Blogorrhea

A guest review by regular commenter Posol'stvo the Medved, Executive Supreme Vice Chancellor of the Independent Republic of Posol'stvia .

Blogorrhea. It isn’t a word, but it should be. And if it were elevated to the pantheon of word-dom, it would certainly be applied to today’s recipient of abject scrutiny: Reflections in the Snow-Covered Hills. For in just under three years, Megan has racked up one thousand seven hundred and fifty one posts. That’s an average of 54.72 posts per month.

Wait.

Make that one thousand seven hundred and fifty two. Yup, she just published again.

I would love to sit here and tell you that I had just finished reading every single word that she had ever written, but honestly, I didn’t have that kind of time. So I had to make use of the shortcuts she makes available. Most of her posts are categorized into one of the following categories: grammar, journalism, her family, Canada, religion, David Hasselhoff, Fleetwood Mac, responses to reader submitted questions or complaints, and being a know-it-all. She provides her readers with a FAQ that I was expecting to be annoyed by, on principle, but it turned out to be helpful, entertaining, and informative. The rare proper use of a FAQ section indeed.

Based on her sheer volume and self-declaration of being a know-it-all, in all candor, I was prepared to dislike her, and to dislike everything that she had ever written. But you know what they say – never judge a book by how far apart its covers are.

As it happens, she is pretty damn smart. And funny. And makes some excellent points without sounding condescending or preachy. In general, I enjoyed reading those posts I was able to get to and through. If I had to criticize her content in any way, I would perhaps suggest that she not rely so heavily on posting multimedia items, especially when that is all the post consists of. Occasionally, this blog seems to suffer from multiple personality dissociative disorder, as one post would be a lucid commentary on journalistic ethics and the next would be about what it’s like to be a mommy. It was at times like reading a mashup of The Atlantic and Parenting. Her regular readers (and she seems to have a great many of those) don’t seem terribly jarred by that, so perhaps I’ll let that slide, and just skip over the posts that don’t cater to my interests.

Where I do see room for improvement is in the template and navigation. To begin with, the header of her template, while very pleasant, visually, takes up enough vertical space that it pushed everything but the title of her first post off my screen. On some devices (ahem, iPhone), in landscape mode, I didn’t even get that. I definitely suggest compressing that vertical space some. The rest of the layout was clean and easy to read, and didn’t feel overly cluttered.

Navigation is this blog’s fatal flaw. When viewing a previous month’s archive or a category listing, I was never able to view all of the items in the view. I kept having to click to see more posts. I didn’t want to. I wanted to skim it all. I realize that the page load might take a while, but I have been warned that October 2006 contains 126 posts. I am prepared to wait.

Once in a category or month view, I could not find a way to return to the top of the site. I kept looking for it. It never showed up. I suggest modifying the header so that the logo image always links to the home.

So for the content, being as this is my first review and I don’t want to completely blow my load the first time out, I’m awarding Megan three stars.


The template header and navigation issues however earn her a big ass flaming finger. I don’t know that WordPress will let her fix these issues, but it should. And blaming it on the platform is a lame excuse – there’s always a way around it.

Cautionary Tale

What if you were a 20-something blogger who did everything wrong? I was going to just nix the review of today's blog, but I thought it might be a valuable learning experience for all of us about a simple concept:

Not everyone needs a blog.

Seriously. Does that come as a revelation to you? The internet is wide, my friends, and there is a niche for literally everyone. The blog phenomenon came along, and somehow people became convinced that they NEEDED to blog.

But frankly, they don't. This blog is good evidence of that.

Let's consider the following:

1. The name. Words you should always avoid, unless your goal is to be hopelessly trite:

• Snarky


• Random


• Musings


• Thoughts


• Writing


• Trivial


• my life


• me


• just me


• blog

Uh, duh. It's a blog. By definition, your blog is going to be composed of your (potentially) random thoughts and musings about your life. Who else's life would it be about?

If you can't even be bothered to be creative enough to put a name to what you're doing, why in the fuck should we be bothered to read? I find myself sighing, out loud, every time I go to do a review and see these words.

The only possible exception could be blogs that use these terms ironically.

2. The layout. This blog should receive a commendation for "year's fugliest template." There are so many nice templates out there, and frankly, even the blogger standard template looks better than this morass of doom and gloom.

Also, you don't need all this crap in your sidebar. Clean it the hell up.

Does your house look this disorganized and dirty? Oh, wait. Don't answer that. Think of your blog as your online home. You are welcoming strangers into it, don't you want it to be a positive representation of you? Less is more, people. This blog looks like the blog of a hoarder.

3. Advertisements. If you're dooce, you might be able to make money from advertising. If you are not-dooce, unless you are receiving well over a thousand hits per day, you probably aren't going to make a red penny. Beyond that, having ads at the top of your blog (see today's example) is confusing and distracting. Give it up. You aren't going to be able to suppport your stay-at-home mom ambitions and/or college tuition on your blog-salary, no matter how you might hope for it.

4. Content (or the lack thereof). At 20 years of age, you don't have enough life experience to be profound. And frankly, you haven't suffered enough to moan about it unless you are an orphan from the streets of Calcutta who once fell in a latrine and was kidnapped by a band of mercenaries who plan to blind you and/or lost the love of your life to the violent and powerful leader of a criminal organization until you won a national quiz show and redeemed yourself in her eyes by being able to financially support her in the manner to which she'd become accustomed. Failing those circumstances, give it a fucking rest.

5. Textspeak. Stop it. It's you, not u. It's are, not r. It's your, not ur. I could make some allowances for you if you were 12, but you aren't. If you're above age 12, grow the fuck up, and speak English. It isn't funny, clever, cute or cutting edge. It's just stupid. When cats have better English than humans, I despair for our survival as a species.

6. Apologies for not writing. Don't do it. Either give us the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, or give it a fucking rest.

AG, from Mumbai, India: I think you will be happier on facebook. Or livejournal. Or, any of the host of social-networking sites online that allow you to connect with other people without actually WRITING anything. Thanks for playing.

Wednesday is Fish Sticks, Green Lime Jello for Dessert.

Imagine having a beautiful baby boy with big blue eyes and soft blond hair falling across his forehead. He rarely looks at you but more looks through you. You worry he might be deaf because he doesn't seemed to react to any sound. He makes no sounds except for crying long after he should already have a word for Mom and Dad, well after he should be able to point and clap and laugh. He hits fifteen months without so much as a peep.

Imagine thinking this was because of something you were or were not doing.

Reaching Charlie is one mom's experience discovering and coming to terms with her son's Autism. It is every parent's nightmare that their children will have some disadvantage that colors the way they will encounter the world. Janet, the blog's author, captures well the stages of grief she went through to get to the place of acceptance she is now.

Reaching Charlie is loosely structured like a book with chapters taking us through Charlie and family's exodus from "normal" childhood into what is even today, not territory entirely known. There is a lot I could say but I think Janet's own words express it best.

He has just recently become able to call me Mom and his father, Dad, but it is not said in the same manner as other kids would say it. It is a learned response and is said in exactly the same tone as it was taught to him. When he truly needs someone due to an injury or other deep need, he has no word for it. He just moans.

Rachel started talking at nine months. At 14 months, she was more communicative than Charlie was at nearly five.

What is cute for a two year old is embarrassing for a five year old.

The diagnostic criterion has haunted me. I was able to delude myself into thinking that Charlie would grow out of whatever was making him non-verbal.

At this point I was thinking that autism was synonymous with mental retardation. And I knew my child was not mentally retarded, so therefore, how could he be autistic?

She said that his behaviors were classically autistic and that with the spark that he did show of intelligence he might be able to attain independent living. Our jaws hit the floor. Independent living???

It is hard to admit this, but my own misconceptions and fears about autism held Charlie back. At the time that I was looking into alternatives for transition, I had never, ever met another child with autism. The movie RainMan was about the only frame of reference for autism and there were not too many books on autism.



A lot of people look at Charlie now and when he has an outburst they seem to think he's being bratty. I no longer explain about the autism. I just let it go.

Janet wants to help others who are dealing with a diagnosis. She also uses Reaching Charlie as a primer for people who will care for and educate Charlie, as she calls it, Charlie 101. By her own intent for the site, I would say this blog is a success. Were I a parent dealing with a new diagnosis, I would be all over the Internet looking for info on the next step. Reading the personal experiences of someone who's already walked the road would be tremendously informative and comforting.

The design is simple and clean. The work as a whole could use a good once over to correct a few grammar, usage and typing errors. The errors are not glaring, however, since this is set up to resemble a book, it should be clean and free of mistakes. The other thing I would suggest is to actually add some resource info to the sidebar. Janet may have avoided this because there are so many informational blogs and hers is more narrative and personal. Still, I would appreciate links to things that have been helpful or informative to her, much in the same way that if I find a favorite blogger, I like to check out what they read. I also, in spite of not having any specific interest in Autism, want to know how Charlie's doing now. It appears that the story stopped a while back and I want the rest of the story which is a testament to Janet's simple but evocative heart on her sleeve writing style.

The Autism bloggers, and there are many, are a very niche community with a very specific appeal. For the average Joe, this will not likely be your cup of tea.

Gone fishing

First impressions last. When it comes to the tedious task of reading other people's 'random musings', or whatever rapidly decreasing in wittiness title they like to use for their cerebreal secretions, this is certainly true.

I can safely say my first impression upon opening this weeks blog for review would make your grandmother's ears bleed and eyeballs shrivel. 'Why so?' I hear you cry - because I got this:


That's why.

Now listen here, if you think that I have all week to sit and press F5 on your blog waiting for it to come back online, you may well be correct, but it pisses me off.

Being the dedicated reviewer/lifeless misery I am, I actually came back to squeeze in at least a quick look at some of what you had to say for yourself. I have a soft spot for expats, being one myself, and the idea of upping sticks and moving to Mexico is a nice romantic one, and I fancied a good read of it.

I’m sorry to say, Mexico’s gain of a couple of residents, is America’s loss of a bloody dull blogger.

Come on for the love of God, beef it up, show us the romance, the excitement, the fear, the fun, the frollics, or even the tequila associated with this huge life change. This move south of the border deserves better than matter of fact checklists.

At one point you even quote another blog about the magic of it all. Why quote them? You are living it, you are articulate, write it yourself!

I had trawled through the first 6 or 8 months of your planing before your blog exploded ensuring I never go back again, so in trying to think of good things to say I’m a bit short, although I did like this picture of money. Consider the barrel’s arse well and truly scraped.

Where could you improve? Yikes, CPR on your posting approach perhaps? Put a bit of life into it. It’s not a shopping list you’re compiling, you’re living your dream, an adventure.

Not to mention, that header gave me the feeling you were trying to rent me a pair of pedalos.

For absolutely failing to capture my ready to be captured imagination with anything you wrote, it’s a:






For having a blog that vanished:

It's Raining On My Soul

Either Gwen gave me a massive headache, or I didn’t even come close to meeting my required dosage of caffeine before I started reading Gwen Alison Wonderland. I’m sure it was the latter, since the pain abated directly after I filled my belly with the enveloping warmth of coffee, but I’m just as certain that being assigned to review this blog didn’t help.

Now, hold on there – take it easy. I like Gwen, really: don’t get me wrong. She’s got a little bit of the kapow, the bang/zoom that I enjoy in my interweb-personalities, and I’ve enjoyed what I recall of her comments here at Ask... but as the little picture at the bottom of her sidebar states, she’s “drowning in a pool of tears”, and after reading her blog, I’m soaked in her anguish. As a rule, I like to keep myself as metaphorically dry as possible, and don’t much care for the feeling of carrying a sodden blanket on my back as I superficially cruise through the interwebs, but here I am, limping along with angst pooling in my boots.

She’s getting it out, Gwen is, just exorcizing the pain from her system, and it’s not like she doesn’t have cause; no, there’s a whole lot she can say about grief that I’ve never considered, and her emotions are very, very real. Too real, in fact, for me and my tiny little black heart.

The cold, hard reality is that I spent the night sighing and clicking away after a couple of posts, only to return to my sighing as I buried my face in my hands. This despite the fact that her writing is clearly improving, her posts this year far and away more evocative than anything she’s written prior. This, though, is longer than a fourth-grade production of Hamlet, and when one of the things she’s proudest of producing is a review of The Bourne Ultimatum, well, to be unrelentingly honest, life is too short. There’s a lot that I’d like to see distilled, boiled down to just essence and then built upon, instead of watching un-encapsulated stories swell up like a cluster of bee stings.

Still, I can’t shake the feeling that having me review this blog is akin to handing a Rubik’s Cube to a sea lion: I don’t have the physical dexterity nor the mental capacity to engage it with any more than an uncomprehending stare, and I am about as familiar with her experiences as a sperm whale is with a howitzer.

We’re of two different worlds, Gwen and I are, two vastly conflicting universes, so, in my mind, this is a pretty hard-won rating:



Hopefully, she'll continue on her current path, resolutely elevating her writing to allow it to transcend her emotions, making them work for her instead of the other way around... and, also hopefully, I'll get to be a lot fucking funnier the next time you see me.

A brief musical interlude

until today's review is posted...



I'm sorry, you can't be in a bad mood while listening to the Spinners.

Different Strokes

We weren't nominated for Most Obnoxious Blogger for nothing. We are foul-mouthed, opinionated, snarky, biting, and usually pretty disgusting. In the best possible way. Our comment streams tend to trail on for hours, each of us out-grossing or one-upping or lobbing insults and pop-culture references and basically enjoying the hell out of ourselves for being completely uncouth and rowdy and irreverent and honestly pretty darn smart and hilarious. And full of ourselves.

When bloggers ask for us to review them/rip them a new one, they have to know what they're getting into. I mean, look over there at the Submit section. We lay it on the line, right? We're clear about our intentions. We are not nice (well, except for me -- the following review notwithstanding). We are not going to stroke your ego. We are not going to take it easy on you. We will fucking tear you apart.

So I'm amazed when people like this submit their blogs for reivew. She has to know, doesn't she? That she's not exactly swimming in safe waters with us? Here be dragons. And sharks. And a few piranhas. And really bitchy people with axes to grind.

But she did submit, and she did read the FAQ. And so I'm left to assume that she asked for it, that she's ready for it, that she can take it.

Because I ain't gonna lie: I don't like this blog. Pretty much at all.

The design is cluttered and trips from one font size to another, from one font color to another. There are ads, ads, ads, fucking ads and there's entirely too much stuff in the incredibly redundant two side columns. What is it with some bloggers that they think more crap is better (ok, I admit it -- I used to, too)? Here's a hint: it's not. Get rid of it. Put your links on a separate page, roll up your archives, lose the ads, switch to one column. You'll thank me for it.

Jenera has been blogging consistently for a while, but I can't bring myself to read the entire blog as I normally would. I'm limiting myself to 2008-2009. For my sanity. And yours. Holy mother of God, there are 91 posts in January 2008.

As you can see, Jenera writes a lot. A lot a lot. Like, a lot. Which is really very admirable. But so much of it is memes and quizzes and ridiculous shit you'd put on MySpace and crap about her kids and just really boring, pointless, here's what I'm thinking about posts. And honestly I just don't care. I'm not moved to care.

And the writing is so very much like what belongs in a diary, not on a blog. How many times do we have to make this distinction? Is it so very complex an idea? Am I completely wrong in thinking that blogs should be polished, edited, crafted, entertaining, insightful, informative, or at the very least really goddamn funny or tragically twisted? Instead of just here's what I'm doing, and here's what I think about it, and here are a few misspellings and pics of the rug rats and five paragraph essays on what I think about the world. Perhaps I'm biased (I know I am), but in my world, blogs should be written by writers or storytellers or personalities. The rest should just stick to Live Journal.

Jenara and I have absolutely nothing in common, except perhaps a certain heftiness. Otherwise, nothing. Nada. Zilch. In fact, I'm pretty sure I disagree with her about almost everything, except this. As an unmarried woman of 34 with no kids, a list of sexual partners I don't care to enumerate in this arena, and a decidedly leftward-leaning political bent who is pro-choice, pro-gay marriage, pro-gun control, and pretty much some patchuli and an antipathy toward grooming away from being a dirty hippy, not to mention a tendency toward agnosticism if not paganism, I cannot relate. I am not her audience.

But. I did read. And I did discover that though I vehemently oppose pretty much all of her views, from race relations to politics to current events, she at least asks questions. She at least tries to get both sides. She at least stands by her principles, even if those principles are anathema to me. She very obviously loves her family. She very obviously tries her best. She very obviously isn't going to gain me as a reader. Or probably anyone here. But she might very well keep her sanity, keep her shit together, keep her ideas and dreams and successes and failures and delights all in one place to log and retrieve and remember. And, as much as I disliked this blog -- as much as I didn't enjoy the writing or the voice or the structure -- there's something to be said for that. She writes consistently, she's committed to it, she seems to enjoy it, and I doubt very much my opinion will change that. Of which I heartily approve.







Edited: Better already, Janera. The single sidebar and getting rid of the extraneous stuff helped. Much easier on the eyes.

Like a bird on the wire. Or, On Academics and Newspapermen

Choose the title, as it suits you. Chris will understand.

Chris's blog is a quandary.

First, you must understand that Chris is an academic, a father, and a music nerd. Chris approaches topics with a measured, steady pace. He is, above all, a facty kind of guy. With every post, we get a listen from the soundtrack of his life. He writes:

A good song can get me through a tough day.

Most of his posts start and end with a song, using lyrics as titles and culminating with whatever song has inspired that particular post (or complements it). There are frequent picture smatterings of his incredibly photogenic kid.

Those are the good things I love about Chris's blog.

Here is what I hate, in a nutshell:

I don’t know much about global economics. Actually, I don’t know much about much, to be honest. I know a little bit about the genetics of maize and the U.S. Civil War and 20th century Southern literature, but none of those things pay the rent these days.

I’m off track already.

And there's the crux.

Every post gets off-track.

This is a very fact-filled, political blog at present (though, Chris might beg to differ, that's how it reads from the outside). I don't get my politics from blogs, and I don't particularly agree with Chris's politics. Thus, I don't find his discussions of his politics particularly compelling. These are the musings of an academic convinced of his own rightness. And, he meanders and winds about until he finally, finally makes it to Elysium and culminates.

This is sex with too much foreplay, and not enough good hard dicking.

Here's where Chris's academic roots show, and where he could use a good dose of newspaperman. Academia rewards you for writing a thousand words, and punishes you for brevity. Spending time at the post-graduate level appears to lead inevitably to wordy fuckitude.

But the blogosphere, and most other professional writing, doesn't. Most people don't have hours to manipulate and palpate your words inside their heads until they congeal. Last week, Erin of Poor Penmanship, offered the following advice to another blogger, advice that I wholeheartedly agree with:

1. Before you start writing a story, figure out whether the point is to tell readers about yourself or to tell readers about something else. If the point is to tell about yourself (or your family), know that you have to work really hard to write a post that strangers can relate to or at least be interested in. If the point is to tell us about something else, make sure that other thing gets its due. Resist the urge to steer our attention back to your own personality.

2. Don't waste words characterizing the story you're telling: This is so crazy, this is so funny, this is so sad, this is so painful, this is so awesome. This week sucks. This day sucks.

Erin is a professional newspaper writer, and it shows on her blog. Chris, on the other hand, is a professional academic, and that shows, as well.

The blog is good, but it could be better. It could be trimmed down, tightened up. It could, and should, be edited ruthlessly. It could be written in active, and not always passive, tense.

All of these things need to happen for this blog to reach its full potential. Goddamnit, Chris, put your blog on a word diet.

Beyond that, please decide what this blog is going to be: political, carnivorian, "our daily life, chronicled," musical, or stories from my debauched college days.

I don't think the answer is an either/or, but for me, at least, if it is going to be those first two categories, I'm probably not interested. If it's the latter two, then you have my interest piqued.

At present, I don't hate your blog, but I don't love it, either.

My biggest advice is this: You aren't in college, anymore, and we aren't your students. Pare it down. Strip it bare. Be as choosy and stingy with words as Leonard Cohen is. Your blog will be better for it.

For now, I give you two stars. You are a consistent, thoughtful blogger, but you could be a lot more.

Like a bird on the wire,
Like a drunk in a midnight choir
I have tried, in my way, to be free*.

*Johnny Cash, because I love his cover of the original tune by Leonard Cohen.

List of Spring Cleaning

A Free Man

Countdown to Mexico

Reaching Charlie

Gwen Alison Wonderland

Just Me

Who will end up spit-shined and polished? Who will end up in the garbage bin? Only time will tell.

Part Two: Of Fucktardation

Today's review site "is an adult humour website featuring satirical news posts and sarcastic opinion. Many of my online posts are works of fiction and any use of real names is accidental and purely coincidental. All content is intended for readers over the age of 18. If you’re too young to buy drugs, you’re not supposed to be here."

You don’t need to read, “He then proceeds to attach the Konami Laser Scope to his head before thrusting his clenched fist in the air, hissing ‘Hell yeah!’, through mayonnaise-stained braces” to know that these guys can piece a sentence together. No, despite the myriad speedbumps of deplorable futility, these three dipshits can actually roll.

To be sure, imagining that apocryphal, mulleted image of Wolfman popping and locking with an epileptic at an old-age home is a hoot, perhaps even a holler, but Fugly Bitches, a section devoted entirely to castigating women from online dating services, is like tripping children with a stick: too easy, and unnecessarily malicious.

This is the middle-ground of offensiveness, with the sarcastic use of internet slang, the constant references to drugs, retards, and cum, it’s all, dare I say, kid’s stuff; it’s easy, simplistic, and takes no real effort. You boys want to destroy something? Then fucking destroy it – don’t dick around with itty-bitty posts that peter-out because you’re bored.

It’s like my grandma used to say: if you want to poke someone with a stick, jam that sonofabitch into their eye-socket, and use both hands. This is a woman who used to make egg-salad with one part egg, two parts butter, who stood as a paragon of at least culinary offensiveness, and her apparition hangs like a burning American flag of provocation over you three blokes and your Greenland-pwning. Still, as both a solid contrast to Ms. Foster and as an improvement-project, you guys could do worse.



Get your act together, fellas, and I promise more flaming fingers to come.

Note from Love Bites:
The links to this reviewee have been removed due to the conduct of these fuckwits on this blog and other related commenter blogs. Fuck y'all.

Part One: Of Humoration

Leeuna Foster is a professional humoringulist, and though it’s possible I might have copied her byline down improperly, that’s a pretty heavy title. I mean, it’s up there with telling the batter what pitch is coming, or phoning-ahead to tell an embassy when you’re planning to blow them up – telegraphed like a bad pass, and two steps behind what no description would bring in terms of expectation. As things stand now, of course, Ms. Foster has to make me laugh.

Fortunately, she is neither snotty nor condescending, atypical of self-proclaimed humour-bloggers, and I’m assuming that this is at least partially because she is an honest-to-christ professional writer, a paid scribe in possession or her own humour column. This fact cannot be overstated, and certainly not around here, with the limping reams of violently-offensive grammatical atrociousness we receive with regularity. Her work flows, is concise and astute, the very antithesis of what we’ve all come to expect from the humour-blog genre, and my relief is a goddamned rainbow of appreciation.

This is what I like to call Grown-Up Writing: mild, inoffensive pabulum, the soft, palatable alternative to the writing that makes you jump out of your seat like both it and your ass were on fire. My pop, Dadjobber, also writes for a newspaper, and his work is very similar: Disneyfied, Nickelodeonized, with an eye to the wide-market, mass-appeal of any newspaper’s circulation. Ms. Foster isn’t, nor is she likely to become, someone who’s going to make me fall out of my chair or spit coffee on the screen; if I’m looking for Jimi Hendrix, which I am, there aren't enough tie-dyed headbands or gasoline-torched guitars in the universe to make Pat Boone into what I'm hoping for. Ms. Foster isn’t writing for me, nor, presumably, would she or should she care to. She’s writing for people who want the Big Mac and the option of salad, and I’m reading at the greasy-spoon down the street.

My Mind Wandered... (the actual name of the blog, I believe) is observational humour that stands a couple of ticks above, “what’s the deal with airline peanuts?”, and has none of the oomph, the aaag, the omigod-there’s-a-zombie-behind-me-GRAAAAAGH! that I tend to look for whilst clicking through cyberspace. Then again, I need my eyeballs sliced against the edgy writing of surprise, of the inexplicable, of head-scratching delight, so take that into account as I slide into the seamy underbelly of personal preference.

I’m going with a couple of these:



Nothing about Leeuna Foster makes me the slightest bit uncomfortable, and that’s both heroically positive and unfortunately negative, neither of which makes her blog particularly bad.

Part Two: tomorrow. Hold on to your fucking hats.

Alas, Mommybloggers

Gather around, kids. I'm going to tell you a story.

Once upon a time, Love Bites was dating a guy she met at church. In a very unchurchy way, however, Love Bites and her beau were fornicating the shit out of each other. One day, Love Bites started feeling nauseated and sick. She went to the grocery story, and on a whim, purchased a pregnancy test. Love Bites took the little stick into her bathroom, where she peed right onto it. As she watched, a miraculous blue line appeared on the stick. "Honey," she said. "I think I'm knocked up."

And that, kids, is how Love Bites got married. Top that one for romance.

So, today's blogger is trying to get knocked up. I don't know if that's the point of her blog, (or what the point actually is, in spite of reading about 30 posts), but at least three of the most recent ten posts talk about the pregnancy endeavor. Having spent most of 30 years trying to avoid pregnancy, and failing miserably on 3 occasions, it's hard for me to relate. The idea that people intentionally get pregnant baffles me. Accidental, I can understand. Accidental is interesting. For that matter, fornication is interesting to me. Planned pregnancies? Zzzzzzz.

So, count that as strike one in the difficulties with relating to today's blogger.

Strike two is this: PLEASE DO NOT REFER TO YOURSELF ONLY AS SOMEONE'S MOMMY WHEN YOU BLOG, aka: "Funny Bunny Mama." Didn't you have an identity before you enlisted your uterus for this heavy duty mommy work? Did that person just disappear when your vagina activated? Did your brain, your soul, your intellect, your personhood DIE when your child was born? This is not healthy behavior. Please stop thinking about yourself only in these terms. And, if you don't think of yourself only in these terms, then purge this behavior from your blog. It's NOT GOOD. It leads to NOT GOOD THINGS. I've been down that NOT GOOD road, my chilluns, and it won't end well. Find your own damn name. Find your own damn voice.

Strike three: "Our Little Funny Bunny." I think I threw up a little bit.

Strike four: THIS SHIT. God I hate blogtests, memes, blogxchanges, blog promotions, blog cross pollination, and other contrived crap like that. Please, for the love of all that is semi-sacred, knock it the fuck off.

This blog is cute. It has a cute design. The colors are cute, and it's neat and tidy. The kid in the header image is cute. I can't hate on cute.

Oh, wait. I can. The writing is safe & cute. It turns over no new stones. It needs to be edited, heavily. It meanders with no point. It takes no risks. It shows us some stuff on the surface, but never the soul beneath. It's pedestrian. It's BORING.

You can sense from the surface that there might be problems, but this blog is all that is nice, and everything that term implies: white picket fences, June Cleaver smiling at Ward and sleeping in separate beds, children with clean lunch boxes, perfectly starched little dresses. Ain't nothing wrong with nice.

Although, your blog tells me that under the nicey nice, there's some huge problems that you are totally not dealing with.

Mommybloggers, of the world, I have a message for you. And, because I'm lazy, I'm going to borrow, liberally, from something I sent in an e-mail to someone yesterday:

The really insidious thing about mommyblogging is that most people can really only stand so much cute coupled with snark. It's like spending 24 hours on cute overload. Awww, look at the itty bitty chicks, you think. Oh, wait. There are more chicks. And more. They're ADORABLE. And then, 20 minutes later, after looking at ten million fluffy adorable chicks, you want to take a hatchet to them and eat them.

Or at least, I do. I need some heart. Some guts. Some blood, sweat and tears. And most blogs, mommyblogs included, never go there. And, that's a shame.

There is nothing on your blog that sucks me in, or makes me care. This blog could be a mainstay for you, a place to say what you have to say, a place to share your deepest soul. But, mostly, you don't.

It's sweet, it's nice, it's boring as hell.

I want to know WHO YOU ARE. I want to know what moves YOU. I want some fucking backstory that helps me make sense of your current struggles and happiness (and this ain't it). I want an explanation of the quote in your header image. I WANT A FUCKING STORY.

I mean, sure, kids are great. They're the greatest, highest, most wonderful part of my world. But they aren't everything. And, when they're grown and gone (and it will be soon, darlings), I'll just have me. And, who will that person be, if my entire life has been subsumed into adoration of my children? I think it's a question to ask yourself.

I give you a fluffy chick. You're nice.



p.s. PLEASE don't have another baby until you fix your marriage.

Take a Picture it Lasts Longer

Super Agent Mama has been blogging since September 2005 so admittedly, I'm not going back to read everything Mishelle has ever posted. I did meander through the years and read the sum of what she has defined as her best work which consisted of fifty posts. If the fifty posts she highlighted as her best work are not representative of the blog as a whole well then smack my ass and call me mommy. Sorry, a little of my day job slipping through. Anyhow, Secret Agent Mama is first and foremost a photographer, a good one but her 'best of' did not bode well.

I found bad poetry, memes, a tweet from Dave Mathews, a chronicling of an allergic reaction that makes her look suspiciously like the Octomom. Really, is this some of your best work? Are we supposed to take an interest in the contents of your purse? These are you epiphanies? I wouldn't ever think of posting something like this unless I artfully wove it into an interesting story.

Please never, ever use sentences like this:

My life, people; you couldn't make this stuff up if you tried.

Unless of course you have narrowly escaped death by zombie and seriously imploring as a warning that you would not make this up, then by all means. For the rest of you, sentences like this are practically cliches of cliches.

One word kept popping into my mind as I read this, inane.

Now for the good news. The photography is beautiful. I would edit a little to highlight your best work but your pictures are top notch. Your blog design is clever and tidy. I don't think I've written Haiku since third grade where we got to ink it on gossamer onion skin paper but this along with the accompanying picture was nice. Though you know it's bad when I start pointing out the Haiku as the bright spots. This needs polishing but at least your voice came through.

Michelle, you are grateful and kind, a sweet mother and a top notch photographer but your writing needs help. Great photography seldom happens without study and practice, the same can be said of writing. Perhaps even more with writing because there are so many more rules. Your pictures are evocative, spare, lush; your writing is not. If you want your writing to equal your photography you need to educate yourself. You need to get the basics of construction down first. Then you need to learn how to tell a story with your words the way your pictures do. Your writing isn't compelling but it could be.

For your body of work in the realm of photography, I give you

For the writing, you get this

I can never resist a martyr

Reluctant Housewife writes this:

Wow. Mean review. Really. You encourage people to submit their blogs and then flay this poor woman for having the presumption to submit a mommy blog. How DARE she? I read your FAQ. You claim to want to provide constructive criticism to bloggers in order to improve the quality of the blogosphere. Where is the constructive in this review? This is a good old fashioned super smack down, not just to this blogger but to all mom bloggers. Whatever.

I can see from looking around, though, that mean, not constructive, criticism is sort of your shtick. So carry on, then.

Unfortunately for me, with this review, mean is only funny when not directed so personally. Oh, and just for the record (in case you haven't already cottoned on): I'm a mom who has a blog but, despite this obvious character flaw, I do not consider myself a waste of oxygen.

Okay slay me with your words for commenting. You know you want to.

About this.

And, Scrappy Doo writes this:

i'm sorry you aren't able to be a SAHM mum and spend more time with your kids - blogging or not. you know i'm mad keen to go visit this mommy blogger and say something nice to her now!

familiar with the concept?

About the same review.

Coincidentally, they are both non-American mommybloggers. Or, maybe it is no coincidence, at all. Perhaps, they are the dogs of war unleashed by the whines of a thin-skinned mommy who wasn't adored as she thought she should be.

Either way, enjoy.

Oh, and if you're REALLY bored, here's more.

Don't say I never give you anything, Colon King.

I'm pretty sure I couldn't make it there

I lie to myself and everyone else and say I once lived in NYC. I didn't, though. Not really. I stayed there for a month for what I later realized was an ill-advised career program. I lived in a hostel up on Amsterdam and took classes and didn't do a whole lot other than drink and walk so slowly people scowled at me.

But I always thought I should live there, at some point, because I dreamed of being in the publishing industry. And then life happened and graduate school happened and the publishing industry existed in DC, too, and it just seemed like I got too old for it to be worthwhile to up and move to the hard, fast world of NYC. So I didn't. But sometimes, just occasionally, I wish I did.

Tina did. She took a fairly ritzy-sounding job in New York and moved from Seattle and logs her experiences as a newbie New Yorker. Fascinating, right? Well, it should be.

Let's just get the design out of the way. It's your standard white Blogger template with no personality. The header is a bit large, although I do like the picture. The subscribe section just under the header is overkill -- it should be off to the side. Hello, off-putting. It screams "LOVE ME!" Just take me to the content. And move the stuff in the sidebar to tabs. Roll up your archives. Give us an About page.

I should love this blog. Cute Seattle girl moves to NYC and works in the news and drinks a fair amount and tries to find her way around. But, especially at first, the writing is very much "letters to home." There's a serious lack of editing and most of the posts are ungodly long. And, Christ, the ellipses overkill. These are such a crutch. Get rid of them entirely. They should only -- and, dammit, I mean ONLY -- be used when you're trailing off an idea or when there is missing information from quoted material. And if you trail off every single idea you have and so tack on the ellipses then I don't want to read you. Be concise. Have a thought and finish it.

Though quite a few of the "girl in NYC" stories are interesting, they're robbed of life by the writer's slap it on the screen style. There's an inelegance that interrupts these could-be-interesting vignettes, especially when she writes about things like roaches. Who cares? Do you care, Tina? In five years are you going to want to know about that roach? Maybe you will, but I pretty much don't, not unless you can make that roach enthralling, hilarious, or terrifying, none of which you've done.

I think I'm being extra harsh because the potential is here for a really interesting blog. But it's just not delivering. Though the author is candid about her identity, we don't learn anything real about her other than her various encounters with the denizens of New York and her love for Lyle Lovett. There's not a lot of depth provided, and maybe that's precisely because she's written her name on the blog.

Tina, I did some snooping (it wasn't difficult) and discovered your title is or was "writer." Why aren't you writing here? You're just jotting down snippets of your life, without care, without editing, without polishing, without pulling in your reader. In scrolling through, I notice there are very few comments from readers. And maybe that's the point. This blog is for you, for posterity, not for us.

If you want it to be otherwise (and I hope you do, considering you submitted for a review), clean up the sidebar clutter, give us some organization, and write like you care that we're reading. If you don't, just keep this stuff in a ruled notebook by your bed, carry it in your huge ass purse and jot things down on the subway when the crazies come out. Because if you don't care about us, why should we care about you?

Missing; Inaction

I’m sicker than a dead chicken with intestinal parasites. Gross.

I’ll slap the review in the face with my diseased hand on Monday, if that’s okay with all you Askers and Receivers alike.

Apologies.

Love, Nutjobber.

Let's play a game.

It is Friday, after all.

Not sure if Nutjobber is going to get a review up today (and apparently, Fr. Gene didn't get one up yesterday because of my ineptitude. Instead, take a minute and recommend a blog we SHOULD review, for whatever reason (juicy goodness or horrifying badness) and/or write your own review in the comments.

Yes, I am really this lazy.

Well, I don't know any lepers, but I'm not going to run out and join one of their fucking clubs.

A guest review from the lovely Betsy Booms.

A blonde walks into a bar with a poodle under one arm, and a two-foot salami under the other. The bartender says, “I guess you won't be needing a drink”. Naked lady says...

I'm not going to lie, I struggled with reviewing today's blog. Do I judge her or her blog? Isn't someone's blog just a reflection of who they are? What is the line? The truth about Candice is that at first glance it seems like we would get along. She's sarcastic, blunt and we both just might say something like neo-maxi-zoom-dweebie and think we're awesomely cool, because look at that, we just quoted a movie! We are fucking clever, dude. For reals.

And maybe we would. Maybe we'd meet at some neighborhood block party or possibly at some kid's birthday party, we'd be annoyed that we had to be there, we'd hit the booze a little too hard, which would be so fucking funny, right, and we'd probably spend the entire time people watching and making fun of everyone around us. Because, seriously? Those sunglasses are so two year's ago. What. The. Hell?

The difference though? Candice truly judges you, oh yes, she does. If you don't fit neatly into her world, you are a fucking turd. It's as clear as the nose on her giant face in her header, she loves herself.

Can Candice write? Yes she can. She held my attention and I read every single word she wrote. Even when I wanted to hock a loogie in her ice cream laden mudslide. I predict that she may even rise through the trenches of super popular mommy bloggers and have a following of fellow, superficial, look at me, I can be hip, fo' shizzle husband haters that will think she is just the tits. Although, she could do with some serious editing, her rants are generally about twice as long as they need to be to get her point across.

And what is her point? Well, she is a fucking riot, peeps. I'm also thinking it's that she's a spoiled twat. A twat that relegated being a Democrat to being a Jesus freak, skin head, ax muderer or my personal favorite, a child molester. But OMG, did you see that freak's shoes? To die for!

Read Candice's blog for any period of time and it will become painfully apparent how she feels about people who are overweight. She especially hates those fatties with the scooters in the snack aisle, who doesn't? I called her a husband hater, but do I really think that she hates her husband? No, but being mean and disrespectful to him when he is on a conference call is hifuckinglarious, isn't it Candy? I suspect her husband funds a lot of the shopping trips that provide all the outfits that she spends entire blog posts writing about as she plans for a trip to hang with "her girls" who, I have no doubt, are really deep and so Sex in the City!!! (Must have multiple exclaims!!!) However, her husband is also the same man that produces brilliant little gems like yelling at our newly elected President, "I don't need to watch a retard lie to me."

We get to read all about her manicures and pedicures complete with phonetic spellings that let us know that her nail girl doesn't speak the clearest English.

See, here is the thing about people like Candice that I can't stand. She sneaks it all in there. You have to read between the lines to be smacked in the face with her bigotry, judgment and hate. She flings intelligent words like turd and retard at you all day long, while she cleverly hides her hate for anything different like fat people, Asians and female television repair people.

It's okay though, because she doesn't really say, "Hey fatso, I don't want to sit next you and your freaking fatness on this plane, you fucking Asian Democrat." She's too cute for that. Plus! She peppers it all with clever little parodies of American Idol as well. A hater wouldn't do that!!!

Candice has just about mastered the formula for successful mama blogger. She has an unexplainable celebrity crush that she tosses around to let you know she still needs the sex in her life. She has mastered super hip vocabulary for all you biotches out there.

She's pretty much the valedictorian of her class at the School for Snarky Mama Bloggers, yo. Unfortunately, this is one case where I prefer the posts where she writes about her kids because her kids are funny. Boo-Yah!

Look, whatever the case, you can probably hang with Candice as long as you admit that her television is bigger than yours, her hair is blonder and costs more, oh and her shoes are the freaking bomb, yo!

I don't hate her writing. I strongly dislike her.

For her written ability to keep me reading and entertained I give her:



For her carefully worded, conservative, hating bullshit and linking to humor-blogs dot com:



I'm pretty sure that those fingers are actually flaming Liberals, so she is completely twitching at this point.

Just know, Candice, I've deleted at least a hundred blogs just like yours from my Reader. Someday you are going to have to find a new schtick. A schtick other than being cute, sassy, snarky and spilling your martini as you totter around in your fabulous shoes.

Right now I think I prefer nasty to namaste

Edited: Right now the very last thing I need in my life is more conflict, so in the interest of soothing ruffled feathers, even though certain folks should have realized they'd be ruffled given the title of our blog, and even though they checked that they'd read the FAQ, and even though there are no takesies backsies in blog reviewing, I'm removing the links (even though I wasn't asked to). 'Cause I'm decent like that. I will not, however, remove the review, since I spent a long damn time on it and produced it in good faith. 

I've never been punched. I've never been slapped. I've never been choked or kicked. I've never even been shoved, except as a child by other children rough-housing. No one has ever laid a hand on me in anger, not really. My mother spanked me, but not often and not hard. I don't know what it's like to reel away from violence, to feel the smash of flesh and bone. My heart has taken its share of beatings, but my body hasn't. Knowing the statistics, reading the stories, I count myself lucky.

She [blogger redacted] was not so lucky.

This is what her blog centers around -- a single act of violence and her attempts at recovery. It's an intensely personal blog, which is in some ways difficult to judge. Because it's not for us, not really. I don't mean that there aren't people out there who should read this, who would want to read this -- I just mean the primary purpose isn't, or doesn't seem to be, discourse, dialog, or community, or even writing, really. The motivation for writing is so very emotional and visceral. She's writing to process, to heal. And critiquing that is hard for me, especially now when my own personal blog has gone from amusing essays to tears on the blogworld's shoulder.

But y'all ain't paying me to wax philosophical and melodramatic, are you? And she deserves a review. So.

There's poetry, oh goody. There's an its/it's problem. She has "Read full posts" links, which are annoying as hell. The design is benign and we see it all the time, but it's not too cluttered and there's a pretty header. She makes good use of tabs, but I'd put all your links on a tab, too. Thanks for the drop-downs, but get rid of all the other useless crap in your sidebar.

The tone of the blog is very woo-woo spiritual personal discovery, which I admit I can be partial to, when I'm not utterly embarrassed by it. And most of the posts are loooooong. And deep. And kind of exhausting. And when you have to click to read more, and the posts are already kind of long-winded and wordy and written with this very zen and meditative tone... well, I didn't click to read more as often as I might have. Even the ribald stuff is a bit, oh, I don't know. Contemplative, I guess.

I found her story interesting and heartbreaking and, if I'm being honest, not terribly easy for me to relate to. I kind of hate that I said that, but I just don't have the same sphere of reference. The spiritual journey, the PTSD, the gurus and yoginis and spiritual retreats and all that looking inward. I don't know -- I'm a little tired of my own innards right now, so I'm sure that's coloring my perspective.

God, didn't you guys miss me terribly? All this indecisiveness and malaise is riveting.

So. Bottom line. I liked it but I didn't love it. I think the writing could use some work. Tighten it up and edit, learn that whole its/it's thing, give us more action and less thinking. (I'm so tired of thinking.) I like that you're using blogging to process these things because I think it's therapeutic and helpful and someday you'll want to read all this stuff and remember and recognize how far you've come. And people in the same boat, or tied to your flotilla, will appreciate your insight and your journey. I just think I'm going to sail my boat in a different direction right now. Toward puppies and Firefly episodes and chocolate cake and books where people don't think so much.

Evidence of what I always suspected

Stay-at-home mommybloggers are the bane of my reviewing existence.

I'm admittedly biased, but I envision the vast majority of these chicks sitting at home on their ever-expanding asses, watching way too much daytime television, ignoring their offspring, and amusing themselves online while their toddler attempts to french kiss the power outlet.

This blog bolsters all of my worst beliefs about full-time mommybloggerdom.

There are no adventures here. Instead, this blog catalogs how this mommy slacker lollygags about on the internet all day, working on blog designs and new photoshopped nonsense and giving away her hubby's hard-earned cash in the form of gift certificates in order to lure in other unsuspecting housewives into reading and sharing her drivel.

Here's the evidence right here:

Personally, I'm glad to have him out of here. Last week I overheard him tell the guy that works the evening shift what we do (blog, eat, t.v) and don't do(cook and clean) all day. Stool Pigeon!

As a working mom, if I found out that my spouse had been pulling this nonsense all day long while ostensibly caring for our children, I'd fire his/her ass pronto from the sweet SAHP gig, and tell him/her to get a job. And, with good cause.

This blog is crap. It's what happens when brainless morons collide with photoshop and too much free time.

Do you really think you'll look back on this time in your life and be glad that you sat on your ass in front of the computer/television, creating this mindless nonsense, instead of playing with your little ones?

There is nothing soulful, sweet, touching, interesting, or worthy of being put online on this blog. It's all cartoon colors and big fonts, and no substance. I tried to find one single stimulating, entertaining, and thoughtful post, and failed, utterly.

This blog is the Fruity Pebbles of the blogosphere, all Red No. 3, artificial flavorings, processed white flour, high sucrose corn syrup, and way too little fiber and protein. It will make your brain rot. As a mom, I advise you to stay clear of it. And, for that matter, actual Fruity Pebbles.

In all fairness, there are a few mommybloggers I don't hate. You mostly know who you are, but mad props to the drunken housewife. She remains my all-time favorite stay-at-home mommy, a woman who has refused to allow her brain to be gelatinized by the bloggy klatsche into tasteless pablum. Look to her as a role model, you silly bitches who keep submitting here in the misguided belief that we will fucking love you.

Now, .

Turn off the computer, go outside, play with your little boys, and do your fucking J-O-B. Read a book. Read one with no swooning virgins on the cover, even. Better yet, read some to your kids. Join a service club. Volunteer. There is more to being a parent than blogging about the fact that you are having a multi-year work vacation. Get a fucking grip, you twit.

List of Cluster Fuckage

Three Boys, One Mommy

She [redacted because life is too damn short]

Candice and Company

Leeuna Foster, Professional Humorist

Friendly Fire

It's our favorite dumpster diver Ghost of Keywork with another review.

Your blog, miltrucker, is lacking.

I did my four years on active duty, quit your bitching. The Motherfucking National Guard? Fuck, don't get me started. I would thank you for your service, but I can't get over all of your whining. Dude, I'm sorry you have to leave loved ones. I'm sorry you have to go play soldier every now and then. I did my time in the Marine Corps, and I was stuck with a few guys that whined a lot. Guess what? They had a fucking reason to. They served in a full time capacity. I'm glad you have a decent job in the civilian world. I'm happy you didn't have to live permanently on one of our fine military installations, on-call all the fucking time. Tampon. Ok, done. On to your blog.

This, friend, is not a blog. You have a journal, wolfman. You write for people that know you personally. Nothing wrong with that. But put a fucking lock on it, churchboy. I have to assume, from your content, that you thought we would be handing out medals to any uniformed personnel that graced us with a peek at military life. No dice, man. Not when you go on and on about where you are training, what you are training for, jesusbitchfuckyourplatoonleader. Opsec. Remember that shit, soldier? Lock it up, nasty. Make your blog private if you insist on flagging your fellow Guardsmen/women. Save it until your contract is up. Again, let me get back to your journal.

Blogs are typically written to entertain, engage, capture an audience. You have an audience of two, from what I can tell. I didn't find more than five comments on any of your posts, and I dug. Please, please, please, keep this shit to yourself in your green book. How do I know about your green book? Because I have a few of my own, soldier. I kept a journal while I was deployed. I'm not linking any of your posts because I don't really believe that you ever intended to reach out to new readers. Save those green books. Then I suggest you take a creative writing course or five and find your voice before you start dumping your rat-fucked posts all over the blogosphere. Take some time, some pride in your work. Nothing wrong with editing.

When you do find your voice, lose that fucking template. I know you love wolves. I get it. But when I look at your blog, well, the wolf fucks it all up. Try something like black type on a white background. Make it user friendly, this isn't another Myspace page. This blog should be for you, by you. I felt like you didn't really let me know who you really are. I bet you're a stand-up guy, really, you seem to be a good father, you have a great support group, talk to me. Stop this charade. Dig a little deeper, I think you have some great shit stuck in that brain housing unit of yours. Stop focusing on the meaningless shit: location, this-then-that, I don't give a shit about your schedule and neither will anyone else. Start painting us a picture. Sights, sounds, tastes, smells, appeal to our senses. I could write six pages about a two hour machine gun range. You are not the only mil-blogger out there. If you really want to effect the masses, give them something new. The public can get on the internet, and in fifteen minutes, tell you more about weapons systems than you ever could. Put your brush on it soldier.

I'm taking it easy on you, because the world needs more of our story. Yes, I said 'our'. You and I, well, we have experienced things that most never will. You hit on some of that, good on ya. Now get to the rest of it. You owe it to those that can't, won't, or don't have the opportunity to serve their country.

Yeah. I'm not done with you, soldier. I just built you up a bit, now I'm gonna break you down again. If you're going to whine, do your brothers a favor and whine to them, or yourself. You signed that fucking contract. How fucking dare you cry on the internet about scheduling conflicts, soldier? You are a tampon, and when you are being used, you need to understand the great opportunity you are being given. I know a lot of people that would die to get that chance. Guess what? They have physical or mental disabilities that prevent them from doing so. I know guys that sat in Med Hold for nearly a year, trying to heal just to make it through boot camp. I don't know what the general attitude is in the Army, but I sincerely hope that you don't represent the majority. When you get home, take a shower, bitch to your girlfriend. Why? Because it looks bad on the rest of your Army coworkers. Really, don't cheapen the bonds you have formed. Look, I'm a Marine, your moaning doesn't effect my image. But think about those goddamned eighteen year old kids, ready to serve and die, before you whine about getting 'bruised up' a week before a PFT. Suck it up.

For your blog, you're getting an Abercrombie Moose.








I don't get to judge you on a personal level, so I won't. Lucky you.

Where's Our Pigeon Camera

Miss Missives has had a very long week flogging perfect and not so perfect strangers for a hefty fee. After all the flagellation and degradation, I found the thought of doing a blog review positively exhausting. The hours spent poring over what would no doubt be a double Meh or angry shaking hand of flaming fingers. Then I got this week's victim and I was elated, beyond elated, I was jubilant. Miss Missives, is it because your eyes feasted upon a blog worthy of praise heaping, you ask? Is it because you've discovered a small gem amidst the detritus? Or is it because your victim has a sum total of twelve posts and they are all, get ready for the kicker here, photos. Ding, ding, ding, bingo!

My Perception of Mother Nature is, judging from the comments and the most recent title, the blog of an Indian person. Beyond that, we know nothing about the person behind the lens. Which is of little consequence really because if this is his opus then it's better that he packed up and went home. Yes, there are a few that don't make my eyes bleed with boredom but given the advances of digital photography and Photoshop, even my languid feline friend can take a pretty decent picture even in the absence of opposable thumbs.

My Perception of Mother Nature is a mess. Boring title, boring nondescript template which wouldn't be so bad on a photo site were it not for the total lack of anything else. There's no information about the picture taker. Perhaps Glen wanted to highlight each(of the twelve) photos, but having one photo per page is overkill, far too much clicking for the measly twelve picture payoff.

I'm not a photo blog aficionado but even I can offer up some suggestions for the Clicky McClickersons who want to wow the world with their "viewpoint".

1. Don't title your blog "My Perception of Mother Nature," this is about as exciting as something titled,"What My Grandma Eats for Lunch on Tuesdays." In fact, that title is far superior.

2. Just because you are snapping photos rather than writing doesn't mean it isn't personal. Tell the viewer a little about you. Give us a frame of reference. Why exactly should we be interested in your viewpoint?

3. Do not litter your photographs with do not copy watermarks and wallpaper. It's distracting and I seriously doubt people are getting in line to steal your picture of carrots.

4. Speaking of carrots, title your pictures carefully. "LOOK AT THE CARROTS!!!" Really? No really? Seriously, look at the fucking carrots? By the way, only twelve year old girls use multiple exclamation marks.

5. Create a 'Best of" to showcase your favorite work. This is really advice for the photobloggers that exceed twelve pictures.

6. Give a little intel on the pictures. I don't need a soliloquy but set it up for us.

7. Post regularly. The people I know who really like to take pictures could post daily without ever running out of good material. You don't have to be that prolific but post a bare minimum of at least once per week.

8. Labels, labels, labels. Again, this is especially helpful if you have more than twelve posts.

The good news is this is the first ever review that not only have I looked at every post on the blog, I have linked every single post. That should be worthy of some kind of award. So for brevity, you get this:

For the rest, you get this: