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.