Baby mix me a drink

The day they handed out the baby cravings, I was probably skipping class, smoking dope, and steaming up windows in my boyfriend's car. I'll be 33 this year, and aside from those youthful generalized 13-year-old expectations of motherhood, where it just seemed obvious that I would have kids--as it seemed obvious I'd have a fleet of nannies and the excessive funds to pay them--I've never wanted kids. I'm selfish, messy, and irresponsible, and though I enjoy children in small doses, they mostly scare the everloving shit out of me.

So, it isn't any wonder I don't get mommy blogs. It's not so much that I don't like them--although most of them I don't (Blogs full of sunshine and cuteness and rainbows and PINK! and holier than thou platitudes about the end all be all of motherhood, I'm looking at you. And I'm making a rude gesture.)--it's just there's a serious disconnect in terms of life experience. For me, searching for a baby shower gift is like that dream where you're late for an exam you haven't studied for. And you're naked. And maybe on fire.

Imagine, then, the whine and sneer I emitted at seeing my blog to review today is, indeed, a mommy blog.

But wait! What's this? A nice design, a cool title, and the very first post, right up there at the top, brimming with snarkitude.

Yes, folks, it's that rare breed of mommy blog: one I'd read.

The design is pleasant, elegant, easy to read, and organized. Look, y'all! The shiny things and clutter are all collapsed in the sidebar so we don't have to see them if we don't want to. I'd suggest rolling up the archives into a drop down box with the individual months accessible from there, but other than that, excellent design.

And even better? Jayna knows exactly how to use a comma. I mean, exactly. Do you know how rare this is? For my editor's eyes, it's a treat to see a post with appropriate paragraph separation instead of huge blocks of text, proper capitalization instead of cutesy chat-speak, correct use of punctuation instead of a complete unawareness of the mere existence of a semi-colon, and holy lord she knows the difference between "its" and "it's."

This is a well-written blog, and Jayna is funny and has a wry sense of humor with enough sarcasm to satisfy my jaded sensibilities. And she's a mother with a realistic and human view of her situation and her child, without gumdrops and jasmine-scented poop and Stepford wife-like aspirations toward a smudge-free existence.

But what really gets me about this blog, as a woman who is so attached to her fiance (sometimes desperately so), I recognize the heartbreaking reality of being without that person who you turn to for support and laughter and love and common ground. But being without them for over a year? And while caring for a new baby? It isn't to be borne.

So, Jayna, well done. And chin up. Hug this little precious close and hang on tight.

Homage

Time was, I wanted to be a writer. There wasn't much else I was particularly good at, except maybe doling out advice, shaking my booty, and tying cherry stems in knots with my tongue. The advice thing I guess could have spun into psychology or something; my booty shaking was only ever good enough to make guys want me, never good enough for a stage; and the cherry stem thing is just a trite way of implying what other twisty things I can do with my tongue. But writing? I thought that was going to be my life. I thought it in big, grand, neon lights kind of ways, never in the way that you have to actually sit down and do it, muddle through, churn it out, take criticism, be rejected, and fight through days and days and maybe months or years of constipated creativity.

Though I still cling to the hope of being paid to write, it's a tarnished hope, one that's eclipsed by bills and time and fear. Mostly fear. You know that saying, "those who can't do, teach"? Well, those who can't write, edit. And that's me. I edit.

But today, I'm supposed to review the blog of a writer. One who does the work of writing, with discipline and apparent joy and determination. And honestly, I'm a little starstruck. Not because she's famous. I don't know her from Adam. I'm starstruck for the simple fact that she does it. She lives it. And that, to me, is brave.

Okay, Fine, Dammit (cute name, eh?)

The design of this blog is fine. It's uncluttered, neat, easy to navigate. Slightly boring and bland, but it does the trick. I'd like an About page, though. The design could be punched up several notches to create more visual interest, but it's not really vital. The writing, for me, creates enough interest.

When I review a blog, unless it's a hot mess of a thing that makes my eyes bleed--and even then, really--I tend to read the whole thing. I like to get a full picture of the blogger. Sometimes it's a struggle through pointless drivel and self-important posturing and crippling mundanities. This time, it was a joy. Because Maggie? She can write.

There's a quiet strength to her voice, and a precious attention to life that expresses joy and wonder. She's a mom, and a blogger, but not a mommy blogger. She writes about her kids with humor and humility. They're not appendages, they're whole people, who she respects and, I suspect, feels humbled by. And she's warm-hearted, but not in a way that makes me want to smack the ever-loving shit out of her, as do some namby pamby feel-good bloggers.

And she's funny. Maybe not rip-roaring, and not with the crass vulgarity that I so often enjoy (and emit). But it's a gentle, self-deprecating humor. Nuanced rather than overt.

My one complaint? That she's a bit hampered by lack of anonymity. My favorite post was written from a place of pain, and it was posted, I'm sure, with eyes closed, praying while hitting "publish," hoping that she hadn't revealed too much. Well, for me, it wasn't enough. It hit the tip of the iceberg of what I think this woman can express were she unencumbered by fear of discovery. Or reprisal.

I'm adding this to my daily reads. I want more. I love her writing. And I hate her for it. In the best possible way.

Now I really want some curry

One of my very good friends lived in India for a while, and I always loved reading her emails about her experiences there. The strange sights, smells, spices. It was a taste of something completely foreign, and beautifully strange. And that's a little bit of what I get from Let Me Be Me.

Sure, it's in the vein of our recent deluge of Indian bloggers requesting reviews. There's still some cultural disconnect for me, but this is something new. She's an adult, and quite a progressive one at that. There's no angsty juvenile crap going on, and though there's some poetry, it's not making my eyes bleed.

The design could be heaps better. It's your standard mustardy yellowish Blogger template. Not cringeworthy, but completely nondescript and boring. And though her blog is, above all, serene, it didn't bore me. Not quite. There are tons of easy to customize free templates out there. Find something unique, something with personality.

Now, back to that serene thing. This chick is that. It's very zen, insightful, and thoughtful. And if the writing weren't actually quite good, it might be boring. For me. Because I like things that are ramped a little higher up on the raunch scale. I'm more pigpen than zen.

But there's a sense of peace here, a quiet observation of what's going on in the world that is appealing and interesting. The problem is there's a lack of personality. I read the entire blog, and I still don't know very much about this woman. That's partially because there are bits that, as an American who's never traveled outside of European countries, I'm unfamiliar with much of her world. But that's not all of it. There's some reserve here, maybe an unwillingness to let loose. And I'd really, really like her to. In her quest to "be me," I'm not sure she has. Ignorant American that I am, when I think of India, I think of spice. And that's what I feel like this blog needs -- just a bit more flavor.

I give it





because I really do enjoy her writing. But there's some improvement to be made. Snazz up your template, and give us a bit more of yourself in your writing. So many times I say that I don't want to hear about what people do every day -- but in this case, surprisingly, we might could do with a little bit more of that. Who are you? Where do you go? Who are your friends? What's your husband like? Show us your favorite shoes, tell us about your neighborhood. Let us in a little more.

She's giving me a toothache

There was a time, many, many years ago, when I had a Molly Ringwald perm and 20 pairs of Guess jeans and wore white Keds with everything. I made mix tapes of slow songs from the radio and wrote heartfelt and weepy poetry. I sent rambling notes to friends with cutesy acronyms (KIT, FFE, BFF) and used hearts to punctuate my exclamation points.

Because I was that girl once upon a time, it makes it hard to slam Sneha from Life is Above it All. Oh, she's quite a bit older than I was during the time I'm remembering, and she's a good deal smarter than I was, but that core of innocent youth remains. I don't want to squash that earnest hopefulness.

It's not that this is a hot mess. It's just... young. And fluffy.

To start with she's managed to include two of my pet peeves. There's a huge ass banner that takes up the entire page and I have to scroll for ages to get to content. Why do people do this? Why? Next, she uses ellipses constantly. Look, y'all. There's a time and place for these popular little dots: to indicate the removal of text, to indicate a thought trailing off, or to indicate a pause in speech. And that's about it folks. Overuse can be extremely annoying to read.

Some more problems? Lots and lots of poetry. Sappy, angsty poetry. It's not for me. Some people enjoy it, I'm sure, but I can't get into it. Especially rhyming poetry.

Also, the subtitle portion in the banner means absolutely nothing to me. "Emotion is not a footfall." (Ok, so I thought at first it said "football." Either way, I still don't get it.) What? I'm sure there's a cultural disconnect here as she's Indian and I'm American, but I can't for the life of me understand what she's getting at. And unfortunately that happens a lot for me with this writing. Oh, she's smart. No doubt. And kind and good and sweet and hard-working. But unfortunately for me this blog boils down to a lot of words on a screen. And not much else.

This is a young girl's diary, a smattering of thoughts and poems and daily experiences that, while meaningful to her and her friends, does not lend itself to wider consumption. And maybe that's fine. Maybe that's all she wants. But by submitting her site to be reviewed my guess is maybe she's ready for more. If that's the case, some suggestions:

Tighten up. Edit. Get rid of the ellipses, use proper spacing around punctuation, refrain from using cutesy IM-speak (ur, u, 2, shud, cuz, randomly capped and lowercase words, etc.). Don't write in all lowercase -- e.e. cummings can get away with it, you can't. Write for yourself but consider your audience. What do we want to know? Do we want to read paragraphs and paragraphs of your daily experiences? No, absolutely not. Find something interesting to write about. Boil it down, find the good bits, wrap it up in a bow, be concise.

Find your voice -- right now you're one of thousands of sweet young girls with nothing much to say. What makes you different? What do you have to say? Where is your individuality? I read your whole blog, and I know there's more you're not sharing: you're observant and insightful and you have a charming spirit. But it's flat on the screen. There's no dimension.

Right now it's a







but don't give up. Get cracking on my suggestions and let's see where you end up.

Move into the deep end.

Finally! A blog with some sex! Ok, so it's lacking a necessary feature for me: cockage. (I remember when my college roommate came out to me and I said, "Are you sure? What about all those penises out there that will go to waste? They need love, too. And wait! You can't even watch the lesbian scenes on porn night! Are you really, really sure?") But that's ok. I can deal. Sapphic love can be hot, too.

Like most bloggers, Drowning Pisces writes about her life, work, joy, history, likes, dislikes. That's all well and good, but she's also put together a collection of pieces about what attracts her to women, and that's what managed to draw me into her writing. It's honest and upfront but also delicate, observing those little moments, the gestures and places we forget to remember. And it's sexy. Even if she does use the word groin, which calls to mind burly football players with pulled ligaments.

She's only been blogging for a few months, but she's definitely on the right track. There are some hiccups (One of my pet peeves? Overuse of ellipses.), but she's also managed to be extraordinarily honest and raw, revealing heartache, loss, pain. I admire that. It's brave. And this? "I bounced that quick baby bend-the-knee-and-straighten-before-you-fall bounce… one hand on the door for balance, the other waving in the air because I didn’t know it was attached." Evocative and one of those precious truths of childhood.

My one complaint, really, is the blog template. It's too boring. I mean, it's fine. It works. It's organized. The title is nice and appropriate. But I get the feeling that, both from the writing and the blog design, she's trying to get settled in to who she is. And that's great. But take a chance, pull in some personality for your template. I've read all your posts, and you're not ho-hum.

So, as I seem to keep saying recently, keep writing. Give it some more time. You're only three months in and doing a great job. Keep reading other blogs and developing a community of readership. I get the feeling that 2008 might be a year of exploration for you, with this blog as a mouthpiece and playground.

And most especially, keep writing the sexy stuff. I like it.

"Clavicle" sounds dirty, doesn't it?

Along with huge, bright banners with busty cartoon chicks masquerading as everyday women they don't even closely resemble (hey, I'm forced to have an avatar -- sue me) and using the words "escapades," "adventures," or "exploits" in your blog title, one of my internet pet peeves is using a screen name or blog title reinforcing the overwhelming love you have for your partner. We get it. You're in love. So am I. But find an identity outside of that all-consuming hard on. Wedding-obsessed nesters are the usual culprits, but today's blogger puts it all out there, too. She's David's Doll.

In terms of design, it looks all wonky on my Mac with Firefox. I have to spread the page very wide in order to accommodate the sidebar, meanwhile the banner only goes across the center portion. The huge honking pictures take up way too much room and should be sized down quite a bit (that scary doll face is enormous and will definitely give me nightmares, thanks). Unless you're doing a photoblog, there's no reason to have images that large. And there's a hellova lot of info in the sidebar. I suggest rolling a good portion of that up, and maybe move the particulars about what you've read and all to a separate page.

The links are not colored or underlined, so color me stupid but I didn't catch on to the linkage action for a good bit. Here I was thinking, "She's talking about these bloggers, why doesn't she link to them?" before I rolled over and they lit up. (Side note: "I rolled over and they lit up" -- how many times have I said that before.) Also, find a way to make the post titles clickable; I had to go down to the timestamp to get to individual posts. At the bottom of your pages, I'd like some sort of link to go to older entries. When I click on the archives, please don't take me to a new page. Ugh! Consider making your banner clickable, too, so that when people click on it they get taken back to the index page. And the MySpace-ish hugs and post-it messages in the sidebar bring the level of your blog down a couple of notches toward amateurish.

The good design stuff: the banner is fine, the color isn't offensive, I like the muted palette.

Now to the content. She only reads when she's taking a crap, which means I have to vehemently disapprove. Unless she craps like six times a day, then we're all good. There's knitting going on, which I know has swept the nation and all, but I so don't get it. She's an independently published writer, for which I've got to give her kudos. It takes incredible determination and oomph to publish, and I really admire that. But please? For the love of all that's holy, use your damn apostrophe. It's your friend. And an online dictionary is more than a friend, it's a college roommate who used to hold your hair while you puked ("bizarre" is something strange; "bazaar" is a place where you shop). And read more -- reading makes good writers.

There's some good stuff here ("She was looking at me...with her eyes."). The challenges of young parenthood and dealing with an injured spouse are humanizing. I find that I want the best for these people because they're doing the best they can and loving each other along the way. But then I'm incredibly put off by the random ads that crop up. I know things are tight, so maybe the ads help? I don't know but they bug the shit out of me. I'm ok with the donation buttons, but the ads? No.

More good stuff? She's a mommy but there isn't a lot of mommy blogging going on. She's consistent and writes often. There's a decent range of topics, so it's not all about David or the accident or her kids or knitting or organic food. She's got a wry sense of humor and a fair bit of self-deprecation, which I enjoy. There's no pretension and she's incredibly down-to-earth, which means she says "poop" and "fart" a lot, which I can get on board with. Above all, she's an individual and and has a unique voice. In several pages of reading, though, I haven't come across the first sexy post, which is disappointing for a horndog like me.

The writing isn't particularly my cuppa. It's more domestic than I'm used to (I don't cook, clean, craft, or parent). But I can see the potential, and I can see how she's developed a circle of like-minded blogging buddies. So, my advice is to keep it up. Keep writing, read more, edit down, refine. Make some improvements on your design so that it's more reader-friendly. And change your blog title if not your screen name, because there's more to you than that.

I give it:

"Coal mine, moonshine, or move it on down the line"

I freaking love Coal Miner's Daughter. Love it. Beyond all reason. It's up there with Urban Cowboy for me. "I don't want no divorce, I just want the dadgum bedroom in the back of the house!" I have a strange fondness for anything hoaky and rednecky. And so it was with happy anticipation that I began investigating Confessions of a Coal Miner's Granddaughter.

Initially, the enormous header put me off. Those ginormous images right up front on an opening page chap my ass. I don't want to scroll, I suppose. Pure laziness. But aside from that, the site is purple, which is my favorite color and has graced my own blog at various times. Easy to read, clean, organized. I like that she links to the important stuff and leaves a lot off the first page. Classy. One suggestion: figure out how to add an "older entries" link to the bottom (because I read the entire blog and had to keep going up to the top to get to prior months).

And then, getting into reading the posts, I'm appalled. Not because the guts of this blog aren't good. They are. But because she's giving out such personal info! Holy jebus, her school teachers, her classmates, her grandfather's name, all of it, right out there for the world to see and stalk. Zoinks. Girl, that's just plain asking for it. Or am I overreacting? This from a girl who goes by an alias and uses a cartoon avatar to avoid identification.

But I'll overlook her tempting fate because she's pretty dang funny. She writes about the kids and the hubs, but it's not a mommy blog in the general sense. And as I delve deeper into this domain of Her Purpleness, I notice that, damn, we have a lot in common. It's kind of pathetic (and awesome) when you read a blog and go, "Oh my god, me TOO!" like eleven hundred times. She likes AICN, which I once kept up with back in the day and should really check out again. She has an unnatural fascination with the macabre. She loves the Varsity (although, who doesn't love the Varsity?). She has a hankering for Sean Connery (hands off, bitch, he's mine, even if he is older than dirt) but recognizes Timothy Dalton's skill. To top it off, reading her "100 Things..." I discover that she loves Disney, Wonder Woman, Kevin Smith, bluegrass, and Joss Whedon (me too!).

If I had a complaint it would be there there's no sex. She mentions penis and vulva, but there's no actual insertion of penis into vulva, which would just top the whole thing off for me.

But, Heather,







And I'm adding you to my Reader.