didn’t. He threw up on the floor. I’m really lazy so I made Husband clean it up. Hilarity.

Okay, I’ll keep working on that one.