Did I say that out loud?

I promised y'all last week that, regardless of merit, I was gonna hate on my reviewee this week. Now, chances are I'm a liar, because I'm pretty much going to review with my gut, and if it happens that I like a blog, I'm going to say so. But dagnabit, I do like it when I'm able to get all vitriolic because y'all tend to comment more that way. And bloggers are all comment whores. Leave the money on the dresser.

It's come to my attention that I've gotten a reputation as "the nice one." This is perhaps deserved, insofar as I'm not one for conflict, I don't like to stir up shit, and I tend to go a little easy on the flaming fingers. I'm fairly even-tempered, and I like to give people the benefit of the doubt. I'm a glass-is-half-full (of wine) kind of girl.

But I'm nothing compared to this chick: Thinking Out Loud.

People, it is pretty much sunshine and lollipops over there. Problem is, I'm not entirely sure what "over there" is. Is this a blog or a self-help site? What is the purpose? The header says, "My rants or ramblings about life," but I don't believe her because there are all these posts about money (35 posts) and blogging (21 posts) and such. If it's a finance blog, say so. If it's self-help, say so. And why all the posts about blogging? Are you trying to be a resource for bloggers? What the hell is the purpose of this blog? Your "Meet the Blogger" page doesn't say.
You're all over the place. There seems to be a website. And a blog. And a weightloss blog. Why? I'm so lost. Hold me?

About the design, I don't mind the colors, and it's clean and easy to read (barring having to click to read more -- HATE! Unless there's something spoilery after the jump, just leave it all out there, don't make us work more to get to the goods), but ultimately what you've got here looks like a corporate blog. It looks like somewhere I'd go to find out about mortgage rates or human resources seminars.

Who is this cartoon person following my cursor? I want to smack a bitch.

What's the difference between "flash back" and "recent posts"? You really don't need more than maybe the last 4 posts, and you've already got an archive page at the top, so watch the overkill. You've got the recent comments dealio, but there aren't any actual comments there, just the names of the people who commented and the post they commented on. Who cares? If you want to spotlight your commenters (which, why?), actually include the text of their comment. Otherwise you're just creating more and more filler. Filler that makes me, the nice one, want to get out the birch rods.

Jesus, archives AND a calendar? No. Just no.

Otherwise, the writing is... chipper (Look, people: I used ellipses! Correctly!). It's very Good Housekeeping-ish, chatty, "studies show," rah-rah. There are some chuckles. Chippy, cheerful chuckles. No one's cackling with glee here.

And holy lord, there's some shameless blog promotion (at least she admits it). Advertising? Your blog? That feels dirty. She's a very different blogger from me and those whose blogs I enjoy most. It seems like she approaches this like a job, like a way to break into something. It's all marketing and spit-shine and I want to hate it because it's gutless. Yes, gutless. There's nothing on the line here, there's nothing revealed. We don't get to see who Valerie really is beyond helpful saving suggestions and surface twaddle. There are no relationships explored, no real memories shared, no meat, no dimension, no sexiness. And I don't mean it's gotta be raunchy (although that'd be great, please) -- I mean sexy like interesting, piquing, engrossing, bulging, tightening... ooops, got carried away there.

Also, I've seen Rodin's Thinker in situ, and you're not doing him justice. Art, girl, ART! Be lyrical, be emotional, be thoughtful, be meditative, be exposed.

Look, Valerie, you're a nice person. I can tell that. You're even an interesting person (Stuck in an elevator in Cartagena? Locking people out of bathrooms? Yes! More of that!), but it all gets lost in the acres and acres of self-helpy "I'm a personal organizer. Ask me how!"-type crap. I don't want to discourage you because you've obviously put some effort into this, you write consistently and not terribly, and I don't hate you. But for the love of Shamwow, find some focus, figure out why you're blogging, what you want to gain, and who your audience is. If it's a general blog about your life, be that and leave out all the money-saving crap. If you're trying to break into the self-help or financial consultant field, put that out there. But don't go all infomercial on us and expect me to like it.

You knew it wasn't going to be pretty. You knew you were sticking your neck out. Because of that, and because you're nice and devoted and eager and you smile like you really mean it, I'm giving you





But because you lack focus, I feel like you're selling me something, and you haven't broken the surface, I'm giving you







I say these things because I care. And it hurts me more than it hurts you.

Nah, it doesn't. Here's some ointment for the sting.

Hey nineteen

When I was 19, I was trying to get laid. That was pretty much my reason for living. That and beer, but beer was a means to getting laid, so vicious cycle and all that. My point is, I was kind of superficial. Ok, so I went to Europe and did study abroad and had a huge crush on my archeology professor in such an Indiana Jones kind of way and dreamed of changing the future with knowledge of the past (history majors are so deluded) and soaked up all the art and culture I could stand. But mostly I was checking out cute boys and getting naked.

Maria is the girl I could have been had my hormones not gotten the better of me for, oh, always. And had I been about four hundred times smarter. She's bright as a button and eager and self-aware and sassy. She's insightful for 19. Hell, she's insightful for 33. At 19 I was about as insightful as a mole, which is to say myopic and tunnel-visioned. There's some rambling, and she could stand to tighten up. But even the rambling is self-actualized, which pisses me off to no end.

Design-wise, this blog is fine. It could use some personalization, but it's tidy and well organized and not cluttered up with flashing doo-dads or dollies or ads. I suggest pulling in a little more personality, maybe get a custom banner or something. Also, your little blurb in the sidebar needs to be in first person. Who are you, The Jimmy?

Reading this, I feel unutterably old. Why, in my day, we barely had internet! And I had to go to this place called a library to use it. And it was slow and run by rubber bands. Laptops? What? Cell phones? No, beepers. Beepers, people! And we could spell "boobs" by punching in 80085. Talk about technological advancements.

It's a fucking ellipses conspiracy, man. Get a new punctuation mark! The em dash loves you. And what is with the younger generation and their lack of capitalization? You're just too busy with all your electronic doohickeys and instant gratification and venti caramel macchiatos and whatnot, eh? Well, I have those things, too (except for the macchiato -- I'm more of a chai girl), and somehow I manage to make that crucial extra reach toward the shift key. And I'm old and creaky.

Some of it is so good, but then it peters out, the conclusion gets lost, she doesn't know where to end it (and she knows it). This post would have been so much better had she hit the brakes at the end of the fifth paragraph. But instead we get several more paragraphs of filler. Don't need it, get rid of it, use it in a different post.

When it comes right down to it, though, all my snarkitude in this review comes from a deep and abiding jealousy. Maria, you're 19 and you're smart and cute and perky (but not too perky) and engaging and tuned in and self-aware in a way that is not at all obnoxious but rather heartening and hopeful. And you've got the whole wide world in front of you and I could just kick you.

Instead, by using my complex Ask Rating Formula (patent pending), and factoring in your age and experience and potential, I'm giving you





And if we had an anti-Abercrombie image, you would get it because you, dear, are not a follower or a poser or a sheep. You're uniquely you, and I'm impressed.

P.S. Internets, next time I promise to hate the reviewee, regardless of merit. Because the love fest of Calamity must end. Unless the love fest includes Viggo Mortensen and Jason Lewis with a side of Josh Holloway.

Widow's Walk

What do you say to a woman who has lost the love of her life? What do you say to a woman who is a widow at 39, with two young children to support? You say, "I'm sorry."

But what do you say to a woman who has lost the love of her life, is a widow at 39, and has two young children to support when she submits her blog for review on a site that consistently and with rapacious glee eviscerates hum-drum blogs with scathing commentary?

You say, "I'm sorry," and you dig in to the review even though all you want to do is give Sandi a big hug and then call your nearest and dearest and tell them you love them because life can be short and sharp.

When I saw that my blog to review this week was A Widow for One Year, I choked. Jesus, I said. This one is going to gut me. And I was right. I sat down and read this blog from start to finish. I'm not going to lie to protect Sandi's feelings -- I didn't read the entire thing because the writing was fantastic. It's not. It's raw and unvarnished and personal and sometimes inelegant. But the feeling in the writing, the story of what's happened to Sandi and her family, is, for me, impossible to turn away from. It's engrossing, and heartbreaking, and, unfortunately, more common than I knew.

This is an intensely personal blog that has far-reaching potential. The author has already been profiled in a local paper, and she's writing a book about her experiences. Sandi writes frequently and decently, and she comes across as forthright, ballsy, opinionated, and brave. And she's not afraid to get mad, to cry, to laugh. It's a blog where I care more about the author and her experiences than I do about grammar and engaging narrative and succinct phrasing.

But. Could it be better? Yes. And because she asked for it, here's my advice.

Get a new blog design. Stat. This one is boring, tired, and bland. You have important things to say. You'll be heard more clearly if you provide a little visual interest. Find something clean and engaging with some personality. I also think you really need a blog with some tabs for extra pages. All blogs need an "About" page, but yours especially could benefit. People should have the opportunity to read your story outright. Move those 25 items in the sidebar to that "About" page, too. There's no need for it in the sidebar; it's clutter. Also, it would be great to link a page with resources for pancreatic cancer research, support sites, etc.

What I really like is that you offer up these glimpses of your life with John and your life without John, there's holding on and moving on. These are meaningful, heartbreaking, instructive, and often inspiring. But there's some filler here, too. I hesitate to tell you to get rid of the filler because there's more to you than this grief, this experience of loss, and I like knowing that you, like me, hate the New Kids (maybe they should now be the Approaching Middle Age Losers Who've Peaked and Are Kidding Themselves). But beware of posting just to post.

As to your writing, it's solid if not always evocative or lyrical. But I feel like you have bigger things to worry about, so it didn't matter all that much to me, honestly. I know you can do better at crafting solid posts, but a part of me wonders if that's even the point. This is, after all, a release for you and a place where you can document and detail this year of widowhood (and hopefully further years). I know it's more therapeutic than artistic, at this point. If you're hoping to transcend that barrier, dust off that English degree and get a little more creative, a little more colorful, a little more polished. Right now, though, I understand that getting the thoughts out there is more important than getting them out there wrapped in pretty packaging.

For the design, you get the dreaded






For the writing, you get






For the content, which is meaningful, important, life-changing, gut-wrenching, brave, insightful, soul-baring, ballsy, compassionate, championing, nurturing, and universal, you get

Happy Scrappy Hero Pup

When I was in college, I worked at one of two video stores in town that rented porn. We didn't just rent porn: we had a great classics section, and I'm pretty sure we were the only store in town with copies of Evil Dead and Freaks. But porn was an obvious draw. I had a lecherous and insane boss with a predilection for 18-year-old girls and Native American jewelry, co-workers who could name the movie you were looking for after five words of description, and customers who loved to stand around and shoot the shit for an hour or so on a Tuesday night.

It is, to date, the best job I've ever had.

Now, there are quite a few porn stores in my little southern town, big triple Xs and dildos to go. But we used to be mavericks.

Which brings me to today's blog up for review: Well Hell Michelle. Cute name, right? Nice design, too. I really like the light blue accent, it's easy to read and well organized, and there's not a lot of clutter. And look! A Good Reads dohicky! Dorks of the world, unite! I'd like the archives to be rolled up, and I'm curious as to why her blogroll includes only KC bloggers, but overall: good job. (The design does fart out here, though. Scroll down.)

Now for the good stuff: porn.

Michelle used to work in a porn store, and that experience provides the bulk of at least the first half of this blog. And it is entertaining, to be sure. I love the idea of a sex toy toolbelt, and I can relate to having guy groupies. She embraces her dorkitude, and I'm jealous of her porn store tour. Also, Iowa is a dirty little tart. Who knew?

So, I feel like I have a lot in common with Michelle: the whole porn thing; the fact that we're dorks who like to include pretentious book gadgets on our blogs; I once thought I'd like to be the dildo lady on the side and do pleasure parties (she did Edible Ecstasy parties); we like many of the same movies ("Bite my pillow!"); and, in general, I'm pretty sure I'd like to drink with her and talk about Nina Hartley's oeuvre.

I really, really like Michelle. I kind of have a girl crush. BUT! Aside from the porn store stories, there's not a whole lot of meat here. The posts are succinct and to the point and bare bones, and that's good. But then again, I'm left a little hungry. You can't win with us -- you're either too wordy or not wordy enough.

In this case, though, I'm not sure it's the words that are lacking as much as the depth. I'm really curious about Michelle, and I want to know more. There's this dry humor and an enticing reserve (she is a librarian, after all) about Michelle that makes me want to draw up close and listen, but when I do, I want there to be some pay off. Right now, I've got my head cocked and my ears open, and I'm waiting for her to speak.

Even though I do really fucking love her, I'm giving it





because my love is conditional: give me more.

"I cried when I had no shoes, until I met a man who had no feet. And then I laughed REALLY hard."

I dig a funny broad. Gilda Radner, Carol Burnett, Amy Sedaris, Dorothy Parker, Jennifer Saunders. I don't for a second believe the hype that women aren't funny. Most of my best girl friends are funny as hell, and they got to be my best friends not by being giving and generous and kind but by cracking my shit up. And then being generous. With booze. And many of the blogs I read are written by funny broads. Hell, on a good day, I think even I'm funny. But then I would, wouldn't I?

That said, humor is, like beauty, subjective. Some people like Jackass. I think people who like Jackass are jackasses. It takes all kinds.
I'll admit, today's review was a bit of a struggle for me. I wanted very much to like Laurie Kendrick. I have a thing for brash Texans, and Laurie is most definitely that.

But today, I think the joke's on me.

First, this is a terrible blog design. It looks like something a mediocre linen supply company in Des Moines would use. There is no personality. None. It's like a communion wafer: bland and you need a good swig of wine to wash it down. The post space is way too narrow. I don't mind that there are no sidebars, but why the hell is it so narrow? It makes the links in the blogroll at the bottom of the site run to two lines, which doesn't do much to showcase them. And the banner says nothing. Well, it says, "grass," and not in a good, "let's roll a peach flavored blunt and scarf M&Ms" kind of way. But what in blue blazes does a dewy blade of grass have to do with this lady? Nothing. Not a damn thing.
There are flashes of humor, but some of the grammatical and spelling snafus are distracting. (Also, I'm disappointed she didn't mention "Grrr. Argh." Is that too new?) She's a humor writer, and some of it is funny (and appalling), but then some of it is just a rambly mess with jokes and forwardy email crap and unoriginal content.

Though she posts consistently and frequently, Laurie makes the same mistake many of our submitters do: her posts are way too long. Edit, people! Look, I know. I love my words, too, and I hate to get rid of any of them, bright, shining, glorious, smart, and achingly funny as they are. But I do. Because I care about my readers, I care that my point is made, I care that I've crafted something for public consumption, and even if it is a stinking turd, at least it's a concise and well-crafted turd. (Yeah, folks. I got up on my editorial high horse again. I can't help it. And it matters. Dammit.)

I think my favorite part of the blog is "A Word from Laurie Kendrick." And this depresses me because, frankly, I know Laurie can do better. I see the potential she's got, but I just don't think she's living up to it. Get a new blog design, stat. Something that has a little of your personality, a little more flavor, especially if you want this blog to be a springboard to publication. Write your posts, ramble all you want, get it all up there on the screen, and then go back with a practiced eye and get rid of all the fluff. And only post when you've got something to say, something original. Lay off the email jokes and forwards because we all get them in our inboxes from our relatives and friends who don't have anything to say to us anymore so they send us jokes to let us know we still matter, but not that much.

Today you get a measly





because I like you and I think you have potential. Don't give up. Just get better. And resubmit when you've revised your design and gotten a little tighter. And I don't mean doing your kegels, although that's always a good idea.

(Also, you're actually being published freelance and I'm not, so I'm beginning to doubt my expertise, here. Or maybe you're not giving us the goods, maybe you're saving that for your paying clients, and if so, for shame. Give as good on your blog as you would on the printed page.)

"I make you laugh, I'm here to fuckin' amuse you?"

There were these guys I used to hang out with in high school and college. They were rough and rowdy and hilarious and completely inappropriate. These boys were gentle giants with foul mouths and no sense of style. They held keg parties in fields, played practical jokes constantly, made bongs out of two liter soda bottles, drank truly terrible beer by the truckloads, and lit their farts on fire.

And I loved them.

Today's blog reminds me of those boys of my youth. Bagwine Ruminations is a big, goofy, dirty kid with terrible design sense and a completely inappropriate sense of humor. And, like those guys I mention above, I just can't help but like him.

The blog is ugly. There's this huge honking banner at the top that I can barely read. There are two sidebars full of clutter and trash. He should most definitely switch to two columns and get rid of the excess mess. The bolded maroon (and black, and blue, and green) text makes my teeth itch, and I hate the ads. Include an "about page" and add years to your archives (No, I can't just count back. Sorry.). You might consider adding a category drop down, too.

Here is proof that I can be loosey-goosey (kinda) when it comes to grammar, spelling, and punctuation, because Matt-Man is a frequent mistake-maker but I still like his writing. How can I not like a guy who mentions the dance genius of Kevin Bacon (Although I think he actually had a stand-in for that movie, didn't he? Never mind. I like to suspend my disbelief about Ren.)? He's completely inappropriate. I'm embarrassed that I laughed. A lot. Like, a lot. There might be a pee stain.

I like Matt. He's goofy, he's not afraid to make fun of himself, he talks about sex a lot, he loves his kid, he drinks, he swears, he doesn't take life too seriously, and I like his politics. I'd sit down and have a beer or twelve with him and in a matter of minutes suffer the agony of perma-grin. I'm pretty sure I'd say things like, "Stop! Stop, dammit! Oh, God. My cheeks hurt from laaauuughing! Fuck... I gotta go pee."

So, it's a pretty bad blog design, and the writing isn't terribly accomplished, but goddammit he makes me laugh, and I needed that very, very much today.

I choose Vodka. And Chaka Khan.

Ten years ago I was 23 and just finishing up college. I was part of a group of women at that time who were influenced by a change in media representations of women that would resonate for years. Bridget Jones's Diary was released in 1996, followed swiftly by Sex and the City in 1998, ushering in a decade of martinis and Manolos and mad women. Chick lit exploded, and I was an eager participant in that cultural shift.

And now, 10 years later, it all feels a little tired to me. I've been there and done that. I've had my many one night stands and mortifying hangovers and friends with benefits and living for the next party. Those of us who felt empowered by "fucking like men" and being single are now, most likely, fucking husbands or fiances or long-term partners. Those singletons have generally become smug marrieds.

So for me, reading today's blog was a bit of a blast from the past. The Compulsive Confessor feels familiar because I've read it before. There are now literally hundreds (thousands?) of girl-about-town wine swillers writing about their experiences with sex and the city or the suburb. They're all pretty and eager and sassy and angst-ridden. And I, jaded 33-year-old (eyes rolling), want to pat them on their glossy heads and tell them to be original.

But eM actually is kind of original. Come to find out, she's a bit of a maverick. Because she's not writing about her "exploits" (god, how I loathe that word) in New York or Chicago or even Atlanta. She's writing from Delhi and Bombay, where there are strict obscenity laws and women can be punished for behavior like hers. And? She's kind of famous and pretty popular (or reviled).

To the basics: The template is ok. Three columns aren't necessary, but it's not hurting my eyes terribly. I like the banner, and I don't mind all the pink because I'm a girl. Roll up the archives and the categories (I'm like a broken record on this point) and move the stat stuff to the bottom of one of the sidebars. And add an "about" page.

Now, on to the writing. Infamous or not, eM is a professional entertainment journalist. Which honestly? Kind of surprises me. Ok, the writing is fine. At times pretty amusing. But for a professional writer there are an awful lot of grammatical snafus. Considering the trauma we all experienced with our spate of Indian emo bloggers who submitted for review, her leaving off periods and using some internet-speak and writing huge blocks of paragraphs is nothing. But come on. You do this for a living? And you're writing a book? Start acting like it on your blog. We say it again and again. EDIT. Boil it down to the necessary bits, excise extraneous words and ramblings. Have a point and stick to it. Or at the very least be concise.

eM has been keeping this blog for a good while, which is admirable. And as much as I'm probably not her target audience (though there are some relatable bits), she is, at the very least, honest. Her blog is exactly what it sets out to be: "twenty-something, single, female, writer, with large groups of friends and who goes out for drinks pretty regularly. That's my life and that's what I write about." This is the truth.

As a reader, I could use more meat, more substance, more depth, and more maturity. The writing is, for the most part, surface and superficial. But then she doesn't claim to be otherwise. Even though it's not for me, whatever she's doing is garnering her attention, accolades, and some arrows. And whatever I think of her writing abilities, I admire her for being brash and ballsy in a world that typically frowns on her behavior. It is obvious that she loves to write, but whether that love stems from confession or crafting remains to be seen. Right now I'm betting on confession.

I'm a bit torn on the rating for this one. I give it two stars because she blogs consistently and frequently, the template didn't make me want to stick needles in my eyes, the writing is fine, she amuses me, it made me all nostalgic, and she's kind of ballsy.






But I give it a flaming finger, too, because someone who writes professionally and is about to have a book published should care more about craft, should put more effort into the words she shares with the blogging community. Your blog got you recognized. Don't shit on that recognition and opportunity by shortchanging your blog with meandering posts with overlong paragraphs and lazy editing. You can do better, and you should. Pay attention to your words, be present in your writing, consider your audience, and give them something that you've polished up and are proud of. Even the most superficial twaddle can be worthwhile if the writer is an artisan.