London is drowning and I live by the river

I'm here. Hi. How've you been? Oh, I've been fine. Good, good really. Just... not blogging. Busy, you know? Working and being and all that. But not blogging. Not here and not at my site. Not anywhere.

I don't know what to tell you, really. I'm not sure what changed, or how it changed, or for how long it will continue to be changed. I'm just not blogging. And as such, because I'm not really participating in the circle jerk that is blogging (how many fucking times can I say that word in one review?), I haven't felt like I'd have much to contribute here, really. Who cares what a nonblogging blogger thinks of other bloggers who are actually blogging?

But dammit, I'm here. And last week, by christ, I managed to wrench three whole blog posts from my wriggling and fetid entrails, so lucky y'all who know my real fake identity. Read 'em and weep. No, really: Have your hanky ready because the staggering downfall of my online writing career is a tear-jerker.

And again, I'm here. And I'm raging, raging against the dying of the light. And I'm going to give you a review today if it kills me.

It's kind of a shame, really, that I didn't get a shitbag of a blog to review. In my current bout of ennui, it'd be nice to dabble in some truly vicious asskickery. And then maybe I could have pulled off that superior bit, you know? Oh, I'm a limp dick of a writer right now, but I'm still better than this turdlet. But no. I've got The Daily Smoke.

It's a quiet, unprepossessing kind of blog. Black and white with a little red, the template is fine. Basic, uncluttered, fairly well organized. I'd go for some tabs, of course, but what do I know?

Her posts are almost always bundled and wrapped up in pretty packaging and well-paced. There's nothing slipshod about it. There's nuance and detail involved, and, yes, quite a bit of navel gazing. But her vision, I'm pleased to say, is just the tiniest bit skewed, which makes that gaze rather charming.

As an ex-pat blog, it's interesting to read about her experiences in London, and she's very self-aware and writes with confidence and grace. She does these quick little observations, a brief vignette of who and what she sees through the smoke, and it's delightful, really. A kernel of time and thought with nice grammar and a clever ending.

Lately, there's been some depth added to the blog. Some darkness and reality that makes her already interesting voice that much more captivating. But even that edge is tempered with her dry wit and a self-deprecating awareness.

Also, Clive fucking Owen.

So, I really liked this blog. I felt like I could come close and get to know Ellie. But not right away. There'd be some idle chit-chat at first. Then she'd casually reveal something not-so-casual that would make me think, "Huh. Interesting chick, here. Not quite what I expected." And then, still later, after fun times and insightful conversation and maybe a drunken bitchfest or two and a shared appreciation for hot men, all of a sudden I'd realize, you know what? I fucking love her.

I am at home with the me, I am rooted in the me who is on this adventure.

I knew a girl in college who wore long, flowing skirts and no makeup. Her hair looked how it looked with no product or styling or coercing. If she felt like dancing she danced, if she thought something was funny she laughed loud and long (I remember that laugh still: "ha, ha, HAH!" with her head thrust back), and if she wanted to touch you she would. She'd lean in close when she talked, in your space, looking you directly in the eye. Rebecca liked people, liked getting to know them, finding out what made them tick, figuring out how their minds worked, why they did what they did. She hated shoes and clothes and artifice. She liked boys and girls in equal measure, and typically they liked her, too. They couldn't help it. She was light and direct and earthy. And she was the most present and carefree person I think I've ever know.

Rebecca made me uncomfortable while she was making me interested. She just didn't hide. She'd loop her arm through mine and snug her chin on my shoulder, smelling like patchouli and sunshine. She confronted and questioned and she just was so very much her own person. You could take her or leave her and she wouldn't mind either way.

In some ways, Hope's blog Hopenminded reminds me of Rebecca. She has that same carefree directness, that same hippy-dippy, woo-woo peace and love mentality, where they just delve and ask and explore and analyze.

Hope has, by her own admission, a darker experience. There's an edge to her lightness. Her hopefulness is hard-gained and bruised. She is honest (if maybe a little defensive?) about who she is and where she's been. She really is open and hopeful, and based on the glimpses she's given of the life she's lived, it's really a wonderful thing to see. She's chosen -- and probably has to make that choice over and over -- to live simply, peacefully, and joyfully. And for someone like me, who tends to piss and moan about every little inconvenience in her my-god-I've-had-it-damned-easy life, this mentality is really rather instructive.

Now that I've admired the hell out of Hope and appreciated her for drawing out the memory of someone admirable and slightly complicated from my past, let's move on to the nuts and bolts of blogging, shall we? Good. Because Hope needs some help.

Getting the design stuff out of the way, there are three empty tabs. Hey how about taking them down until they're actually useful? You have way too much shit in the sidebars, and you don't need two of them. Get rid of the random posts and recent comments and either stick with the tag cloud OR the categories (categories, please), not both. And your blogroll? It's not really a blogroll. Take it down until it has something in it, or better yet move it to a tab. The design is fine, but consider bumping up the size of your font -- it's way too small.

Now, the writing, which is what Hope and I (and you) care most about. She faces some marked challenges in her writing, with (apparently) little training or education. It shows. But that's ok. You hear me, Hope? That's ok. You keep at it, dammit. You love it, and there's no reason you can't do this if you work hard enough.

But yes, to be honest because that's what we do here and that's what you expect and you can take it, your writing needs some work. You don't need me to tell you there are considerable spelling and grammar and construction mistakes, but I'll do it anyway: there are. You show your rookie roots with rambling, unedited, uncrafted writing. You write because you love it, because it's cathartic for you, because you have to. That impetus is fantastic and can't be taught. What you need -- and what can be taught -- is polish. You need to keep reading good writing that speaks to you, you need to sign up for a local writing group where you can learn from more experienced writers, you need to challenge yourself with writing exercises, and you need to edit the hell out of yourself.

This post here, where you're watching people and recording? That was good (and so was this). Keep observing. Keep figuring out what makes people tick. Write often and always go back and clean up your writing, find the good bits, prune the unnecessary bits, and get to the heart, the poetry, the art of your writing. Your passion is there -- now practice.





P.S. You have a category called "I'm Fingering it all out." I kind of hope that's on purpose. You finger the hell out of life.

My skeertuig is vol palings*

The other day a friend and I went to see "Julie & Julia," a sweet little film about a culinary giant and some girl who turned her whiny little blog into a book (and then into a movie). During the film, my friend turns to me and says, "Someday I'll say I knew you when you had a blog." I scoffed, "It doesn't happen like that anymore." And it surely won't happen to me and my sorely neglected little exercise in self-indulgence. But the thing is, as Madame pointed out recently, everyone and their mother and sometimes their cat has a blog now. The field is saturated and glutted and just overrun with folks wanting to be heard above the din.

But what's worse than all those mind-numbing and misspelled and mordant (although I kind of like that bit) forays into blogging, those wastes of space, those narcissistic little microcosms, are the ones who could be so much better but just aren't. Stu strikes me as one such.

He has the ugliest template ever. I wanted to click away immediately. The ads are sucking my will to live. It looks like a spam nest run over by a train wreck with gobbets of banality strewn across the pavement of the blogosphere. I mean, look: He made me use the word "blogosphere." Jesus lord, there are no dates on the posts! Where am I? Also, the whole shebang sometimes gets all wonky with the archives and crap moving under the post.

Just scrap it. It's total crap. It is a hinderance to your writing. It couches your blog in the most off-putting way. Find something simple, roll up your archives, get organized, and for shit's sake put a date on your posts. Stu, you don't need a tab for "blogging." The whole blog should kind of be for that, right? And that header image? That's the header image of a total douchebag.

Stu, your title is so annoying I want to rips its wriggling little guts out. I mean, fuck me sideways, there are ellipses in the title. In the title! I hate it on principle. And merit. And anything else I can hate it on.

But go check out his "About" page, which is really just his Blogger profile (dude -- don't do that). He sounds interesting, right? Ninjas, the word "hogwash," Aston Martins? Well, you never would have guessed from looking at his shit storm of a blog.

Guess what? A "belter" is apparently a hot chick. Just FYI. Learn something new every day. I thought it had to do with people who can really belt out a song, like maybe Babs. But no. Hot chicks. How original. Although I'm pleased to report that the brunettes seem to outstrip (that might have been a poor choice of words -- or a perfect one) the blondes.

Something else I learned? South Africans say "y'all." I can't quite wrap my head around that.

Look, the guy's entertaining enough and he's kind of funny, but do I really need to read another site where a guy drools over hot girls, hot cars, and moderately funny things posted elsewhere on the web? No. No, I don't. And neither does the rest of the world. It's not until about three months into the blog that we get an actual post with more than a paragraph or two from Stu without a picture of a hot car or a bikinied babe or something pilfered from somewhere else. And, you know, aside from some sloppiness and ellipses overkill, it's actually amusing.

Stu, Stu, Stu... cut the crap. You're an amusing guy and your voice is engaging, but you lose me with all the extra nonsense you pepper into your blog. It's useless, overdone, and it completely undermines your genuinely likable writing. You can do better. Strip it down, tune it up, and get real. I stopped reading after about four months because I had to wade through all the flotsam and jetsam of Internet wreckage to get to YOU. And you're lucky I got that far.

You get a flaming finger because you are failing to live up to your potential and your template sucks hind tit. Clean it up, start actually writing, and I might reconsider. You've got something -- you're just hiding it. Stop.






*My hovercraft is full of eels. (Afrikaans)

When the going gets weird, the weird turn pro.

So, um, hi? Miss me? Yeah, look, sorry about that. I kind of took an unintentional hiatus there. It's just, damn, there's this whole summer winding down thing and my rampant ennui and there was, like, stuff to do where I had to meet deadlines. And then I got this rager of a headache that totally incapacitated me and all. But, you know, sorry. Not your fault, guys. It's all me. Me and my excuses.

But I'm getting back into it, you know? Psyching myself up, getting pumped, giving myself a stern talking to about responsibilities and commitments and follow through and keeping my eye on the ball and strike first, strike hard, no mercy SIR!

And look! It's working. 'Cause here's my review.

Batspit. Bat spit? Bat's pit? Bats pit? I haven't a clue. I don't know what it means. I don't know why. Or how. The about page is short and sweet and doesn't tell me, so I'm left to my own devices, which means I think it's bat spit. But do bats even spit? If they do, is it venomous? Or is it rich in nutrients like their shit? Thoughts to think, stuff to ponder.

Whatever the hell it means, her site has a very minimalist design, and it's image-friendly, which is good because she posts a lot of her own photos. And they're pretty, with an interesting perspective.

The writing is much the same. Lea writes these poetic and nuanced and powerful posts about small things and big things. There are posts I can relate to, and her writing is spare and lovely. She's an anthropology student, which doesn't surprise me as her attention to detail is reverential and her interest in others palpable. Lea is a word nerd, and and I have to love anyone who uses the word "skirr." I mean, honestly. Say it. Skirr. You want to roll the R, don't you? Lord knows I do.

I admit, I haven't read the whole thing yet. Yet, mind you. I fully intend to and I'm adding her to my reader. I started at the beginning and have worked my way up toward last November. I'm disappointed that she hasn't posted since August 13, but then who am I to talk, Miss Ennui Notbloggington herself? But Lea has captured the blogging crisis for academia, and for us. And she's so very, oh, what do I want to say... earthy and organic. There's nature and life and joy and detail, such pristine detail in her writing. It's like she's cupped the world in her hands and is examining it piece by piece as it comes along, taking its picture and putting it up close, close, close to her eye so she can see it and write about it and savor it just so.

So, what can I suggest for Lea? Just keep writing. I'll keep reading.

Waxing Scatalogical

Every time I get a mommy blogger to review I say some variation of this: I'm not a mom; I don't want kids; parenting is beyond me and I just don't get it. And it's true, every time. But I'll be damned if there aren't a lot of you parents out there blogging away. You've snuck right up on me so that here I am at 34, still befuddled by the thought that people try to get pregnant. I know; I'm kind of a late bloomer.

Still, every time I get a blog that's demonstrably mommy in nature, I cringe. And this is entirely unfair because, lord, how many people out there have kids? Some of my favorite people are parents. Some of my favorite bloggers are parents. My parents are parents and I love the hell out of them. I am so much in the minority as to be almost freakish. And they're just people, after all. They haven't been infiltrated by evil parent aliens from the planet Annoy the Fuck Out of Me, where their god is The Mighty Scrapbook and their government -- My Offspring Did the Cutest Thing Today -- demands a kid-centric regime. At least not all of them have.

So I renounce my anti-parent blogger bias and promise to no longer sneer and roll my eyes automatically when I see a page devoted almost entirely to progeny. At least I'll refrain until I've determined whether they are, indeed, aliens.

Which brings me to today's reviewee, Creepy at Tiptoeing Through the Tulips. It is, yes, a mommy blog. You can tell right away -- look at the huge honking childish scrawl that takes up your entire browser window. It kind of gives it away. It also kind of drives me insane. There's also the tell-tale collection of darling pictures of children paraded down her sidebar. Initially you might think, as I did, "Oh holy fucking christ, another fucking mommy blog. I bet her kids shit rainbows and fart lollipops."

Well, you and I would be wrong. Because her kids just shit shit. Lots of it. (Be glad I didn't link to this post. Oh, wait. I did.). A lot a lot. If I didn't think the whole tulips thing was very appropriate, I'd suggest she change her blog title to something along the lines of "There's Shit Everywhere," or "Shitastrophes," or "Ew, What's That Smell?"

But don't let the poopapalooza throw you off. Creepy is worth pinching your nose to tread through all that loaf pinching. She's all kinds of upfront about who she is and what this blog is about. Yes, it's a mommy blog. But if a mommy can say these two things, back to back, I'm down: "*I love my kids so fucking much I want to squeeze them 'til their little heads pop off. *My kids drive me so fucking crazy I want to tear their little heads off." Because that's kind of how I think it should be, me with my neverhavingkids self.

There's a lot of "this is what we did and how it went and aren't my kids the cutest little shitpants on the planet" writing, but Creepy is likable and irreverent and honest and twisted and enraged enough to pull it off. Also, we totally share a birthday. Aries holla!

So, it's not the most carefully crafted blog, and maybe the kid stuff can get a little ho-hum for a nonbreeder like me, but she makes up for that by telling a very honest, meaningful, and relatable story about raising a special needs kid. My day job deals with exceptional education, so I know how valuable sharing experiences can be for parents of kids with special needs, and I respect Creepy for wanting to document her experiences. It makes a difference, and I suspect it will make a difference to her son some day.

However, Creepy, I'd still like to encourage you to branch out more. Frankly, I'd like to know more about you now. The blog feels a little like it's outgrown its beginnings, with Graham thriving and growing and little Dottie, too. It feels like it might be time to drop the umbrella of "mom who blogs about her kids" in exchange for one about Creepy, who is a mom and more.

Some suggestions: Your design is innocuous and boring, but not eye-bleedingly horrible. I'd move the archives up above the pictures of the rugrats. Good job on having separate pages for important things, though. In terms of writing, you have an engaging and funny voice that I suspect is very true to life. But there's a slipshod quality to some of your posts. I know you're a busy mom, and you say you're not a writer, but I suspect you are. Or could be. Spend some more time on crafting your posts and editing them. And please, for the love of Daniel Craig's sweet, sweet ass (<--- my version of heaven), lay off the fucking ellipses.

'Cause in the city we're ourselves and electric too

I'm not a city girl. I'm not a country girl, either, for that matter. Nor am I a country club girl or a suburban girl or a southside girl or a campus girl. I'm not precisely sure what location descriptor might fit me best, really. Perhaps I'm a midtown girl. Whatever I am it's not city. And this depresses me a little bit because, oh, the lights and the pace and the sights and the culture (yeah, sure, junkies in the park counts as culture, don't you think?). But I'd be overwhelmed down in the thick of it for more than a couple of weeks, honestly. I'd want some trees and a little space before too long.

The Unbearable Banishment, however, straddles the line between suburb and city, sometimes embracing his banishment and sometimes pining for his lost city (which isn't really lost, since he works there, but still). He's a Midwestern guy who moved to NYC and stayed for twenty years but got sucked into New Jersey suburbia and family life.

This is the dullest design ever. Oh, it's fairly innocuous. I'm not seeing any antifreeze green or anything. But it's such a downer. Seriously, folks, get with the program. This isn't 2004. Find a better template. We've got loads of links for you to find something better. UB, you take lovely pictures of the city and your family. Snag one of those and make it your banner. The design you've got now says, "Ask me about purchasing medical supplies," not, "I'm a cool, arty, urban dad with a sense of humor." I will say this, it's not cluttered. Although you'd be better served with tabs for an About page (create one, please) and your blogroll.

UB is a bookish city boy and the father of two girls about whom he writes sweet and funny posts. He reminds me of my brother if my brother were straight: neat, organized, intelligent, well-spoken, artistic, and politely irreverent (that sounds like an oxymoron, but it's not). He's into theater , theater, and more theater (Why do I feel like I need to be spelling it "theatre"? Because I'm all snooty-balooty, that's why.) and art and books.

There's amusing commentary on NYC/NJ life and funny references to Bond, which is aces in my book. Anyone who can quote Goldfinger is all right by me. But he's also remarkably down to earth and his writing is approachable and conversational. And he's a marauding cell phone jammer, a practice of which I wholeheartedly approve. He needs a fucking cape.

Most of the blog is light and funny and erudite and sort of carefree, but there are some posts that reveal what's going on in his life and his heart, and these are very fine, too. I'd like more of them.

The morning is moving on without me, and I've got to get this review posted. But what I really want to do is settle back into this blog and read some more. It's being added to my feed reader as we speak, although there's one minor problem: I want to know more. There's not a lot of talk about Mrs. Wife, which is either a little off-putting or terribly protective and sweet, I'm not sure which. And we get a lot of now, but not so much then. I'd like some more exposition, but then I always do. "Take it off, take it all off" seems to be my mantra. I get that not all blogs need to explore the sharp, rusty edges of our souls or sift through the decaying pages of our sordid pasts, but, come on. Just a little?

The giggle of eyelashes*

In graduate school I learned to sing the body electric. The program I attended was more about souls and songs and art and heart and expression than it was about lectures and footnotes and appendices and theses. We created and explored. We put font to music. We made books and paper and poetry.

At first, I balked at the artsy fartsyness of it all. I wanted to be a serious student, with serious success, large textbooks, late nights at the library over microfiche, bibliographic complexity. Instead I got professors who encouraged us to open class with an African blessing to the dawn, who wanted artistic presentations on feminist gods, who expected me to dig, dig, dig deep into wells of pain and self and remembrance and hope to create art. It was all so much kumbaya and not enough cross-referencing. At first. But gradually, with eye-rolls and exasperated huffs and hesitant inchings toward release, I succumbed to the power in their poetry, the worth of their wonder. And I'm a better writer for it.

Today's blogger reminds me of that time in graduate school, when I sloughed off some of that rigid academia to embrace the tickle of words. Maya at One Paragraph at a Time is a poet who would have fit in nicely with my crowd of wordmongers in graduate school.

I hesitate to tell you her blog is almost entirely poetry. But wait! I know. I thought the same thing at first. A whole blog? Over four years of posts? With nothing but poetry? Pass. But stick with me here because Maya can write some damn poetry. I actually like it. Kind of a lot. Her writing is contemplative and introspective and deliberate and lovely and tactile and thoughtful. She writes about nostalgia and sex ("he was all hers, one locked muscle of utter fealty") and lies. Her poetry is honest and mature and revealing. Every word is revered, precisely chosen, and treasured.

I just read an entire blog of poetry. I can't believe it, either, but I did. And I loved it. Oh, the template is boring, and Maya could stand to roll up her archives. But the template doesn't even matter because her artistry is on the screen, in those words I want to roll around on my tongue, those words that delight my eyes. This is not some angsty teenage blithering with rhymed, insipid dreck. This is real, this is art, and this is good.








*My title is stolen from Maya @ One Paragraph at a Time.

"When you can take the pebble from my hand, it will be time for you to leave"

I didn't know how to start this review. For the first paragraph or so of my reviews, I generally like to pull out some piece of the personality or experience of the blogger I'm reviewing to relate to or make fun of. I think of how their lives relate or don't relate to mine, I tell a charming or embarrassing story from my past, I make fun of myself and them, I tell you who I am and who they are: pretty much I find some way to make it about me, too. Because I'm just that self-centered. Also it makes for good story telling. Don't tell me it doesn't because I won't believe you (Remember? Self-centered.).

I feel like over the past year or so of reviewing blogs I've started to know what I'm doing. I've been feeling rather old-hat, really: like I've seen it all now, the good blogs and the terrible blogs and the blogs that are getting by but need some work. There haven't been all that many surprises for me lately, and the reviews come quick and dirty and easily. More often than not, frankly, I feel better than the unwashed blogging masses, which sounds really puffed up and full of myself, and, guess what, I am sometimes. (Both better than the unwashed masses and full of myself, at the same time and independent of the other. I'm also over-explainy and unduly fond of parentheticals.)

But this week I struggled.

First impressions: Nice design, organized, good about page, love the tabs and the FAQs, hate the ads, but in today's economy I'm becoming more lax on that (shill!). The archives are all tidy, but I don't like how they automatically roll back up -- sometimes static wins.

Digging in: The dating chronicles are amusing, although she reveals a slight tendency toward superficiality, which is probably forgivable under the auspices of online dating. Also, she realizes she has issues, and I like people who own their foibles. She wears Black Phoenix Alchemy Lab perfume, which is my absolute fave (I wear their O). But I can't figure out whey she sometimes writes "noh" instead of "no."

I want to read the entire thing from the beginning, which is a good sign, although there is a marked gap between 2004 and 2008. Anna, I'd like a bit of a re-introduction when you start blogging again in 2008 -- what happened in the meantime? Now all the sudden there's a kid and a husband.

There are posts about things and products and such, which is fine by me. I'm a material girl and I like a review once in a while. And, true to her tag line, there are pop cultural references (I've never watched a single episode of John & Kate, but I don't have to -- the internet tells me all I need to know.) and thoughts about being a mother that in no way step over the line into dreaded cutesy mommy blogger territory.

Here's where my struggle comes in: I feel like I can't really critique her. Anna has got this shit down. She posts often, she writes so very well, she's insightful and charming and she's got a blog design that works and matches her personality. I like her. A lot. If I didn't have all this pesky work to do, I'd have pulled up close and clicked through her entire oeuvre. I no doubt will at some point. She strikes a balance between revealing herself in bits and pieces and just downright entertaining us. She's a smartypants and she knows it but isn't all sneery about it, and I love that. But she's also totally neurotic and acerbic and funny and honest, which I love even more. I find myself in the unenviable position of wishing she'd review my blog instead of the other way around. I figure she can teach me a thing or two.

The thing is, Bob, it's not that I'm lazy, it's that I just don't care.

The world of business and corporations and networking and conference calls and Six Sigma and Someone Stole My Cheese and marketing-speak and power suits is utterly beyond me. It's all so much nonsense. Which is kind of a shame, really, because I'd probably be making a lot more money if things like "branding," "market share," and "competitive intell" meant anything at all to me.

But Dot Com Mom gets it in spades. And she writes about it. Lucky me.

Blogger has, I'm guessing, something like 10 standard templates available for the 36 million (roughly) bloggers using its platform. Each of them are tired, boring, and barely functional not to mention generally ugly. Do you really identify yourself so much with the sea and nautical life that you'd use their lighthouse template to represent who you are? I know one person who can reasonably get away with this, and you aren't that person.

Look, people: a blog is, if nothing else, an expression of self (or at least it damn well should be). Sure, for us it's about the writing, and good writing is more likely to make me disregard the trappings of your blog. You can wrap a pile of dog shit up in pretty bows and lovely paper, but it's still a pile of dog shit. But if you wrap a pile of gold in used diapers, I'm not going to go digging for the gold. Appearance and accessibility matter.

That said, your blog could be gorgeous and cleverly formatted and easily navigated, but if you don't post consistently you're just taking up space. Allison's got a grand total of 18 posts. Two of them from 2003. And she hasn't written since March. This is a colossal waste of my time.

Not surprisingly there's no About page, and Allison's Blogger profile gives nothing away. So I don't know why I should listen to a thing she has to say, there's no impetus for me to be curious about her because she likes something I like or hates something I like or mentions something personally intriguing. There's nothing personal here. It's a small collection of self-important essays on politics, technology, and lord knows what all else because it's so heavily couched in tech and marketing and management terms that it loses all meaning for me.

Allison makes you work for it, and even the good stuff can be an ungodly chore to get through, with explanatory links and marginally obscure references overshadowing really quite fine writing. I didn't care enough to click on those external links. I mean, do we really need a link to a definition of "smart cookie"? No, no we don't. Those links are distracting instead of helpful; they just direct us away from your writing, which is (or could be) really rather good. I'm not denying the very real intelligence Allison displays, but it's off-puttingly lacquered with excess information while being unsettlingly devoid of heart.

I could go through and list my constructive criticism now, but I honestly can't be bothered to expend the energy for someone who hasn't updated since March and managed to eke out a dozen posts this year. Get back to me when you've decided to be a blogger.

"What they created was greater than art because you live your life in it"

I don't really know how to handle a stylish man. I live at the intersection of Izods, madras shorts, and deck shoes and trucker hats, T-shirts with wildlife themes, and Levis. My father has a closet full of lawyerly Oxford shirts and loafers, light blue Wranglers from the 80s, and a captain's hat he wears at every opportunity. The man in my life, although adorable, wears interchangeable blue jeans, khaki shorts, T-shirts, and flip-flips year-round, with little thought for trends or personal flair or tailoring. Hell, I buy most of his clothes, and as long as they fit and aren't red, orange, or brown, he's good. The only fashionable guy I've ever dated looked like Rob Lowe and wore pink Polos and Ray Bans and checked himself out in every available reflection. I'm pretty sure he used a hair dryer. It was obviously never going to work between us. My gay brother is the only man in my life who is stylish: he is impeccably and expensively dressed at all times, his clothes are always tailored and pressed and coordinated, and he has the best accessories, including an impressive and chic eyewear collection. I once spent a delightful few minutes gently stroking the lapel of his Chanel suit.

So it's understandable that, given my background, it took me a while to realize that the author of Getting Beat Like You Stole Something is a straight man. This says nothing about the author (except that he neglected to have an about page) and everything about my expectations for male behavior. Because here is a boy with a fashion blog. A straight boy. No, really.

For a fashion blog (oh, he says it's a "fashion, food, design, art, and culture in general" blog, but it leans heavily on the fashion bit), the design is rather stark. I'm like minimalism (did anyone see that episode of Absolutely Fabulous where Edina and Patsy visit their friends' ultra white home? No?), and you definitely don't want to over-design your blog when you're featuring so many pictures, but a little pizazz wouldn't hurt. Get a groovy banner, roll up your archives and your categories, and add a punch of color. Make your design more personal: we can't all be The Sartorialist. Consider using tabs; you can easily put "my stuff," "stuff for your girl," and "steez biting" on their own pages. And you need an about page. Who the heck are you, and why should we care what you think?

Greenjeans is an urban hipster, as I understand them, but classy and tailored with a retro-chic vibe. So hip is he, in fact, that I had to urban dictionary the hell out of some things. "Co-sign"? "Dopeshow"? Really? Why did people ever stop saying "radical"? I felt a bit like I needed to wrangle Rassles in on this review, for translation purposes. The author is a pretentious little git, which doesn't mean I don't like him. I'd just spend a lot of time calling him a pretentious little git.

Aside from being a pretentious urban hipster, Greenjeans has his good points. He knows who Nancy Kwan is, for one, and mentions her often. He's got a healthy appreciation for those who've come before, and his writing is spare but evocative.

She seems like the girl you met during that semester abroad in Paris. You were supposed to study international finance and the effects of globalization but instead you marveled at how she smoked endless cigarettes and drank really strong coffee. That and the way she dressed made you feel like you were in a movie.

A good tie is a like a good gun, it won't let you down and is apropos in nearly any situation.

His offers quick, well-written observations and longer, equally well-written commentary. I like his style and his voice, and it was a nice diversion to browse back through his short but consistent history of posts and linger a while.

I have no complaints about your writing, Greenjeans. Your blog isn't expository or personal or even a showcase for your craft; it's a collection of tips, opinions, and observations. And though I generally prefer the former, there's nothing wrong with the latter. It's possible you're lucky you got me for a reviewer, because I'm the one with a hefty subscription to fashion blogs on my feed reader. And congratulations, you just joined them.

Blogger, know thyself

I started blogging as a way to train myself to write every day. I'd long said I wanted to be a writer, and I thought creating a habit, flexing my writing muscles by blogging, would be a good way to start reaching that goal (almost four years later and I'm not limber enough yet). I thought I'd tell amusing stories, make a few people laugh, comment on the news and pop culture of the day, revive some bits of nostalgia, and just crack my knuckles and get down to the business of writing. What I didn't expect was the opportunity for self-exploration and connection blogging could provide. The more I blogged, the more I learned about myself. And the more I blogged, the more I learned about others, about how we're alike in our differences, about how people are usually more than you think.

What strikes me about today's reviewee is that he seems so self-aware. He knows who he is, what's important to him, what he likes and dislikes and dreams. I don't know how much self-knowledge blogging affords him, but whatever his motivation for blogging, whatever unexpected benefits he may gain from it, I'm glad he does.

Jacob at Jacob's Land of Bliss and Blisters says his blog is "... a little difficult to describe. I'm a scattered, random and eclectic person. So is my blog." And he's right.

He uses a standard blogger template, and though it's not horrible it's also not all that attractive or personal. I'd like a little more personality -- a photographic banner, perhaps. Though it is relatively uncluttered, the font is a bit small. Roll up your archives, Jacob, and consider tabs. Try to fix it so you've got no more than, say, six posts on a page.

Readers take note: he's got a great "about" page. This is what we want: just the basics, a little upfront information on who you are and what to expect. You don't have to shoot your wad there and give us everything, but give us a taste, just the tip. (Although, Jacob, consider linking to the blogs of those you list under "cast" right there in the text.)

Jacob is a frequent, long-term blogger with a backlog of EIGHT YEARS of posts, though only the last three have been consistent. Normally for a blog with that long a history, I'll go back to the first couple of posts just to see how it all started then stick with the current year. But I got sucked in and wanted to read the whole thing. I couldn't, though, not in the time I'd allotted myself to review.

I love a Georgia boy, and they love their football. But like Chris's blog (one Jacob and I both read), sometimes the football talk gets boring for me 'cause they're not talking about Florida State (except here -- Go Noles!). I can forgive him his low opinion of Florida. Barely.

But I just like his voice. Even when he's boring and fatalistic and misanthropic, he's entertaining and well-written and thoughtful. He's dry and smart and self-aware.

True, they're mostly loooong posts. He's got a lot to say and he usually says it very well. It's not that I think you should edit, Jacob, although you probably could prune a bit. It's that I'd like to see more variety in length. Acres of lengthy posts can be a little daunting for a reader. There's a tendency toward tangential and rambling writing, and though this is one of those cases where I think it works in your favor, it would work even better if you switched it up with some more brief, succinct posts thrown in (something it seems you've started doing more of in recent months).

They say you can tell a lot about a person by the company they keep, and I tend to think that's true. This is why a blogroll is, for me, as important as an about page. I wanna know who you are and who you like. In this case, I like who Jacob is, and I like who he likes.

Happy Families

I like hippies. You probably wouldn't know that to look at me, what with my professional attire and fastidious grooming habits. Though I own several pairs of Birks, there's not a flowy skirt or artsy messenger bag made of hemp in my closet. I hardly even recycle. But the hippie philosophy and lifestyle is interesting and attractive to me in some ways. I'm down with being green, peaceful, accepting, alternative, global, and friendly to plants bearing red hairs and crystals. If I weren't so lazy and greedy and averse to vegetarianism, I'd be a fairly decent hippie. Well, no, maybe not; but I'm a sympathizer, a sideliner, a champion of hippieness.

Except when it gets as preachy and holier-than-thou as the local Bible thumpers at a tent revival, where speaking in organic is akin to speaking in tongues. I tend to agree with the Greeks: moderation in all things. Paxye, my reviewee, is a kind of extremist mother hippie with very definite ideas about parenting and childrearing and birthing and holistic living, which are all well and good except kind of fanatical.

Her blog has a pretty design, although she doesn't need three columns. No one needs three columns. And I was a three column culprit once upon a time! Paxye, get rid of the recent posts and comments, roll up your categories, move your archives, and drop it back to two columns. You'll thank me. Think about tabs instead of the links at the bottom of the page -- best to have those options right up where we can get to them.

Now. The content. Look, I get it. Kids are important. They are, as Whitney so gloriously proclaimed before she discovered that crack is whack, our future. But I don't have kids. I don't want kids. The cult of the baby is completely beyond me and quite frankly a little distasteful. If I had little Mini Me offspring I might feel differently, I grant you, but basically the industry and focus and obsession with tots is, for me, weird. I spent several bewildering hours last Friday listening in on the mothers of young children and, for me, it was like hearing about a well-tended garden when I have a black thumb.

And this blog is devoted entirely to parenting, babies, birthing, "unschooling" (don't ask me), child development, co-sleeping, baby-wearing, and any number of other bits of parenthood and family making that I just can't get into. She's all about "alternative parenting," which I find both ridiculous and inspiring, depending on the topic. There are things with which I agree and others I find frankly disturbing. But this isn't about judging her parenting habits or philosophies (a task for which I feel woefully unprepared and yet strangely inspired to perform), it's about judging her blog.

To that end, her blog is one of those here's what we did today types, which I really don't give a flip about. Add in some thinly veiled lifestyle smugness and a crusading atmosphere, and you've just completely lost me. Her 100 things talks about a lot of things that will really offend her: hello, off-putting. There is ellipses overkill, my particular bugaboo. And I get the sense that she has very little humor, silliness, ribaldry, or inappropriate behavior in her life, which is disappointing. Perhaps that's just what she's presenting here, but that's all I've got to go on. It's all peace and happy families and art projects, none of which are bad things, they're just not all that interesting, especially how she writes about them.

Now, let's get to that: the writing. There is no artistry or craft in posting something like this or this stupendously boring post. I'm guessing she doesn't edit or review or experience her writing. This isn't writing, it's typing. People who share her parenting views might get a lot out of this blog, but they could get so much more if she'd tighten up her writing and tell a story instead of enumerating what she and the kids and sometimes her husband did each day. And then there's that -- there's not a lot of writing about the hubs in this blog, which seems curious.

Plus there are recipes with, like, vegetables. I ask you. Where's the bacon? Where's the booze? Where's the SEX?! And, more importantly, where's the weed? I mean, "hippie" is right there in the title; I expect some herb.

In all seriousness, though, we talk so often about what makes a good blog: having a unique voice, being an outstanding writer, or being a hot mess. Paxye, you're not giving us any of these things. The writing isn't enough to keep me interested, the subject is totally outside the realm of my experience, and there's no dirt to speak of -- so, you've lost me.

What you have going for you are some cute kids and really nice photos, a niche audience, and a willingness and commitment to write frequently. If you want to gain other readers, get off the kid train and tell us something else about your life. If you want to better serve your target readers, pay attention to the words you put on the screen, edit yourself, post things that are relevant, meaningful, and above all well-constructed. Never use another ellipsis again, capitalize things that should be capitalized, pay attention to grammar and structure, refrain from telling us your weekly schedule unless you can make it interesting or informative or funny, and for the love of the Flying Spaghetti Monster (in whom you do not believe -- for shame) don't post for the sake of posting.

Wishing I'd traveled the hippie trail

There are a couple of topics that, if you write about them consistently on your blog, I'm liable to be sucked in. These are: James Bond, sex, being young and horny during the years 1991-1998, the beach, unicorns, pop culture, grammar and usage, ABBA, historical fiction, porn, and traveling.

And of these, traveling might hold a dearer spot in my heart than some the others. At heart I'm a frustrated vagabond. I know that a lot of people get bored looking at other people's vacation slides. Not me. I want to see, and while you're at it give me a running commentary. And if your travels consist of roughing it, or going the long way around, or going somewhere tourists don't tend to go, or going by yourself? So much the better. I'm an escapist, I guess: I want to go with you, even if it's only through reading your stories. Hell, one of my favorite people is Rick Steves.

I wasn't sure about Toukakoukan: In at the Deep End when I first clicked on the site. I thought, "Oh, another Long Way Round." The design is kind of clunky and a bit basic. But it gets the job done, with the intro right there on the front page telling you where to start. The About page is informative, but nowhere does it explain Toukakoukan. Also, Sam, add a map -- it's a good way for us to tag along. A search option wouldn't go amiss, either.

You read it chronologically: The trek starts in May 2008, but there's buildup to the trip beginning in August 2007. You can skip the buildup, though, because it's mostly bike repairs and girlfriend drama and, well, buildup.

Initially Sam takes on a motivational-speakerish tone, but this quickly disappears (for the better). At first he seemed a go-getter, which can come across a little frenetic and disingenuous to me, but I'm more cynical than I realize sometimes. But quite soon it became obvious that this is a smart kid. Really smart. And more independent and inquisitive and, frankly, mature than most I've come across, including myself.

It is, ultimately, a diary. The posts, although smart and interesting, are a bit unpolished. This is both understandable and forgivable: he's writing this from the road, stopping in Internet cafes when he can, recalling tales and experiences and people. And though a little slipshod, his writing holds these great little kernels of character and wry observances and keen insights.

I'll admit the discussions about bikes and gear bored me to tears, but I'm a girl. And Sam is so cheerfully game, irreverent, and strangely wise for one so young. I don't normally excerpt in my reviews, but I really liked these:

"...only yesterday I spent the night in a ditch, which is not as bad as it sounds surprisingly."

"I hastily put down my, by now, sodden map of Corsica to wave at a group of eight German overlanders who were passing by just as I realised I’d spent the last 6 hours going in a circle trying to get to where I already was."

"I arrived in Chur, bent down to take off my motorcross boots as they’re as about as suitable for walking in as a chastity belt is for the reverse cowgirl."

"Bumper cars sit gently rusting, never having heard the playful whoops of children in their midst."

So, it's a little scattershot, the paragraph spacing is nonexistent, he goes a long time between posting (hell, he's living on a bike, I'll give him a break for that), and maybe there's a little rambling philosophizing going on, but do I care? No. Not at all. Because this guy's traveling around on his motorcycle, seeing the world and meeting people and having spills and letting us tag along for the ride. I'm a sucker for stories, and this guy's got one. Not to mention the truly great photos.

Yes, it's been done before and documented. But every journey is different, as is ever traveler. And Sam is a talented storyteller with an engaging perspective and a unique voice. Once he took to the road, I couldn't stop reading. And I'm not done yet.

Sam, good job keeping track of this once(or twice?)-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Don't let the experience slip away -- document everything with intention. And when you get settled and are off the road, come back to the blog and spruce things up. I hope you're keeping a written journal, too. Take the stuff you've written there, add it to the great things you've got going here, pile in the photos, and really make this a cohesive and detailed documentation of your journey. It's fascinating, you're a great guide, and I can't wait to read more.







*The Hippie Trail

Girl, you'll be a woman soon

I like to think of myself as positive, cheerful, optimistic, even idealistic. The glass is half full, people are generally good, unicorns exist.

I realize now, after reading today's reviewee, that I may be these things, but for a 34-year-old. There's only so much innocence and idealism and cheerfulness allowed at a certain age, you know? Life doesn't let you hang on to that forever. Not entirely. Not without a healthy (or unhealthy) portion of cynicism and doubt and experiential reservation. These days I sometimes roll my eyes at the blind hopefulness of youth, the unswerving romanticism, the unfounded and likely-to-be-toppled idealism. But only sometimes.

Tabitha at Headed in the Right Direction reminds me that having hope, believing in something, and enjoying simple, innocent pleasures is worthwhile. They aren't my hopes, my beliefs, or my pleasures, but I can still appreciate the sentiment.

Her design is standard but with good tabs and organization. The About page gives us an idea of who she is and why she's doing this blogging thing, but Tabitha, you may want to include something about who Joe is here. Also, figure out how to import your old Blogger posts into your new Wordpress site, unless the focus of this blog is entirely different. I'm sure there's a way.

Now. I just want to warn my fellow cynical Askites: there's Bible study and devotional time and worship. Yeah. I know. But go with me on this.

She's young (that would be To Have and Have Not, not Honey I Shrunk the Kids) and in love (8 months? Get back to me after 12 years) and mostly cheerful and a bit naive and innocent in a charming way.

She's funny and honest and she tells a good story. Tabitha's a comfortable writer who knows her voice. And at 24, that's really very impressive. She rambles, but it's a cohesive, entertaining ramble, for the most part. She's long-winded and wordy, but it kind of works for her. Tabitha, you could stand to trim some of the fat from your posts -- go through and edit. But for the most part, I like your style, I like your rambling stream of consciousness because you do it well. A less skilled or personable writer would lose us in the words, would annoy the crap out of us by leading us hither and yon. But you do a pretty good job of drawing us in and keeping us there.

Tabitha gets it. She knows she's writing for an audience, even if she writes for herself first. "Cuz let’s face it, if I didn’t want input, responses, reactions, etc., I would make it all private, or just put it in a physical, paper journal, ya know?" -- Exaaaactly.

I liked this blog, in spite of myself. In spite of my wished-for cheerful optimism, I'm often a sneering cynic, especially now with bills mounting and love getting away from me and age settling in around my eyes. Reading Tabitha's blog was kind of refreshing, really. I don't share her values or religion or frame of reference, but she's kind and silly and thankful and so very eager but also, honestly, a talented writer. I can't help but wish her the best.

Tabitha, some further words of encouragement: you've got the conversation down. Branch out a little now. Get more creative, push your boundaries. Live in the words rather than just saying them. You tell us your stories with lighthearted optimism. Delve a little deeper, not for darkness but for truth, for maturity, for something at once raw and polished.

The folks you meet

The other day on my personal blog I wrote about my people. About the folks you meet who are instant connections, who fit, who just get it, get you. I was talking about face-to-face people, but I've found in my three years or so of blogging that my people are out there in the ether, too, churning out words I can relate to, being hilarious and insightful and smart and dirty and just my people.

A couple of months ago I found another one. They crop up like that, out of the blue, in unexpected ways, from a link or a post or a tweet. And there you are, connecting with someone you'd have never met otherwise, whose words resonate and whose personality shines through the screen.

Coincidentally, I pulled Here in Franklin out of the virtual hat to review today. I'd already been getting to know her, but today gave me a welcome opportunity to go back over the months of her blog and read it all.

She uses one of my favorite standard Wordpress themes. It's clean, uncluttered, and easy on the eyes. But I really hate the click to see more option in the archives. It's just so much work. I'm exhausted now. And if you can figure out how, Franklin, I'd add a search feature. That aside, she's got the About page nailed, the archives dropped, and her sidebars neat and tidy. Well done.

As LB illustrated in yesterday's review, boring blogs abound. But here's a writer who can make the most mundane, everyday thing (how much more everyday can you get than McDonald's?) interesting. She's southern, which wins her points from me, since I'm all southern fried. And Franklin is funny, y'all. She even has a sense of humor about cancer. She writes beautifully and confidently about silly, flippant things. No, really. Look at that grammar (which is fine, even though she rails against it -- and semi-colons are your friends). Admire the spelling. Revel in the gorgeous, well-constrained paragraphs.

She smart (she auditioned for Jeopardy, which just makes her my favorite person ever). She's not a natural housekeeper (me, neither). She's well-traveled. And I just pretty much agree with her (I can even forgive her the dog thing).

The only complaint I have -- which isn't a complaint, not really -- is that we don't get a lot of guts here. Oh, Franklin's entertaining and a stand-out writer and funny as hell, but she doesn't give us the inside scoop. Maybe it's because she's not anonymous. Understandable. But I am left wanting just a smidge more. A little more heart and soul.

Still, even without it, I fucking love you.

Make 'em laugh

Dizzblnd, my reviewee of the day, tells us in her profile: "I like having fun. Laughing makes me happy, making other people laugh makes me happy." This is true for, like, 98.9% of the population that isn't misanthropic. I'm not a misanthrope (usually -- Ghost and Thanatos and Love Bites are bad influences), so I might be rounding that number up. Making others laugh is a good portion of why I blog, too, followed shortly thereafter by exorcising my demons (there are only three or four) and talking about sex.

So, however inelegantly she states it, I get why Dizzblnd blogs. Laughter = good.

Her blog design, though, = bad. It's an unnecessary three columns with lots of whozits in the sidebars. And it's bright freaking yellow. The header is ok, if a bit overcheerful. And I like cheerful. There are links to her other blogs in the tabs, along with a shout-out to her blog designer and a link to Humorbloggers (our favorite). Dzz, consolidate into one sidebar and move your archives up toward the top.

I haven't a clue why this blog is called Soggy Doggy Bloggy. Aside from her extraordinarily generic profile page with blogger, there's no "About," so I'm left to just figure this person out on my own. Here's where I go on and on about an about page again. Seriously, folks, I just need one. Please. They help your reader get to know you without having to dive in blind, searching for glimmers of who you are. Just give us a little to go on. It doesn't have to be extensive, just the vitals. I wanna know who you think you are.

Dizz told us when she submitted for review: "I blog to hopefully give my stalkers a laugh or a chuckle every time they come. I am NOT a mommy blogger, although I WILL bitch about my teenagers occasionally." And you know what? She's right. This is exactly what she does. Dzzblnd seems like a fun, playful person who doesn't take herself seriously. She enjoys life, is silly and irreverent, and doesn't cater to her kids. She hates to clean, and she lives in Florida. I like her. I think she'd be good company.

But she frequently posts email forwards and other people's stuff and games and memes and tags and "Mad Lib Monday" and she even reposts her own stuff. Sigh. I scrolled over all these things. They added nothing real or personal or new or fresh. They're just rehashed bits of internet effluvia or exercises in patting herself and other bloggers on the back.

Dzz's writing is rambling, stream of consciousness stuff with no polish. She never claimed to be a writer, after all, but I still want more effort/concentration/finesse in her posts. However charming I might find her as a person, her writing is mediocre. As a "humor blogger" (setting aside for a moment our general contempt for those who label themselves that way), we don't get any meat or depth from Dzz, which is ok for her purposes. But it leaves me a bit unsatisfied. One cannot live on a diet of cotton candy alone. Alas.

Today you get a meh. But make it worth my while -- clean up the design, make it more organized, and tighten up your writing -- and I'd easily give you a star. You really are kinda funny, when you're not going on and on forever and using other people's crap as a crutch. Lay off the reposts and emails. Post when you have something to say, and edit before you do.