Drivel for Nice People

So I have this friend, Blubbering Vlad, who's the type of guy who you want to be around when there's trouble brewing. Not that he's all that handy, or good with his fists, or even all that smart; he's just a hell of a lot of fun. And he's likely to help keep the heat off your trail acting as a distraction to any authorities who may be inclined to give you a second glance.

Needless to say, when I go on the prowl, his place is one of the first stops I make on my way out of town.

But when the phone rings and the miracle of modern caller ID tells me that it's Blub, I will not ever pick up. Never. Because, fun and useful as he is out running through the swamps, trying to have an actual conversation with him on a phone is excruciatingly dull, dull, dull. The guy simply has nothing to say and uses way too many syllables to get that nothing conveyed.

Reading today's blog (A Hundred Indecisions) reminded me of my dear friend.

The author, who reveals her name very reluctantly and tells us virtually nothing at all about herself directly, is 24 year old Gini from Delhi, an architecture student, and .... Well, shit, that's kind of it. She writes in complete sentences. Complains about poor spelling in text messages. Seems to grouse regularly about the life she has laid out before her, as though she is powerless to effect a change. Hell for all I know, she is. But it seems pretty fucked up that she seems to have virtually nothing positive to say about becoming an architect for all the time she seems to devote to it.

What does that leave me with? I am left with another iteration of the same old question -- what the hell are you writing this for? You do not seem possessed of literary demons that must be unleashed, lest they eat you up inside. If anything, you seem to have literary kittens that occasionally need a ball of yarn to play with or to have their bellies scratched. I am not transported within your words, I am instead driven to fits of ADD. The remotest shiny bauble captures my attention over your words.

So. What the hell can you do about this? Is it so awful? No, not awful. Just dreadfully mundane. And I suspect that this is a direct result of Gini writing this blog before she has experienced anything.

No, that's not true. She has. As a newly hatched from the nest High School grad she traveled alone from her home in Delhi to Chennai, over two thousand km distant, and took up at school there, trying to fit into a culture very different from what she was used to. A writer would have wrested an entire novel from that setup alone.

So, let me leave you with a question and then a rating. First the question: Gini, when you sleep at night, what do you dream of?

And now for the rating.



Meh. Meh. Meh.

Figure out why you're doing this, and if you aren't doing it because your muse will fucking kill you in your sleep if you don't, don't submit for a review from a bunch of clove cigarette smoking, beret wearing, edgy, aging hipsters like us. We'll all be that much happier. I promise.

That's What She Said

I'm usually pretty perceptive. At least I am when I'm tuned in and paying attention. I can walk into a room and sense the vibe going on pretty accurately most of the time. And I can open a blog and pick up pretty much from the get go what sort of experience I'm in for.

Are there lots of crappy little doo-dads scattered around the perimeter? Hundreds of blog awards? Pukey pink background? Massive header screaming out for attention? Maybe a few links here and there to crappy writing that's been "published" in an ezine or via some vanity press? Yeah, guess what - that fucker's gonna be a chore.

So imagine what I thought when I first arrived at the home of one Laura Jane Williams, with her pink background, her name in 106 point type across the top, a shameless declaration that her high self-esteem was my problem, and links down the side to her magazine. Yeah. That's what I was thinking. Attention whore. The type of person who prefers volume to subtlety.

And I was sorely afraid.

So I rolled up my sleeves, prepared to brush the foul taste from my mouth soon enough. And I read the first entry. A fairly amusing description of some guttersnipe trying to pick her up in the street and clearly failing miserably. So I read on. And I happened on one after another reasonably amusing anecdote of life as a young woman in Britain after another.

It was a moment of severe cognitive dissonance. A blog that starts out like this is supposed to suck from the git go. And, aside from the header, this kind of doesn't suck.

Although it comes across as pretty Bridget Jonesy on the whole (and I have more in common with Bridget's father than Bridget herself), it is all well enough written, well enough thought out, etc, that I found myself cognitively humming along before too long.

Would I come back on a regular basis? Sure. Would I read it every day? No. I find this sort of thing to be a pleasant enough distraction, but when I read post after post that has the same sort of sour-sweet sassiness that this has, I find myself needing to cleanse the pallete with something a bit more weighty.

Now for the funny part. As I read, I was having the hardest time with some of the entries as she kept referring to her being in school for her undergrad degree. And although I know that there are all sorts of students out there, the photo of herself had me thinking that she was a mid-thirties aged crazy-cat-lady-in-the-making. And I was having the biggest trouble imagining why she was describing the life of a woman in her early twenties. It wasn't till I wandered to her video page that I discovered that Laura Jane Williams is not really who she appears to be at first. She appears to be putting her worst foot forward on purpose. Like a little sort of performance art.

Bravo.

By now you'll have noticed that I am including very few links to anything specific. I think that the biggest reason for that is that, although there really aren't any clunkers in the mix (she does occasionally repeat a thing once or twice too often -- like the "Quote, End Quote" thing, but the ones I read were all reasonably amusing), there exists also a dearth of "holy shit, you must read this now" posts. It's all pretty evenly keeled.

So, to give you all a taste, here are a few random posts you may want to check out...

On being offered money for sex. She thinks.
On being an unintentional racist. And having OCD.
On being ridiculed by her boyfriend and her flatmates. At the same time.
On lacking cake for tea.
On being very self deprecating.
On the love of a dog.
On parental acceptance.

Etc.

I don't have any specific advice on how to improve. This seems to be working for you. Keep it up if you're still fed by it.

Two Stars. Because one is too few and three is too many. And because I said so, that's why.

Q Cue Queue Que

BLOG: Que the Lights
AUTHOR: Xavier Burgin a.k.a. Xay B., college student at University of Alabama

The first time I pulled this site up, the first thing that ran through my head was "Oh my god, why the hell is this header image so big?" The second thought was equally critical and went something like this "What the hell is a 'Que'? It's spelled 'Queue' or 'Cue,' depending on your meaning, but I don't think I've ever seen 'Que' before."

Xay never explains why he made his header image so big that it pushes all of his content below the fold on my screen (and I'm at a 1650x1080 resolution -- there's really no excuse for it), but he does address the whole Que thing. I guess. (Sorry, I'm still not okay with it, and I think that you'll see why shortly.) Which leads me into my first substantive concern with the content of this blog. Unless you are involved in or interested in the greek life at the University of Alabama, much of the subject matter on this site is going to fly over your head or under your crotch or around your big fat gut, or somewhere unintended. Even when I was a young man in my late teens and early twenties, the allure of greek life completely eluded me. So, although I get that many young people love to have a place where they belong and all of that, I still felt as though I was standing off to the side observing rituals of a group that I could (and in truth, would) never be a part of.

Frat life aside, Xay is an aspiring filmmaker and photographer. Que the Lights is meant to serve as his online portfolio. This is an area I was hoping to find some commonality of experience. I've never studied, but I have been dabbling in the visual arts, photography, and aspects of film for years, primarily as a screenwriter, but also in the realm of some light directorial work. I was actually looking forward to reviewing this site, big ass header aside. I love short artistic student films. Generally.

So, my next biggest complaint is that there aren't more of these films. Instead, he spends an inordinate amount of time talking about what he's working on, or what he's interested in and why, but this writing comes off like a required school assignment. So, I want to go back to the films now...

I like watching the technical growth. Sure, not all were to my liking. The advertisements for frat events weren't really meant for me. Nor were the rap duels. But the films that told a story showed promise. And I would be very interested in seeing where this goes.

His photography is pretty amazing too. He does a lot of photographing people, something that I am not very good at. I feel that in order to photograph a person, really capture the essence of that person, you have to establish a very intimate bond with him/her. That intimacy is clearly on display in his photographs of people. My only quibble with the photography content is that his photography posts had way too many photos. They swiftly became overwhelming, diluting their individual impact. A lightbox style gallery that shows just one image at a time would be a much more suitable showcase for this work.

To tell the truth, the best part of Xay's filmmaking is the visual aspect. Sound sometimes was lacking, story sometimes vague or obtuse, could have used a bit less generosity in the editing process, but the visuals were almost always striking. Xay, if you were to ask me, I'd say focus on cinematography. I really think you have a gift there.

So, about the blog. What could you be doing better?

• Edit your writing. I know, I say that almost every time. But in this case, you have interesting ideas, but too often a word selection is enough off the mark to yank me right out of reader mode and into red-pen wielding editor mode.
• Shrink the header image.  It should be 1/3 the height it is. Or less.
• If you are serious about using this site as your portfolio, remember that a lot of folks who you want to see your work and look on it favorably won't be in your fraternity and so won't know what "Roo to the people" (or "Roo the people" as you say about 1/3 of the time) is supposed to mean. I still don't. I assume that this is not a statement of love for the offspring of Kanga in Winnie-the-Pooh. Correct?
• Your use of tabs is confusing. The top row works, where it serves as an entry point to a page on your blog about that topic, but the second row? I was annoyed that clicking on those took me out of the blog to an external site without really warning me that was going to happen. It would be clearer if you were to use the YouTube logo or something instead of a tab.

Okay, that's enough for today.

Four stars for your photos.



And three stars for your completed videos.



And zero stars for your writing, which should have been two, but my inner editor redacted two. Sorry. It happens.

Clinical

Several months ago, in this space, I had occasion to review the ramblings of an antipodean young lady who self-described herself as "crazy." Among her other sins, I took a bit of offense to this self label. It was inaccurate and signaled an underlying disregard for the identification of the correct descriptor. I berated her for choosing "crazy" because what she meant was "impulsive" and "impetuous." If I may quote myself, I told that young lady at the time "Real crazy and real insane is actually scary and dangerous. Not fun. Real crazy is hanging off the edge of the Golden Gate Bridge or hearing voices that aren’t there telling you to kill John Lennon."

Jacki, if you are still reading here, today's reviewee is somewhat close to the epitome of who I was talking about in that review. (Also, Jacki, if you are still reading here today, I encourage you to submit for a re-review. You have corrected your egregious sins. You would likely get a much improved review today.)

Pandora has been dealing with mental illness for years, and Confessions of a Serial Insomniac is where she records the trials and tribulations of what goes along with that.

She has a very full About Me section. Pages and pages and pages of orienting material. A glossary of terms and acronyms. A run down of who all the major players are and what her relationship to them is. Full background on what she has been able to identify as the inciting cause behind her initial breakdowns.

And let there be no question -- assuming that this is all honest and true (and there's no reason to doubt that's the case as far as I can tell), whatever mental illness she is experiencing is well earned and owned. Go through what she has and you'd likely be mentally ill as well.

Pandora generally writes clearly, yet very clinically. She conveys the facts of her mental illness very well, but only rarely seems to give real insight into what it feels like. It reads like a bit of a case study in a text book. And if the purpose of this is to serve as a record of a life or as a resource for others who are going through similar trials and tribulations, that may very well be appropriate. It wasn't what I was hoping for when I first saw the topic, and maybe that's just prurient selfishness on my part. Hard to say. But as one who's deepest experience with mental illness is a very occasional bout with Seasonal Affective Disorder and or mild depression, I wasn't able to latch onto this material the way I really wanted to.

The thing is, it seems to be something that she struggles with in her therapy sessions as well:

“OK,” Paul said, “but what did you feel?”

Not an easy question to answer.  I thought about how the way in which I’d described the incident here, but in the moment, that didn’t really seem to ‘get’ it.

So what can I say? That I'd like to see more catharsis? Feh. Easy for me to say from my comfortable house with my complete LACK of mental illness and trauma. Still, what I'm saying would probably make the individual entries a bit more compelling. The fact is, she doesn't glamorize or romanticize any of it -- she factualizes it. And perhaps that's a good thing to do. I'm not qualified to say anything about the illness part. But take a look at this, because this is more like what we're looking for here.

Okay, then. So what can she work on?

1. The entries are too long. If I were hired as her editor, the first thing I would tell her is to cut everything to 1/3 of the currrent length.
2. Lose the goddamned "Read More" links. Yeah, okay, they're probably there because the posts are so long, but I hate (hate, HATE, HATE!!!!) them. I probably didn't read as much of this as I should have partially because of that. (Partially because I have a deadline. Deal with it.)
3. Too much crap in the sidebar. At least the sidebar isn't longer than the page content. But there's still a hell of a lot going on, and the stuff I was looking for (archives) was hard to find in that haystack.
4. Reconsider the white text, black background. Although it doesn't bother me as much this time as usual because it kind of fits the subject matter, white text on a black background is hard on my eyes.

My final word of advise is going to come across as a bit condescending, maybe. I don't mean it to, but will understand why it is interpreted that way. I am trying to figure out why Pandora is writing this blog. What is the goal? Is it simply a diary of her mental illness? Is it to serve as a form of advocacy? And because that goal wasn't clear to me, it was very hard to assess whether she was successfully achieving her goal. Which is one of the key things I try to assess in these reviews. It seemed to me that she may be writing "just because" without a clear goal in mind. If that's the case, I might encourage her to find a goal for this and strive toward it. If it's NOT the case, and she has a goal, I might encourage her to identify that goal for the readers.

And that's that.

For what it's worth, I bet I know several people in real life who could have written this blog, except for the residing in Ireland part, and I like them all. So, in the end, I am willing to bet that if I were to know Pandora in real life, I'd probably consider her a friend.

Pandora's rating: One star.

Not Quite D.O.A.

There's a scene in the 1988 movie D.O.A. in which Dennis Quaid's character regains consciousness after a rowdy night and tries to get his bearings. As he looks around at his surroundings, it becomes increasingly clear that he is not in his own home. Nor his own bed. Going from memory here, as I haven't seen that movie on over a decade (Fortunately. I don't actually recommend it unless you have a serious thing for a young Dennis Quaid or a young Meg Ryan.), it seems to me that he looks around and sees pink fluffy bunnies and shit like that. Shit that starts sending his early warning system into overload. And in his case, that warning is warranted. It seems, he is waking up in the bedroom of a young lady. A very young lady. Fortunately not twisted and sick young, but clearly too young for him.

And for some reason, my first impression of today's blog brought that scene to mind. The template is decorated just like a fourteen year old girl's bedroom. It's cute, and watercolor-y/pastel-ly with big loopy looking sans serif text. So imagine my surprise to find out that this is a blog of a male physician/med-student who describes himself as "Vampire doc" who is "67% evil."

Guess what pal. You aren't fooling anyone.

The template also includes an inane "Wibiya" bar at the bottom that provides no advantage to me, the reader, and instead presents a significant disadvantage in that it slows page loads down. A lot. Annoyingly so.

A template isn't everything. I can forgive a lot of bad decisions in the template if the execution is Very Good or better.

Which in this case, it isn't so much.

I had high hopes, based on a quick scan of a few posts. Certainly that vampire/67% evil thing had me intrigued, but then I started reading. And I learned that, while Ramanathan Kannan does have some amusing stories or insights on occasion, he frequently doesn't seem very clear on what is amusing to an outside reader as opposed to someone who was in on the joke.

And like many Saturday Night Live skits, his posts continue much longer than the content warrants. (In this example, I very much wanted to get to the heart of the matter with him, but the frequent detailed tangents derailed me. I still don't know if that was even a good story or not.)

I mean, a list of 49 things that are different from going to school back home and going to school away from home? Forty nine? This would have been significantly better had you chosen ten or fifteen and focused only on the best ones.

Too often I found myself in the middle of a post asking myself how much longer this was going to go on. And, I confess, I almost always skipped to the next, having exhausted my patience with the post at hand.

Don't get me wrong. It's not all bad. There are a few like this that I came across. And there were some that were interesting to me personally that I wished were written better so I could reach the end before getting an embolism.

In the end, I have to conclude that I like this Ramanathan guy, but I really wish his writing would be more focused and concentrated. Not this rambling on and on. I am reminded of a quote I heard once, I think attributable to Churchill. After spending an evening at a dinner party next to a rather loquacious woman, he apparently quipped something to the effect of "She talks a lot, but doesn't say anything."

Ramanathan, my advice to you: Trim the fat and say something.

That said, your potential gets one star. Live up to it, and come back to get more. If you can.

Just Buy an Umbrella Already

I owe all of you an apology. This review was technically "due" last week, on December 23rd. But, and here's where I proffer up excuses when as far as I can tell you really don't give a flying rat's ass, last Thursday was my last day at work before a year-end, sanity-restoring, very much needed break. And although I was able to compile my notes together for this review, I was simply unable to write a single word. My writer bone was simply snapped in two. So for a few days, I let it be. I went where I wanted to go. Did what I wanted to do.

And as of this morning, I feel oddly healed. Partially.

So, Vishwa, are you ready for me?

Back in the months I spent in the monastery in the Alps, there was an unusual fellow from Colombia who had the chamber adjacent to mine. When it would rain, he would wander outside and just wallow in self-pity and self-loathing. He was otherwise such a nice person, but this behavior indicated so clearly his underlying demons, it was of no great surprise to anyone when he was hospitalized for a series of mental and emotional breakdowns. As I understand it now, he is stable and runs a chain of Tae Kwon Do dojos, so perhaps the breakdown was necessary.

I mention this only because Vishwa's blog -- A Walk in the Drizzle -- seems to indicate early on a similar sort of potential downward spiral. For those of you sick fucks who think it might be fun to see someone spiral into the pits of despair, I suggest only that you will be disappointed, because that actually never seems to happen. That said, he expresses such a joy at the misery of walking in the rain, at the self flagellation thereof, that I was in the early years a bit worried about the guy.

Instead, though, we get a person who is contemplative and spiritual, and yet possessed of a pragmatic core. He spends time with a spiritual leader and yet works in IT. This sets up a conflict inside of him. The spiritual and contemplative side bemoans the fact that working in IT doesn't feed the spiritual, and yet the pragmatic side rules the roost. It's fine to want to be a philosopher and what not, but you don't get dental with that, and the part of him that likes to eat and live with a roof over his head wins.

Vishwa writes well enough. I wasn't constantly wanting to bash him over the head with a Strunk & White or anything, but his boring choice of templates is a bit of a canary in the coalmine for what's to come. His writing is a bit self interested for my liking. He splashes a bit of humor and humanity here and then, and rewards the patient reader with a nugget of truth about who he is rather than what he's thinking about, but it doesn't come often enough. He comes across as a navel gazer who only occasionally looks up to interact with anyone who might be in front of him.

To complicate matters, his last post was three months ago. And I really hate reviewing abandoned or retired blogs. On the one hand, like studying Latin is nice because it's a closed system that never needs updating, a dead blog is easier to review because you never have to worry about a recent post completely changing your whole perspective, but on the other hand it seems a bit pointless. If you are done, you obviously don't need tips on how to improve.

In the end, I have to conclude that Vishwa is not living up to his demonstrated potential. But he isn't totally abysmal. So, for him, I proffer a single star.



Consider it a belated Christmas gift.

If All Your Friends Jumped Off a Bridge, Would You Do It Too?

I know that none of you care about my troubles, but I have to tell you the truth. The thought of writing a review for today's blog just makes me feel exhausted all of a sudden. It's not that it's a particularly bad blog. Indeed, if that were the case, I would have something to sink my fangs into. And it isn't that the reviewee is particularly problematic or annoying or anything. In fact, based on the very little I know about her, I actually think that I'd really like her. She has a great optimistic way of looking at life that I can only imagine is infectious in person.

I am exhausted because her execution is just another in a seeming endless series of blogs that are in essence the equivalent of Cheech and Chong's "How I Spent My Summer Vacation."

That the details vary from blog to blog matters little. This one lives in Chicago. That one in Bangalore. This one's in IT. That one's a nurse. That one over there's a teacher. Ho hum. She has a dog. He has a two year old son. Whatever.

I think that it is very telling that the only reason Prathima even has a blog was because other people she knows have them. And that it was pretty much dormant until she spent a certain amount of time unemployed, when it seemed to give her something to do to while away the hours when she would have rather been working. Even now, it seems that the only thing driving her to write at all is so that she is not strictly a consumer on the blogosphere.

As much as I admire those who want to give back to the community, I do want to let everyone know -- you don't necessarily have to give back in kind. Not everyone needs a blog. Especially if you're not necessarily all that enthused to say anything.

I realize that this is overly critical and possibly even harsh, but the fact is, you seem to derive more pleasure from reading others' blogs. And that's okay. Maybe I am reading this wrong. Maybe you do get jazzed up writing about a day in the life of an H4 visa holding individual residing in the US of A, but if so, that excitement just didn't come across.

My advice to you. If I am reading you wrong, and you really are really excited to be writing these blog entries, try to find a way to convey that excitement to your reader. Convince us of something. Tell us what you love and why. Tell us what you fear most and why. In other words, challenge yourself and us. Expand our minds through what you uniquely bring to the world.

I'm not going to tell you the versa to that vice I set up up there. That is to say, I will not suggest that if you are writing out of obligation, perhaps that is energy best spent elsewhere. Far be it from me to tell you what to do with your energy, and if you think that this is making the world a better place, I won't ask you to stop. But I haven't found anything in here to keep me coming back if you keep on with what you're doing.

As it is, I am feeling compelled to introduce a whole new rating. You don't deserve anything negative. You didn't even earn a "Meh." I am taking ths opportunity to introduce the brand new "No Stars" rating. Again, you seem like a really great person, so it really isn't personal.

Now pardon me while I go take a nap.

Tales of a Bionic Testicled Shoe Shiner

BLOG: AmmoHammerBite!Bite
AUTHOR: Ryan Lawson -- Presumably from Hamilton, Ontario, but I could very well be mis-surmising.

And, to be honest, I do not know how to begin.

So, let me start from the beginning. From what I would consider a rather inauspicious and mundane initial foray into the world of syntactical drivel, Ryan Lawson brings to us a blog of, primarily, stories. Some seem to be fantastical retellings of real interactions that he has had. Some appear to be attempts at self-reflection and at times I would wager self parody. And some just appear to be the output of a tremendously offkilter mind.

There's not a lot of that personal touchy-feely stuff you get in other blogs. Even his telling about the birth of his child doesn't really carry any implicit understanding that this actually happened or even what being a dad means to him. Only by reading the introduction did I even know that such an event had actually occurred.

His design invokes the feel of a comic book or an e-zine, and the content lives up to that invocation.

He is clever. At times, he is possibly too clever. In general, I applaud his creative vocabulary, but at times, he seems to be interested in showing off how well he knows how to work a thesaurus rather than trying to tell a story.

Look at me, picking such nits. Face it. When Ryan is on, he is really on. And if he misses once or twice, I actually am willing to grant that in this case, the fault may be my ability to process the concepts rather than his execution.

In other words, at his best, Ryan writes really fucking well. Laugh out loud well. Dare I suggest David Lynch/Charlie Kaufman well? Could he sustain it for a whole novel? If so, I would buy it. I would buy it for all my friends. And I would tell them "I reviewed his blog."

When you go to this blog, do yourselves a favor and check out the Storyhole and More pages. There are definitely some keepers in there. (Switcheroo, for example.)

Nobody's perfect. So, what could Ryan do better? The template is fine. No changes there. In the writing... I dunno, there were just some times when the density of the words created a short-circuit in my visual processing cortex, which is a good part of the reason why this review was late. Strive for more clarity. Sometimes less is more. Listen to your inner editor.

But by all means, keep doing this.

I am on the fence as far as the rating goes. I abhor hyperbole, and as such am really loathe to award IFLYs, and I admit that the one or two misses made me question whether I could hand out an IFLY in this case, but in the end, I have decided to just let it go and stop agonizing.

Physician, Heal Thyself

BLOG: Godyears
AUTHOR: Pythoroshan. Indian. Male. Thirty-ish. Physician. Recently passed his examinations. A bit of a movie and food junkie.

Roshan, I sincerely thought I was going to hate your ass.

I count nineteen reasons why I gasped audibly when I first viewed your blog. That’s how many little useless gadgets and doo-dads are scattered around the perimeter. Although none are particularly intrusive – they don’t prevent the reading of the writing or slow the page loading or anything – their prominent display made me wonder and worry about what sorts of priorities you place on style versus substance.

And now, I am going to peel the curtain back a little on my process for reviewing a blog. I start with a brief scan of the two or three most recent posts. Then I usually look for an About Me page, if it exists, to get a sense of what the bloggers goal in blogging is. (I couldn’t find one here.) Then I survey the volume based on the archives. I then sample a random post or three from various epochs of the archives. And then I decide where to start my review from.

In this case, based on my initial assessment, I couldn’t go more than a year back. Although you’ve been writing for significantly longer than that, I felt that the earliest stuff was not truly indicative of the direction you are currently going in. And that wasn’t fair to you or me. Mostly me.

What I learned along the way:

• You are a bit of an idealist.
• You like to write movie reviews. (I don't agree with them, but that's okay.)
• You hold no truck with caste-based or religious divisions. You see bullshit and call it for the bullshit it is.
• You are worse than a hopeless romantic – you are a hopeful one. Ugh.
• You like to eat. (Little references interspersed throughout -- not a single link to use as an example.)
• You write fiction.

And having read what I did, I have to say, I like you. You’re the kind of guy I’d want to hang out with – fun loving, yet can get down to business when that’s the appropriate response. Funny and self deprecating, and yet not a gloomy gus who brings everyone down.

But, for the most part, I found your writing a tad bit turgid and clumsy. Too many posts were a bit of a chore to get through. I was down with what you were trying to say, but you just took too many words to get there. I suspect that you write the way you speak. A lot of people do. I just think that in a lot of these cases, less may very well be more.

As for the fiction, I liked what you wrote, but didn’t necessarily love it. I could probably provide specific feedback on your Guardian Angel piece, for example, with an eye toward tightening it up, making it better, etc. I’m not sure if that sort of constructive criticism is welcomed, so I will hold off.

What to do to improve: Try to write less densefully. Yeah, that’s not a word. I just made it up. But it captures the essence of what I mean. Sometimes this means simply rewording things. Sometimes it means you need to get out the scissors and excise an extraneous concept or two. And sometimes you can get a tad preachy in a way that I think undermines your intentions. Try to avoid that.

Your rating. One star.



Some artful editing and a bit more care in crafting your fiction will elevate this higher. you've got potential, my son.

Mungo Writes Blah

BLOG: Mungo Says Bah

AUTHOR: Mungo – from Canada, by way of England. Married with one child. Works in IT. But none of this is what Mungo’s “Bah” means. Mungo writes about camping and bushcraft, tramping through the out-of-doors, if you will.

Full disclosure. For me, “camping” means that the hotel doesn’t have HBO. For me, “survival training” means that I know how to navigate inner-city streets without getting trapped in a conversation with a panhandler trying to bum Ripple money off me.

Oh sure, when I was a kid, I’d go into the woods with a sleeping bag and a tent and “camp,” but if I needed to take a crap, I was well within walking distance of indoor plumbing, and anything I ate was brought from home.

So I guess you can imagine that someone who’s blog topic diagram looks like this:



might have precious little to offer me. And in general you’d be right. Especially given the fact that Mungo does very little actual writing. He’ll tweet the shit out of you, and then make sure you didn’t miss any of those tweets by reposting them all as blog posts, but the actual blog writing is few and far between.

And yeah, I’m not interested in any Twitter Posting Round ups, or whatever you call them.

When he does write, it seems to be relegated to one of the following topics:

• This is what this is a picture of
• Here’s some cool resources you ought to know about if you’re interested in bushcraft/camping/nature photography
• Here’s some good survivalist information

The writing is clear and straightforward. He is occasionally witty or self deprecating, but it doesn’t seem that his goal is for this to be a very personal blog. He occasionally talks about his family, but mostly only in the context of “Here’s my son. I want to teach him about all of this nature.”

Bottom line – if you are the type of person who likes bushcraft or camping, or even just enjoys spending hours in front of nature documentaries, you’ll probably really enjoy this blog. When he actually fucking writes something rather than recycling something old. For me, Mungo Says Bah was mostly Mungo is Blah.

With one exception.

The nature photography. Which was stunning. Like coffee-table book good. If you’re into such things. Which I sort of am. The people photos? Not so interesting. The photos of people on his blog lack the depth and vividness of his nature photos. The people don’t stand out from the background – the plants and animals do.

So for the near constant twitter recaps, I am giving you a Short Bus. That's annoying. Please stop doing that.



For the writing you actually do, along with your portrait photography, I am giving you a “Meh.” From another reviewer, or someone into these subjects, you’d probably have faired better. But you got me. Suck it.



And, last but not least, for your nature photography, and your nature photography alone, I am going to hand out my very first ever I Fucking Love You.



Weird, huh?

Unfortunately for you, when you average it all together, all those twitter regurgitations really drag your GPA down leaving you with an OVERALL rating of just one star.

Once There Was This Discarded Note I Found...

Once, as a wee bairn of maybe 11 or 12 years of age, while walking along an unfamiliar street with my gang of hoodlums, we spied a discarded scrap of paper along the way. Nine hundred and ninety nine times out of a thousand, I leave the scrap where it lies. But for some reason, on this day, something inside me says "pick it up and read it." Having learned the hard way what happens when I ignore the voices in my head, I picked that scrap up and read it.

It wasn't addressed to anyone specific and no individuals were mentioned by name, but this little scrap of paper told a dramatic story of lust, betrayal, greed and larceny. I was transfixed. I clearly knew none of these people, but the anger and hostility leaped off the page in a way that it didn't matter whether I knew them or not. I wanted to know more, what happened next, whether the one "bitch ho" was going to get her due comeuppance for stealing the other "bitch ho"'s boyfriend or not.

Alas, I never did find out, as the note was incomplete.

As I read through Nuts 4 Fruits, I felt some of those same stirrings of having read a lovely story about whom I knew nothing, really. Even after reading hundreds of posts, I still do not really know all that much about our intrepid author. I can infer many things, but these inferences may very well be wrong. I know that the author is female, lives in Toronto, wants to be a hermit, and has had a long-distance relationship for seven years. I suspect that she once lived in Africa, at times lives with or near her mother (referred to in these pages merely as "The Survivor"), and takes vacations with her significant other (referred to in these pages as "The Phantom"). I assume she is in her (early?) thirties. And I believe that she works in statistics or data processing or something.

Oh, and she seems to really like shopping at Ikea. And she's a non-militant vegetarian type. That is, until very recently.

She speaks vaguely of dark times in the past, but aside from mentioning that they were there, and implying somehow that the Survivor is called the Survivor somehow because of the survival of these dark times, she does not speak of them at all. Like 'The One Who Must Not Be Named,' she speaks OF the dark times, but not ABOUT the dark times. (And today I am finding it difficult to locate specific references to these times. Dammit, I should have written this down.)

I am left with merely the impression of a person. A shadow of a human life. And I desperately want to know more. I want to know why she chose to be a vegetarian, or if it was even a choice. I want to know why she lives in Toronto when she clearly despises the cold. I want to know why it makes sense for The Phantom to be living in Texas while she lives in Toronto. I want to know more about the sort of relationship that starts with enough trust that the Phantom allows her to spy on him all the time via a webcam and yet seems to shy away from the label "relationship."

I don't get these answers.

Instead, I get the mundane, day-to-day life of a young woman rendered somewhat sublime through the written word. Many posts, maybe half of them, read like a stream of consciousness William Carlos Williams poem. Accessible, yet perfectly capturing the feelings and essences of a moment. I can almost feel the breezes, smell the scents, taste the foods.

The other half of the posts? Meh. "What I bought at Ikea." Or, "here's the code I used in R to make this graph."

In my last review, I talked about what I look for in the writing that I read. What I said:

Do you expand my mind? Do I find myself longing to read just one more post? Do you turn a phrase in a new and fresh way that causes me to look anew upon the mundane and everyday?

Guess what. This nutty fruit (or should I say fruity nut?) does just that. About half of the time. I started way back at the very beginning, and each post was a short sweet little breath or glimpse of what that particular moment in time felt like and seemed like. She captured the essence artfully. Avoiding cliches. And I just kept reading, more and more, like a good book I just couldn't put down. Until I was done and looking at the most recent post.

And I loved her for it. About half of the time.

This is not to say that she is all that and a bag of crackers. Henry David Thorough once famously stated something about the majority of people living a life of quiet desperation, and it seems at times as though our intrepid hermit is doing just that. And as much as it goes against my grain to suggest that my review of a blog should be taken as a review of someone's life, reading posts about wistful regrets over choices made (mind you, choices that I can't say for sure I ever really understood, as she never lays out what options were really there), brought to mind a line from The Shawshank Redemption: "Get busy living or get busy dying."

I would love for her to get busy living.

And, as much as I love the way she captures a moment, some semblance of a framework to hang those moments on would be useful and helpful as well. I mean, crap, she's even blocked the viewing of her Blogger profile. I just spent the last 5 years with her, and I still don't know what to call her, what race she is, or why she loves to visually chart data.

So quit being so damn coy.

Okay. That's it.

Now here's the real shocker. The rating. Three stars.



Give me some framework and start chasing those dreams, and leave what you bought at Ikea to your Facebook profile, and you'll shoot right up to four stars or even maybe an "I Fucking Love You." Because, I do. In fits and starts. But not consistently enough to earn that as an overall rating.

One Lump or Two?

Time and time again, I am presented with a fresh victim. And rather than relish the delightful treat I am about to excoriate, I ask myself “Why would this seemingly normal human being request a review from us?”

"For validation," seems to be a frequent response, and all I can do is wonder whether these poor creatures know how to read. Or if they have an inkling what “I Will Fucking Tear You Apart” means. They clearly have picked the wrong review site. They certainly have happened upon the wrong reviewer. Unlike some reviewers here who can be seduced by a certain quaint charm, I cannot. If you wish to curry my favor, it comes down to a simple rubric. Do you expand my mind? Do I find myself longing to read just one more post? Do you turn a phrase in a new and fresh way that causes me to look anew upon the mundane and everyday? Or are you trite? Do you overwhelm with clichés and small-talk?

I hate trite, clichés and small-talk. Okay, hate’s an awfully strong word. I understand these things have their place, but I would probably rather remove my own spleen with a rusty fishhook than sit through too much small-talk. I bet that sounds like I’m using hyperbole to make a point, but to tell the truth, the fact that I would get such an amazing story out of removing my own spleen with a rusty fishhook has me contemplating just how many hours of small-talk would push me to that extreme. And it is not as high a number as you might think.

People frequently write for very different reasons than they have for reading, and often what makes for a compelling story that you want to share makes for a chore for a thinking human to read. Especially when the presumed purpose of your writing is merely to make social connections. To share awards. To spread memes. This sort of writing is the literary equivalent of a coffee-clatch, a place where weary mothers can get together to chit-chat about their days, their children or grandkids, and, I dunno, scrapbook or something. And I bet that there are a lot of people who get something out of this. There are likely hundreds of thousands of people (maybe even more) for whom this sort of interaction, whether in person or in the virtual world of Blogger or Wordpress, fills some urgent inner need.

But this is a need I do not have. And so, I cannot relate. I must come to you today to report that Nancy, a mid-thirties mother of two, originally from India, but now living in Dubai, UAE with her husband of 11 years, spends way too much time with online chit-chat for my liking.

I am not completely heartless. Nancy does get a lot of feedback via this chit-chat that really feeds her in ways that she needs, so I would never for the life of me tell her to stop what she’s doing. But I might ask in an extremely pointed manner what in the name of all that is sacred to her was she expecting from a review here? I gather that she is a fairly conservative person, in terms of subject matter that she feels is appropriate. I could be wrong. Still, I was getting the distinct impression that the concept of being FUCKING torn apart would be reprehensible to her. So, again, why? Why here?

As luck would have it, we actually have another quitter on our hands. By my calculations, about a month before requesting a review, Nancy declared that she was going on hiatus for an indeterminate period of time, only breaking away from her self-imposed moratorium to post one more meme. All I can imagine is that she was hoping that she would get some sort of spark from me telling her that, Gosh Awmighty, if she didn’t immediately start writing again, I was going to kill myself. But in fairness to you, to me, and truthfully to her as well, I can’t provide her with that spark.

Because if that spark comes from outside of you, it does not belong to you at all.

All that aside, I do want to say that I learned some very interesting things from Nancy. About life in the United Arab Emirates, and about what it is like to have an arranged marriage. And for that, I am genuinely grateful that I read the last year’s worth of posts.

I always like to leave my victims with some pointers on how to improve, and Nancy is no exception. I have several ideas. She may not be interested in any of them, and she is certainly free to ignore everything about this review.

• Please stop spelling in shorthand. It hurts my cerebral cortex. “Coz” is wrong. It is spelled “because,” or “’cause” if pressed for time. And “of course” is two words, not one.
• Edit. A lot. Get to the point quicker. Brevity is a virtue. Even your better posts were a chore to read simply owing to unnecessary length and meandering off the point.
• Stop blogging about blogging about blogging. Or blog buddies. Or blog awards. Or memes (or as you call them “tags”).
• The kinds of things that we, the people who don’t know you but who might happen upon your blog, want to know are buried deep. Who you are. Why you blog. What you’re all about. And even then, out of a year’s worth of posts, maybe three were really personal, what’s-Nancy-really-like stuff. The rest were trivia. Trivia is okay, but not very substantial. Bring that stuff out more. Push it to the front on an About Me page. Or give up on people like me.

Jidhu What Jighotta Do

PREFACE: Part of me loves posting on Fridays because it's a great way to wrap up a week, but part of me wonders if Friday is a bad day of the week for getting the community involved. I mean, my last review only got 8 comments, and we all know that the only way to determine the value of a blog entry is the number of comments that are on it, right? I just wonder if I am getting an accurate reading on my worth and value as a person?

Thank you for sitting through that with me. Now on to today's review.

Before offering up a review of today’s blog, I wanted to make sure I was clear on what it was that the author thought he was doing, so I asked Shiner to forward to me the content of the review request.

This is what he had to say for himself:

Name of Your Blog: Jidhu's Reflecton
Your Blog's URL: http://www.jidhu.blogspot.com/
A Brief Description of My Blog: Its my reflection

Well, if this is true, than Jidhu must look something like this when he ganders at his own appearance in the mirror each day:



Because I swear, this guy has never met a blog gadget he didn’t like.

I can usually overlook something like that, as long as I can find the links to the archives, but today, I can’t. All those gadgets take forever to load, and they really get in the way. That's one really big demerit right there, son.

Bypassing the template issues for now, then, how well is Jidhu doing with making his blog “his reflection?”

Well, shit.

I don’t know.

I’m just going to come right out and say it. The writing needs a lot of work. Ignoring the mechanics of his English (which needs the most work, but I'm allowing for cultural differences here – “Just expecting something and nothing do for the expectations is a wastage for us.”), the written content is almost completely and totally uninspiring. Which is really sad, because I think he’s shooting for profound and insightful. He seems to be doing a ton of copying and pasting from other sources, or posting things other people have written. But the end product comes across as trite and clumsy.

Let me give you a f’rinstance. He has this topic series in which he shows pictures of Life Lessons on post-it notes. One in particular was “Stop and smell the roses.” After which he provides a full paragraph on what it means to “stop” and another on what it means to “smell the roses.”

Maybe it’s just me, but I didn’t need that explained to me. I've been stopping and smelling the roses for a long time.

Okay – here’s another f’rinstance: He published a post laying out ten things he wishes to learn in the future. As I read it, I couldn’t help but wonder why he set his sights so low. I mean, he had “ironing” and “to wear a tie” on this list. If I made a list like this, I don’t know what I’d put on it, but I am pretty sure that I wouldn’t include things I could learn tomorrow from a “how-to” video or a Tech book.

And what the hell am I supposed to make of this little gem? I mean, I can't even get worked up about Jidhu being all emo and shit, because he never gets to that level of navel gazing.

In fact, the only time that Jidhu’s writing stops coming across as very self conscious and pseudo-profound and fake is when he’s talking about the subject he seems to have the most passion for – computers and technology. Sure the subject matter is not always my cuppa, but out of the blue, the writing sounds and feels free and original and possibly, dare I say it, even a more accurate reflection of the author.

Of all the posts I read, the one about how to revert to a Windows XP installation after upgrading to Windows 7 was my favorite. Really. And I happen to LIKE Windows 7. (When I went to get you a link to it here, I didn’t think I was going to be able to find it again. All of those gadgets and not a single fucking way to do a simple text search?)

Now that I think about it, I can't be 100% sure that Jidhu didn't just crib this from another source.

The non written content – the photos – range from thought provoking and intriguing to “why-the-hell-did-you-post-this?”

Fine. I don’t like it. I won't be coming back. I don't think I know anyone who would like it. I can’t recommend it to anyone. I wonder what the point of it is. So, given that, what can Jidhu do to improve?

• Identify something that you care passionately about. Politics, food, the color orange – I don’t care – and write 500 words on why it is so important to you. Not, why it should be important to someone else. Why it is important to you.
• Find your own voice. Stop trying to be someone else.
• Find clarity of thought first. Then write.
• If you have nothing to say, then say nothing. Don’t write just to boost output.
• For the love of all that is sacred to you in this world, get rid of all of those blog gadgets and get real, son!

Good luck.

Oh, wait. You wanted a rating. Didn't you? I'm finding it hard to invest in you emotionally long enough to do this, but what the hell.

Here you go:

The Holy Shit Trinity of HoHum

The Yogi Zone is really not one blog, but three. And yet it is still one. It’s a paradox.

What I mean by this is that thematically, and subject matter wise, Yogesh Patwari has had phases.

The first phase, and by far the least interesting of them all, to me at least, was what appears to be some sort of note taking exercise, a recording for posterity of the events surrounding his completion of undergraduate education and interviewing for varying institutes of further higher learning. These entries are written in a sloppy shorthand, in which no acronym is spelled out or explained and in which it is apparently okay to abbreviate capriciously. Holding me at an even longer arm’s length away, it appears that he’s applying to an MBA program, so much of the subject matter of the interviews he relates is all about topics that I am sure would be fascinating to an MBA candidate.

But not to me.

Oh, and when he relays something that was spoken by someone else, he writes it in transliterated Hindi. I don’t read Hindi. Even getting Google Translate to translate it for me is a chore since I first have to convert it from its transliterated form and then translate it. And quite frankly, I could not be bothered.

YogiZone Phase #1 gets an emphatic Proud Rider of the Short Bus.



The second phase is all about Yogesh's life in the Indian Institute of Management Bangalore (IIMB), where our intrepid scholar finds himself surrounded by geeked out engineering students, harder work and lower grades than he had anticipated, misanthropic birthday rituals, and fewer dating options than he had hoped for.

In this phase, he occasionally gets political, particularly about the caste-based reservation system in higher education (for you westerners, think Equal Opportunity or Quotas) as opposed to his ideal meritocracy.

This phase is much more interesting then the last, as he spends much of his time detailing what life at IIMB is like, posting pictures, etc. It reads a bit like a Bangalore version of Tom Brown’s School Days. And it seems to reach its finale with him on the job hunt as he approaches the end of his schooling. And then he finishes at IIMB, filled with mixed emotions.

And then he goes silent for two years.

YogiZone Phase #2 – I don’t know how to rate you. You amuse occasionally, and you annoy occasionally. You drive me crazy with non-sequiturs and murky writing. You force me to do a shit load of homework to even find out what the hell it is that you’re talking about. And yet, I was interested. In the same way I find watching foreign films interesting. I know nothing about the context, and yet life in other parts of the world is fascinating. So there’s that. My inner anthropologist gave you a single star for this section, but my inner editor took it away.

(This is the space where a star would have been if the editor had not redacted it.)

The third phase of the Yogi Zone forces us to believe that within two years Yogesh has gone from a sad sack loser who couldn’t buy a date to a married working man, detailing what life is like in Mumbai and odd people he encounters commuting to work or in the process of finding a place to live. Just out of the blue, he mentions a wife and starts offering marital advice.

I found this segue fascinating and disconcerting at the same time. Almost as if two years after the original Yogesh abandoned his blog, Bizarro Yogesh found the log in information and in essence hacked the account. Working against this theory is that he still insists on writing whole conversations in Hindi. Which I am not going to translate.

Since this phase seems to be the living breathing part of this blog, this is where I am going to focus my advice.

But then I read this little snippet, written in June, right around the time that this review was requested, and it gives me pause:

“I have listed my blog on all these blog directories on the net (in the hope of getting the most coveted of all prizes for bloggers around the globe - traffic!).”

It makes me wonder, what advice I, an ugly westerner, can offer you to improve. Or do you think that your shit doesn’t stink as is?

Well, guess what, sir. You are wrong, sir. I have smelled your shit, sir, and it doth smell of shit.

• Know your audience. You submitted to a western, English speaking audience for a review of your blog, which is liberally peppered with Hindi. I don’t expect you to write only in English or only in Hindi, but how the hell am I supposed to rate you when I don’t know what you’re saying 10% of the time? How would you have liked it if I had written this review in Romanian or Korean? I get it – people in other countries speak other languages. But why did you submit for a review HERE? Oh yeah, the traffic.
• This one’s a bit less concrete, but you have some amusing things to say, but often the amusing stuff is packed in with a bunch of dreck. Several of your posts ran out of steam long before you ran out of words. Others forced me through too many mental calisthenics before getting to the payoff. Edit thyself. Not every word is sacred.
• Find something real to write about. Almost every post here is a diary entry. There is no soul. Perhaps that’s on purpose. Perhaps you fear revealing yourself to the world. But Yogi, if you want my affection, you must give of yourself. And, aside from conveying frequent feelings of anxiety and inadequacy, you don’t give us anything of yourself.

Overall, I found the final phase of this blog disappointing, shallow, and pointless. Unless you’re an MBA living in Mumbai, looking for same, for sharing amusing-ish anecdotes. Which I am not.

After long and careful deliberation, I have no choice but to award you the Abercrombie poseur rating. Blogging does not make you cool, in and of itself. Sorry.

Patsy Cline is Waiting to Kick Your Ass in Three Acts

Act I:

Folks, I do believe that it is time to bust out the razor studded cluebat, as today’s lucky contestant is in desperate need of some (ahem) correction.

For starters, Jacki Trew’s delightful little blog is titled "Insanity Now Has a Website" and the URL is JackiIsCrazy.blogspot.com. When you are 15 years old, calling yourself CRAZY or INSANE feels like a logical choice. You feel like you don’t fit in. You feel weird all the time. Maybe you’re moody. Maybe you’re filled with rage. Maybe you are really unpredictable. And yeah, that feels pretty crazy at the time.

But then months pass and soon you realize that this is normal – everyone feels this way – and you are no more crazy than the next very average student treading the halls of your school. And by the time you’re 16 or so, you no longer think it’s cool to call yourself Crazy or Insane.

Insanity Now Has a Website? I don't fucking think so.

You see, Insanity already has had tons of websites: the APA, CharlieManson.com, theflatearthsociety.org, scientology.org, peta.org, etc. What you bring to the table is not insanity. It is impulsiveness. It is occasionally inappropriateness. It is a disregard for some of society's norms. It is an obsession with reality television. But it is not insanity or craziness.

And by the time you are 21, you should know better.

Real crazy and real insane is actually scary and dangerous. Not fun. Real crazy is hanging off the edge of the Golden Gate Bridge or hearing voices that aren’t there telling you to kill John Lennon. And calling yourself crazy when you actually aren't isn't actually cute.

Act II:

Allow me to read aloud from the Hard and Fast Rules section of the Book of AAYSR:

"5. NO AUTOPLAY MUSIC. NEVER, EVER, EVER. UGH."

Jacki – did you read the FAQ before you submitted? Did it occur to you at all that THIS:

just might have been what the fuck we were talking about? I mean, autoplay music is never good, but Kylie Minogue? Really? What fucking decade is this anyway?

So right now, based on what I have seen, you are getting one big fat assed You’re Doing It Wrong from me.

As soon as you have finished reading this sentence, go to your blog and remove the autoplay music. Did you do it? If I go and check right now, will I see autoplay music in your sidebar? I am not above hopping a flight to Sydney and tracking you down and kicking the teeth right out of your head if I have to. Sure, it’ll cost me a fortune and I’ll probably be arrested for assault, but I will have done humanity a favor.

As for the crazy thing – child, please. Be your own person. Stop writing in this extended Facebook status update and start fresh and new in a new blog that doesn’t have crazy or insane in the title or URL. Or in the content, unless you actually go on anti-depressants or something. Mmmkay?

Act III:

Alrighty then. Now that my pet peeves have been dispatched, let’s roll up our sleeves on what we actually do have here.

Jacki has been doing this a long time. And, as I alluded to above, she started this in 2004, when I assume that she was 14 or 15 years old. So, it is reasonable to assume that there would be a lot of shit in the beginning and in the middle that’s all: “So and so is a big poopyhead” and “I hate my school” and all of that teen angst bullshit. And you would be right. Don’t bother with that. Especially since early on, she was doing the whole experimenting with multiple colored text thing. And for a while settled on gray text, which probably would have worked well, if her background color weren’t black. But it is, and so it doesn’t.

At some point along the way she found a voice. Sure, that voice talks way too much about things I don’t give a rat’s ass about – reality TV, actors over whom she is swooning, being a semi-responsible adult, etc. – but it is still an amusing voice at times. A slightly skewed perspective on her life, which is pretty normal and ordinary, and that skewed perspective takes the boring and mundane and makes it somewhat worth reading about.

If only she would drop the immature adolescent references to “crazy”. So, for the autoplay music and the near constant references to crazy and insane:



But because I am not a complete dick, I give you this for making me smile on occasion:

A "Schneider" Might Have Made It Better

Ladies, Gentlemen, Raptors, and Vermin -- you are getting the Abbreviated Edition of the Woperchild Review this week. It isn't that you aren't worthy of a more insightful, thought provoking set up and review and all of that. I've just spent the last couple of weeks trying to jam ten pounds of shit into a five pound bag, and am just plum tuckered. But I will not disappoint Shiner. I have committed to this, to her, to you, so I am giving you my best effort possible. (No, I am not 'phoning it in.' Stop saying that.)

Notes on a Blog: One Day at a Time, by Tabor.

Template: Clean, unassuming, pleasant. A fairly long list of crap that I don't care about in the sidebar, but most of the unimportant stuff is below the important crap (archives, about me, etc) and didn’t seem to slow down the page load, so it didn’t bother me. Some reviewers here might ask that the blogroll and followers and labels list be moved to a new page, one accessed via tabs or some links in the sidebar, but I’m not one of them. Especially since I appreciate that Blogger isn’t as easy to create new tabs with than Wordpress is. And the tags were pretty helpful in finding samples for linking. All I need is what you've done -- keep the ones I don't want out of my way.

About the Author: Tabor is in her sixties and is documenting transition to retirement, and all that comes with that -- visits with kids and grandkids, filling one's days with hobbies and activities and such.

She comes across as well-educated and intelligent, if occasionally a bit pretentious. Case in point -- her template has been modified to refer to Comments as "Elements of Repartee,"  (Well, lah dee dah.) and she uses a "Zen" label. She seems like a nice person, a helpful person, one who goes with the flow. Generally calm and non-disruptive. Introspective, free-spirited, having a fondness for nature. (Okay, maybe not always.)

But I’m not sure that makes for the most compelling blog fodder to someone who doesn't know you.

Content: Well written and consistent, but based on the subset I read, a bit mundane. It comes across a lot of the time like the opening paragraphs of a novel, but doesn’t really ever get to any of the crisis or inciting incident or rising action or any of that. I suspect that if I knew Tabor in real life and considered her a friend, this would all be much more interesting, as it would probably be pretty enlightening about what goes on inside that head. But I don’t know her. So I found myself getting halfway through a post and wanting to skip ahead to start the next one far too often.

I should clarify -- it wasn’t that she writes poorly or anything. It isn’t even that she’s necessarily boring. It’s just that that slow-paced, ‘today-I-worked-in-my-garden’ approach is just simply not where I am right now, or even anything I can get my head around. Accuse me of having ADD, call me impatient, whatever. The fact is that those things that are fascinating and appealing to a sixty something year old woman with lots of time on her hands do not always appeal to me.

Now I need to issue a caveat -- as I alluded to above, my schedule over the last few weeks has been a bit brutal, so I did not have a chance to read as much of this as maybe I should have, (I read early posts, late posts, and spot-checked in between) so it is very possible that there was a ton of drama that I just plain missed. With six years’ worth of content, anything is possible. So often, when I turn in a review that summarizes the content the way I see it, someone responds "Well, if you’d read the whole thing, you’d have seen a lot of posts that were very different." To which I’d respond -- "I’d have loved to have read the whole thing, but I have this whole ‘life’ experiment going on the side, so I have to just do the best I can with the time I have." This mindset does apply here.

But here's the thing -- I did find some pretty cool shit. I just had to go pretty far before I found it. So, I am willing to bet that there's more of that there. And you sure as hell could do worse than to spend a few hours digging for the odd gem or two here.

What to do to Improve: Sometimes I hate this category because I feel like the only way I would suggest to improve is to write more like me, and I am empathic enough to realize that variety is the spice of life, and some people don't want to read Hunter S. Thompson all the time, and sometimes want a little Eat, Pray, Love or something. The fact is, Tabor's not doing anything wrong, per se. Just because I didn't find it hilarious or cathartic, which is often what I look for in reading material, doesn't mean it's bad or needs improvement. And it's clear that I'm not in her target demographic, so I guess I can't in good conscience tell her to pander more to former Romanian circus trapeze artists or CIA operatives or what have you.

The Verdict: After all of this, I'm going to go with two stars.



For those of you wondering about the title, who might be younger than me, One Day at a Time was a sitcom in the 70's. Schneider was the wise-cracking building super with a heart of gold and a brain of lead.