Baudelaire said that art should exist for its own sake, without any comprehension or apprehension of its social origin or impact. Perhaps the same could extend to Internet reviews? Maybe we've progressed to the point at which a review, which is always already a sourceless missive shouted into the void, has become the medium to which the pure aestheticism of the turn of the 20th century aspires to?
In any case, this review is being written in hopes that no one will ever read it, no one will ever benefit from it, and the secret will rattle through the bowels of Yelp's filtering system to drop into the well of eternal sorrow. Who would ever search for a review of a place on the back end of nowhere, as this place is, and who living there would regard it?
Why are you visiting the Fritz Creek General Store, dear reader? Are you a local? In this case, you need no review; you know what to expect through long experience. Are you a visitor? In this case, the recommendation is more complex. The road that it is located on leads nowhere; just endless fields of fireweed and geraniums. It is ill-suited for the purchase of souvenirs, and you are unlikely to need a notary republic outpost whilst traversing the barren cut-ends of the Frozen North. So what are you doing here?
The most typical visitor to Homer will spend her or his time chartering a halibut fishing cruise, catching several fish (the endless fecundity of nature, providing to foreigner and local alike), having them frozen and vacuum-packed according to the custom of the time, perhaps spending some time at the Salty Dog (is it "Salty Dawg" now? If so, I have indeed given up all hope), and heading back to catch the 8:15 to Denver. This review is, as previously stated, not for you.
Rather, this review is for the true believer, the one who already knows what Fritz Creek is and does not need to be reminded of it. You, sir or madam, do not need to be told that the smoked brisket sandwich is the best thing that you will ever eat, or that devouring one on the shores of K-Bay as the summer light touches the mountains across the inlet is one of the most sublime experiences still accessible to the desiccated husks that we have become in the 21st century. You do not need to be told to sit in one of the uncomfortable wooden chairs and pet the cat and pass the time and weather with the locals while you wait for said sandwich. Because you are not waiting for a flight. You are not waiting for Industrial Halibut Center #43 to finish with your catch. You are not interested in buying earrings made of moose nuggets. In fact, you do not have Internet access at this moment and are probably not checking Yelp to figure out what the deal with this so-called "Fritz Creek General Store" is. So this review will be, as I stated earlier, utterly and completely useless to you.
So there you have it. A review written for no one, and likely read by the same. Eat your heart out, Uncle Charlie. read more