That's whack

So, you're strolling around your local mega-bookstore, sipping your chai (or whatever, your call), contemplating a biscotti later, enjoying the pleasantly erudite and learned environment, and perusing the aisles, looking for that next great read. A book catches your eye with its bright colors and shiny lettering and the word "smegma" in the title, and you pick it up. After you realize it was "Smuggler" and your dirty mind has run away from you again, you put it back, but because you're gripping your super hot but delicious chai, you fumble a little and the book next to it falls out. Great. Putting your chai down, you pick up the fallen book because you're polite and tidy and don't want to be observed walking away from your messes, which was your first -- though brief -- inclination. The book has a subdued gray cover, smallish type, and looks to be about the lives of insurance salesmen. Or an examination of funeral home decor. Possibly an exegesis of the uses for fabric softener. Or something. But the name of the author rings a bell, and the blurbs on the back actually look promising: something about hippies and skinny dipping and metalheads and study abroad and vodka. So you think, well, I've got this 25% off coupon, and I think I've heard this guy somewhere before. You buy it.

Later that night your significant other, or your cat, or your gimp finds you sprawled helpless and drooling in an armchair because your new purchase has, three pages in, put you into a coma-like sleep the likes of which neither Ambien nor Ativan can touch.

Welcome to the world of Dick Whackman.

I'm not a fan of the design, but it's not atrocious. Just boring. Like a site for densits. Or actuaries. Definitely don't need three columns, Dick. You don't need the calendar AND the archives, and you don't need categories AND tags. Roll up your archives and your categories and you can retain the tags if you want, but otherwise it's just redundant. And would it kill you to have a header image of some sort?

Let it Blurt promises to be the wildest, wackiest place on the web! I call bullshit. Nice try, but I think I know a site that already claims that honor.

Dick doesn't tell us much about himself. It's not until four months into his blogging gig that we even find out he has children. Hell, he doesn't mention his age or marital status until a month after that. Whackjob, you need to put this post in your About section, otherwise we've got no background to go on. But edit it. A lot. Because, damn, you do go on. Do you talk like this? If so, do people often nod off in your company?

If I were to believe the about page, I would expect someone else besides Whackman blogging in tandem. But the other dude (Jay) only has a handful of posts. None very good. He's not so much a contributor as a shady co-conspiritor. Or a figment of Dick's imagination. No, seriously. He has those. Enter his imaginary twin brother, Charles, with violent mental illness. Who is actually much funnier than Richard.

The writing is strangely stiff and formal ("By listening to others make these sounds I acheive [sic] a catharsis.") with a why are you reading this, nobody cares mentality. There's potential in these stories, but he treats them so flatly, with no color or oomph or personality. I mean, come on! Hippie commune? Clothing optional? This should be intriguing stuff. But it's not.

Your posts are looooooooooooong. Seriously. This is a post about napping. Why all the words? You struggle with what to say, how much to "blurt," and in the end you don't say much at all, and you certainly don't let us in.

To be fair, he has some good stuff, like this.

Except these? Dude. Not funny. Like, Mr. Yunoshi unfunny. There's a very fine line for racial comedy, and I don't think you can walk it. Family Guy can, but you? Sorry.

If you're going to write, in the sense that you're impelled to blog, loosen up. Take your own advice. You knew this was coming. Hell, you even knew what I was going to say. But you don't do anything to improve, you don't spice it up or get real or edit or any of the shit you know you should do. What makes you think me telling you the same damn thing is going to make a difference? You're basically wasting my time, since you recognize this stuff, but, fuck, you asked for it.

Dick, you do these little intros to each of your posts, a paragraph of lead in. Stop. Just get to the meat. Like this one. Read it again, but leave out the first paragraph. See what I mean? I do lead ins, too, but mine are awesome. Clearly.

You're a smart dude, and you've had an interesting life, and you admit writing was never your thing. I can tell. It's not that you're a bad writer, you're just an unpolished one. You have stories to tell that could be downright riveting, but you bog them down in words, words, words. Words that need to be excised out with razor sharp precision. And my guess is you just don't have the experience yet to know what needs to be cut.

Your stiffness creates a barrier between you and your reader. It's like you're writing to sound like someone else, to sound, well, learned and erudite, to pull from my intro. But that shit's boring. Or it is the way you do it. I suspect your writing lacks humor because you're too buttoned up when you think about your audience. Because when you're "Charles," you're much less formal, much less regimented and "I'm going to write this way because it's how I've seen it done and it seems to work for them." No. Find your own voice. Or find Charles' and pull it into yours because he's a damn sight more readable.

Look, I like you. I think you're probably an interesting guy. And the comments you've left here have been vastly more enjoyable than your blog was. Edit yourself. Give yourself a word limit on a couple of posts and see what you do with that restriction on rambling on and on forever and ever amen (and I should know -- I'm a wordy little tart, myself). Write how you talk, not how you think you should sound. It's a blog, not a research paper. And if this is how you talk, well, shit. I'm sorry.

Little sister don't you do what your big sister done

I grew up with an older brother, he of the interminable Risk games and Rush cranked up to 11 and hours and hours spent on his Atari. I was the pesky little sister, looking up to him in all his nerdy glory, even though he stole my Halloween candy and told me he was always right and never wanted me around, at all, ever. He was still my big brother, and I wanted him to like and respect and include me. He didn't, though, not until he moved out and away and we both grew up and into our own people. Before then I was always vying for attention, being annoying and singing all the damn time and stealing his Star Wars action figures and D&D dice, thinking, I guess, that would get me noticed, that would get me included. Although why I wanted to be included in his geektastic life is beyond me. Still. Big brother, little sister and all that.

Sierra reminds me of that quintessential little sister. Not as annoying as I was (seriously, I sang all the time), but that same eagerness to please, that same look at me look at me I'm playing with the older kids vibe, that wishing and hoping to be included. But it's not the dorky older brother from whom she wants approval, it's bloggers. And not just any bloggers, mommy bloggers in particular. She loves a mommy blog. And she's kind of a mommy blogger in training, a mommy blogger wannabe. I know. It takes all kinds.

My first thought when I went to Sierra's blog was if you can't be bothered to post for a month, why should I bother to review you? Something just petered off for Sierra around December and she's let her blog go by the wayside. She's Twittering up a storm but not blogging.

My second thought was pink! Which is actually fine with me, but be glad you didn't get fluffy-hater LB. She'da ripped you one.

So, for the design... There are 3 columns, and you don't need 'em. Drop down your archives and your categories. I do like the pink and brown, and because I'm a bit girly I like the swirly little flounces, although the large signature and swirl at the end of every post is overdone. Shrink it or get rid of it. I love the font for your section headings, but it gets a little hard to read on your post headings, especially if they're long. And the font for the post text is way small and hurts my eyes. Good for you for having links to About, etc., and putting your blog roll and the rest of those bits on separate pages.

We all have our little blogging peccadilloes, and I HATE little cartoon sassy girls (disregard my avatar because at least I don't have an entire face). Especially if they don't look a thing like the blogger, which seems to be the case here. Who is this girl gazing slyly at us from your header, with her shag hairdo and hip-shot stance? Not you, that's who. Find something more representative.

Sierra is 20. Ah, youth. It's hard not to like her because she's kind of goofy and sweet. And she likes Anne Sexton. Much like yesterday's blogger, she's an awfully pollyanna 20. There's not a post about dicks or booze or booty calls or being busted for breach of peace, which would have been the subject of any blog I might have written around this time in my life.

Instead there are lots of memes and however many things about me (all of them too many) and these are my thoughts and blah, blah, blah. I mean, it's written reasonably well and with an engaging(ish) voice, but the subjects are, like, America's Next Top Model and going vegan and celebrity babies and Post Secret commentary and crap I just don't care about. And there's the Haiku Friday and Thousand Words Thursday and Spit on my Sphincter Saturday (I made that one up -- I needed some crass).

But then there are others, like this, that make me just want to hug her and tell her it'll all be ok.

But then she'll turn around and type things like 'puter and I want to throttle the cutesy right out of her.

She doesn't let us in very far, and when she does she password protects it. Almost all of October 2008 is links to other places, Post Secret crap, or gushing about Ingrid Michaelson. There are no boys on the entire blog. None. Unless they're of the celebrity kind. There's just not a whole lot of exposition going on. What there is is good and I'd like more of it, but ultimately she's writing puff pieces. Amusing puff pieces, but still. There should be some delving, some exposure, some heat.

Sierra, you're 20! Live a little. In your 100 things you say, "I know I’m supposed to enjoy my college years…but I honestly wish that they were over. I just want to have my degree, be working in a good hospital, be married, and have a family. That’s all I really want." This irks me to no end. It shouldn't because, after all, it's your life and you've got to live it how you see fit and not everyone has aspirations toward Olympic gold medals in debauchery. But, jeez. Why succumb to the mundane so easily? Put up a little fight. Just a smidge? For me? For the sake of having anything at all to say on your blog? I'm not saying go out and have a threesome (although, hell, don't rule it out). Just do something and write about it. Unchain yourself from your laptop and get a life so that when you get back to the laptop you have something to say other than "I'm sorry I don't have anything to say."

Sierra, you write about blogging and being a blogger and trying to be a better blogger. Here's a hint from Yoda: There is no try, only do. Forget about all the Dooces or whoever you look up to in the world and just do your thing. It will either be good or it won't, but if it feeds some part of you, it's worth it whether you get a zillion readers or 3. Blog because you have to, because you want to, not because you think it's something you ought to do, something you should be good at, or because you admire others for blogging.

I can tell you're big on the community aspect of blogging, and that's fine. Blogging does tend to create microcosms and relationships, and that's part of the draw. But if you write just for that aspect -- while looking up to, and wanting to be included with, the "more successful" bloggers -- you lose some of the guts of writing, the craft and creativity and storytelling and here I am, this is me, whole and unique and in the round. Don't write for the hits or the visits or the stats or the link backs. I know it's hard to avoid, and, yes, that can be a part of your process because it's natural to want to be heard. But when you devote too much of your blogging life to that spotlight urge, your words become hollow, sterile, and canned.

Perhaps you've already decided that the community means more to you than the writing. Maybe that's why you're tweeting instead of blogging. And that's fine, too. But I do think you have an interesting way with words and an engaging voice, so if you can stop giving us filler and fluff and start giving us some real life -- with hurt and anger and fear and delight and dirt and heart -- you could find yourself more "successful" than when you were trying to follow in your big sisters' footsteps.

Wailing and flailing and trudging and flogging

My freshman year of high school I dated this guy who was weird and dark and full of hate. I had changed schools that year, from a preppy private school to a slightly less preppy public one. I mean, there was, like, cultural and ethnic variety. Ish. Sort of. Anyway, this guy was everything that all the All-American boys next door Young Republicans I'd been to school with for years were not. He was an artist, he liked Nine Inch Nails and Ministry and wore a ratty old army jacket and slept with a cleaver under his bed and called himself by his own name spelled backwards. He made me mix tapes and I blew him in the front seat of his Monte Carlo.

We were together about seven months before he came to his senses about me being really, really young, and I came to my senses about him being really, really weird. And I swore, from that day forward, never again. That was my first, last, and only brush with twisted little arty death boys who think they just might be the Antichrist.

And I've said too much.

Today's reviewee reminds me of that guy, that freaky little charming bastard. But with less charm. Therein lies my bias. I'm warning you ahead of time.

The design is a simple, abbreviated three-column layout that's really unnecessary. Stick with two. As Love Bites illustrated in her latest review, it's just overkill. Although there are very few extras on the blog, which is good. No blinking whoozits or badges or ads or anything. But the gray text on black background is hell on my eyes. I suspect "Thanatos" knows this and is just punishing us all, little death boy that he is.

He's been "blogging" for at least 3 years, but there's only a little over 100 posts. He admits in his profile that prior to 2008 he didn't do a lot of writing for his blog; it was mostly links and poetry and video. And speaking of poetry, his is angsty dark poetry, which I'm not sure I can fault him for as I'm so very guilty of the same. Well, I was when I was 19 anyway.

As for the writing, there are quite a few grammatical and technical problems that trip me up, especially apostrophes and the lack thereof. I suspect that's just laziness, and perhaps a bit to do with the whole ESOL thing. But it's annoying nonetheless.

Thanatos would like us to to believe that he's all I hate everything and fuck you and I don't care what you think and naneenaneebooboo and I'm so blasé and deep and twisted and complicated and people are stupid and I'm a smarty little judgmental angsty-pants.

Nihilism has never been attractive to me. And neither has misanthropy. Well, except for that one time in high school. Thanatos talks about cutting, which worries me. But then he goes and says things like, "Do something useful, pull a trigger," which, you know what Mr. The World Is a Vampire? Go fuck yourself. (And I know that seems hypocritical coming from a girl who doles out flaming fingers and laughs at comments about killing roommates, but still. I'm the boss of this review and I can do what I want.)

There are some glimpses of what's underneath, what's valuable. But there's no back
story. I assume he's in the States for school or work, but I could be wrong. He doesn't tell us anything. This is good. Real, even. And this, even though I'm now more sure than ever that this guy needs a couple of hours with Mistress Kiki and her stinging whip and a ball gag.

I hate the music he loves, and his profile says he doesn't read that much, so ultimately I just don't have a lot in common with Thanatos, and I'm kind of glad. Because he seems unhappy, really. Ok, so he likes Sasha Grey. Who doesn't? Yum.

In his submission form, Thanatos tells us his blog is: "A collection of rants, embedded youtube videos and obscure references that are increasingly reeking of self indulgence." I've got to hand it to him that he's at least self-aware. Thanatos, your blog up to about the last five months is an exercise in pushing people away. You posted things that don't matter, not to you or to anyone. It's throw-away crap and you know it. But there are a few redeeming posts lately, where you shrug off that mask of cynicism and morbid carelessness and show us the person underneath. Stick with that stuff. Write better and more frequently, otherwise what's the point, what are you blogging for?

I don't believe you at all when you say you don't care what we think, that your blog is just for you. You wouldn't have submitted here for your kick to the nuts (your words). If you want this blog to be worthwhile, if you want people to read what you say and care about it, lay off the surface jaded bullshit and give us something we can relate to. Or, if nothing else, something to entertain us. Because right now you're just swimming around in a pool of your own bile, and that can't be fun. Or, you know, hygienic.

Today you get








But keep on doing what you've been doing the last couple of months only better, and post more frequently and more meaningfully, and I'll revisit this rating.

If there's one thing I can't stand about sleeping with women, it's all the fucking mind-reading*

A college friend once told me that I was the most heterosexual woman she'd ever met. She said this because I was -- and am -- entirely boy crazy. At the time I was recently heartbroken and out of a monogamous relationship and I was on the prowl. Utterly. Every male was scrutinized and measured and evaluated on fuckability. Would I or wouldn't I? Mostly I would.

So, in some ways her comment was apt. But in others? Not so much. My first fumbling forays into sexual experience were with neighborhood girls. And I was always the instigator. Come over and let's play girlfriend/boyfriend, wink wink, nudge nudge. Being the aggressor, I was almost always the "boy." It wasn't so much that girls attracted me; it was more that boys were not as accessible, and my horniness knew (knows) no bounds. And now I am not at all averse to appreciation of the female form, and I suffer from no vaginaphobia. In speaking with Duck (who is a gorgeous lesbian with the mind and charisma and flair of a gay man and all the showtunes and glitter that entails) about levels of gaydom, scales of lesbiosity, I'm pretty sure that on that scale I could never have a relationship with a woman, I couldn't be all squishy lovey sweetheart with a woman, but I could probably get all up in her business.

Which brings me to today's reviewee (what, I'm just revealing my inner lesbian tendencies for nothing?), Honey, a somewhat misleading nom de plume for a butch(ish) lesbian. Honey talks, among other things, about gender identity and being gay and her own scale of butch to femme, gay to straight.

The blog is nicely designed, organized, clean, and clutter-free. The archives could be better served by monthly organization rather than just a list, although it's nice to have it in a separate tab. And speaking of tabs, she does a good job with those, too. The design is basic, simple, and attractive, with very little decoration or adornment aside from her own photos and art, all in their appropriate places. I don't usually care about other people's pictures online, especially people I don't know. But for some reason Honey's pictures bring me in. There's an honesty and appreciation about them.

Honey gets her stride with her blogging mission/comfort zone/voice about November of 2007. Most of the blog before that is scattered, inconsistent, and lacking. Example:

I’ll get home and take another very nice shower, drink some very delicious tea, have excellent conversation with my wonderful girlfriend, and go to bed. I’ll be asleep within a minute.

La, la, la... and I'm bored.

But later on she settles into this very zen, calm, introspective vibe that works for her. She writes some good, self-aware stuff. There's a lot of questioning, looking inward, and figuring out going on. A little back and forth of am I this, or am I this other thing, or, no, I'm both.

And speaking of who she is, Honey is completely unconcerned about sharing her identity online, where she went to school, her girlfriend's identity, where she works, and her entire working resume. She's a stalker's wet dream. Which brings me back to the discussion on anonymity and does the lack of it hinder your ability to express yourself online. In some ways I think Honey breaks this trend, because she lives, at least as it appears from her blog, honestly and fully and openly and with great gratitude. And I really admire that because I probably don't. And when she discusses her experiences with queer and straight communities, with self-identification, it is fascinating and insightful. And though I like the rest of Honey's blog -- her commentary on Portland and biking and yoga and her friends and work and whatnot -- it's these revelatory posts that really suck a reader in.

Honey speaks in superlatives. A Christmas tree is not a tree, it's the most wonderful tree. Her girlfriend is the most excellent. Portland is the most perfect. It's obvious that she feels things deeply, loves people wholly, and is not at all afraid to embrace that most feminine of characteristics: emotion.

And one emotion that is revealed most often is her deep love for Agent, her girlfriend. It is a beautiful thing to see. Agent pops up with a post every now and again, which can interrupt the flow. I did a double-take at the change in tone. I knew right away it couldn't be Honey writing, which speaks volumes about Honey's voice. Although, when Agent said this, I melted: "I am acutely aware of my needs. And I don’t hesitate to meet them. So I rarely find myself in unpleasant situations, which is like succeeding in small ways all the time."

When Honey submitted herself for our review, she said, "I am very much looking forward to a good ass reaming. Let me have it - I can take it." But I can't give her a butt bruising because I liked this blog, and I liked Honey. She writes that some of her blogging rules are never to whine and not to share intimate details about her relationships and to avoid the offensive. And this is where that anonymity thing bites her in the ass. Because, god, how much better the blog might be if there were a few more dimensions to it. If we got to see Honey on bad days more often; if we heard about her friends and lover in more detail, with less gloss and happy joy-joy, with more layers peeled back; if we heard her rant or bitch or be something less than centered and grateful. Peaceful happiness is nice and admirable and all that, but we could use a little more humanity, a little more grit. Because Honey, I believe you're good, but sometimes I have trouble believing you're that good. And if you are, I've just reached a whole new low in my evaluation of my own self-worth.

Also, some girl-on-girl action would not go amiss.






*Bound