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.

I'm Not Dead Yet

I haven't written anything on my personal blog since, oh . . .Christmas. I have nothing to say. Nothing even remotely interesting has happened to me. So, I just decided not to post until it's worthwhile.

I wish my reviewee would have done the same.

This is what's supposed to inspire me to write? A damn photo blog? The only writing is lame captions written in poor English. Aces. Ours is a blog that reviews WRITING. What in God's name am I supposed to do with this shit?

So yeah, Jidhu? Thanks for bothering to read the FAQ before submitting. Or any of the past reviews. Also, thanks for using us to get hits. You know what happens when asshats use us to get hits? I don't link anything other than the original link to the blog.

I don't know what to do right now. I'm here to review writing. I'm a "writer" (note the quotes), not a photographer. What the hell do I know about photography? I mean, I was the photographer for my junior high school newspaper 15 years ago. I got some awesome shots of the JV Boys Basketball game. I took a photography class in college and spent my time shooting gravestones at this old ass cemetery. Yeah, pre-emo, baby.

Where was I? Oh yeah, I'm not a photographer. So here's a layman's critique of your photography, Jidhu. It SUCKS.

Your minimal "About Me" says this blog is for you to express your feelings, ideas and interests. What feeling does this express? (Yeah, I linked. Sue me.) Your caption "Guys repairing pipes" is RIVETING. Does the photo mean something to you? Was your father a mechanic and you spent weekends working him, so there's some sentimental value to the picture? Does your "interest" in those guys bring up romantic "feelings"?

What the picture expresses to me is that you went out into the parking lot and took a picture of some shit, just to have something to post on your pretentious blog.

I'm done. I estimate there are more words written in this review than in the entire blog reviewed.

We have had one of these for awhile, so you get a . . .

Epidemic

So, I've been selling my possessions online. Skeins of new yarn I purchased for an ill-fated knitting project. A vintage dress I wore one time in 2001 for a costume party. Etc, etc. Whatever I don't need anymore, I'm trying to get some money for it.

However in doing so, I've discovered the alarming rate of obliviousness and illiteracy in the world. These idiots email me questions all the time, and it takes all my willpower not to go caps lock on their asses.

"Will these jeans fit me? Will they be too short?"

I DON'T FUCKING KNOW WHAT YOU LOOK LIKE. I'VE GIVEN ALL THE MEASUREMENTS OF THE FUCKING JEANS. CAN YOU READ THEM? CAN YOU MEASURE A PAIR OF JEANS THAT FIT YOU AND COMPARE THEM?

"Can you post pictures of the back of the jeans?"

THERE ARE 4 PICTURES OF THE JEANS, NUMBNUTS. YOU SEE THAT DOWN ARROW AT THE BOTTOM RIGHT OF YOUR SCREEN? CAN YOU PUSH THAT AND PAGE DOWN?

I have to deal with that shit, and then I get assigned this blog.

How many emo Indian girls have submitted their blogs here? Too many to count, people. Have they not read this site at all? Can they not see we have a tag, special just for them? Reviewing this blog is a waste of my time, which is why I've procrastinated in writing it. Part of me wants to just copy and paste any number of other reviews I've written and call it a done deal.

But, no, I can't do that, cuz it's cheating and the other reviewers will get pissed at me. So, here goes.

Aparna hasn't posted since November of last year. Which means she submitted her blog for review, and then just stopped posting. WASTE OF MY FUCKING TIME.

Strike one for you, Aparna. Strike one for you.

Her header is some shit people used to post as a MySpace comment. She switches between font colors, making the blog unreadable at times (thank God for small favors). She has a widget bar that extends halfway down the page, filled with GIFs, a Twitter box, an IM box, awards, a blogroll of about 50 and all of her post labels.

Strike two. (Please read any number of other reviews if you're uncertain why.)

Her labels are as follows:

• Chronicles of my life (18)
• Creative corner-stories and poems (22)
• Insight (13)
• Miscellaneous (14)
• Mushy bites(love and romance) (14)
• Musings (9)
• potpourri (12)
• Random thoughts (16)
• Retrospections (15)
• Reviews-Song Movies and Books (4)

which could easily be consolidated into one label call "My Personal Diary Scribblings That No One Gives a Shit About." In fact, if you go back to 2007, she actually posts her boring-ass diary for the world to see.

You know why we hate emo bloggers? It's because they think their personal dramas are special and have only happened to them. Of course! No one else has EVER had their best friend backstab them and peace out. No one else has EVER had their heart broken either!

Maybe it's because we're all just a bunch of old coots who dealt with our adolescent dramas before the dawn of blogging. We just wrote them down in an actual diary which we burned in the fireplace when we grew the fuck up, because we'd be mortified if anyone ever read our simpering, melodramatic drivel.

But nowadays, everyone posts this shit on the internet.

Anyway, strike three. You're out. Get on the fucking bus.

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.

Exit Music (For A Blog)

Radiohead apparently made In Rainbows to be a track-by-track companion album to OK Computer, their monster album from ten years prior; all you have to do is alternate the tracks (giving them each a ten-second crossfade) and you’ve got yourself a complete, flowing super-album with songs recorded a decade apart. It sounds amaaaaaazing, seriously. It’s nerd-honey poured directly on the tongue of your ear, the most orgasmic headphone rock ever spliced together by man or beast, and if I had more ears I’d be catatonic. As it was, I almost shit myself when "Paranoid Android" shifted into "Bodysnatchers" and had to borrow one of the kid’s diapers as a cautionary measure…

What? Oh, the blog. Right. So, I’m kind of blissfully gurgling as I start my read, getting my head repeatedly kicked in by the awesomeness of RadioheadÜberAlbum, when I hear this muted caterwaul blip through the chorus of "Electioneering"; I pause, thoughtfully, expecting to hear the kid upstairs wailing away, but no - there it is again, like a shrill champagne flute resonating with the echo of a tortured budgie and it’s in my headphones. Slightly panicked, I tenderly pause my music and listen instead to what I soon discern to be Mariah Carey.

Ah, I think. Super Single Mom must have a music-player at the bottom of her blog. I’ll just scroll down, shut Mariah up, and then go back to reading whilst Radiohead kills me nerdly. Sure, no problem… but for the fact that she has FORTY FUCKING POSTS on the main page. Oh, I counted - oh yes: More than a couple, twice twenty, the big four-oh, FORTY. Ah, I think. She doesn’t really care about her readers, then; she’s more interested in an overabundance of posts right off the top because… well, I actually don’t know why. I calmly return my music player to the "rad" position (if sopping-wet syrupy pancakes were distilled down to sonic vibrations, they would be "Reckoner" coming out of "Electioneering") and go about sifting through said overabundance.

Eventually, I find that she uses some variation of "beyond X" ("it was beyond fun", "it was beyond painful", "I am beyond tempted") an awful lot. Let’s link that! I say, excited to find something remotely noteworthy to write about. But, lo, what’s this? "Function disabled"? I cannot pull the links to individual posts without creating a link on one of my own blog’s pages? Surely I’ve made a mistake somewhere, I say, my voice rising. SURELY I’m not going to post a review without any links, the lone indicator we Askers have of proving we read our assigned blog. I click the archives, hoping that this link-dysfunction is but a front-page issue, but as "function disabled" zings me click by click, over and again, something that sounds like a trash-can being stabbed with a chainsaw interrupts "No Surprises", and it’s WHAM! singing "Last Christmas". Oh, of course - I switched pages, which means I get another snoot-full of autoplay. Awesome.

In what can only be considered a foolhardy maneuver, I figure to escape by clicking on another month in the archives section instead of scrolling down and shushing George Michael, but there I find the archives… missing! Ah, I think, smiling mirthlessly. Those fucking snowflakes she has cascading down the page are messing with the sidebar loading. I turn off iTunes. Ah, I think. She is trying to murder me.

What the fuck, Crystal? Why would you do that to me? You can’t just autoplay me like that, not when you’re trying to get me to hang around and read your shit. As a reviewer, however, you’ve got me by the short hairs because I have to read your shit, though now I’m doing so with a heart heavy from Radioheadlessness and am thus enervated. Here’s the thing, my dear, about your writing: you’re not, really. Technically, sure, you’re putting words on the page in sentences that far too often end with multiple exclamation marks, but you’re not delving or crafting or creating anything. You’re pedantically writing down what happened without any flair or verve and strangers who happen upon your blog are given utterly no reason to care. You’re trapped in a vent/update/upload-pictures-of-kids cycle, and without the glue of interesting writing to hold it all together your blog is only a facebook profile with autoplay music and snowflakes.

(Instructions to readers in regards to the next paragraph: when I say this post, imagine a hyperlink to the actual post, but then click here, scroll down to the bottom, turn off the music, then scroll back up about a third of the page to Who cut the cheese? from October 19. Thank you.)

Example: This post about your kids fake-farting in a pharmacy should be hilarious and yet, sadly, it is not. Why is that? Well, partially because "He was using his lips, his arm pits blowing on his arm" doesn’t make a whole lot of sense, and partially because kids fake-farting really isn’t anything close to "insane". Now, a kid shitting his pants, taking off said shitty pants and folding them inside out to paint a feces-mural of The Last Supper across the pharmacy bulletin-board, that would be insane. Blowing a mouth-fart into the crook of an arm? Kids do that all the time.

In fact, most things happen all the time. To everyone. Constantly. So, instead of merely telling me what happened, show me what happened, and I’m not talking about photographs; I’m talking about constructing a narrative that paints a picture for your readers and allows them to participate, at least cognitively. When you announce "X happened, and that makes me feel Y", it’s stale and lifeless; if you start with X, skip Y, and go to Z (the consequences of X), you can allude to how you feel while letting readers reach their own conclusions. A blog might seem like a monologue, but that doesn’t mean you have to talk at people.

Merry X-Mas.

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.

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.