Recently in Online Journals Category

otherwise titled: Pimping Jen's Book

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In this online sphere of the written word I hop and skip across the world checking in with women and a few men and their interpretation of their day to day lives. I bounce from the east coast to the west and back. I pop in and out of Europe. I sail down to Australia. Eventually I wend my way back to the states and to my own humble online home. I love looking at photos of their kids, their homes, the place they go. I like discovering the similarities and differences in lifestyles. I like the straight forwardness of some, the humor of others and the blatant honesty of them all. I don't link to all the journals that I read. There is a reason why I don't. I like to take my time and get to know the writer. I weigh how they interpret politics, religion, parenting, daily home life, hobbies, etc. I spend time trying to hear their voice. I try to hear the tone and inflection of their words so that I don't misjudge the person or misinterpret what and how they speak. My reading links reflect alot about me moreso than it does the linkee. I don't give reciprical links just for the sake of having been or getting linked to. I don't link to journals that are outrageously different to my way of thinking. I don't link to journals that in any way offend me. There are so many journals I would like to link to. But I can't. There are so many bright, educated, well written women out there but they ruin it with their blatant disrespect for their kids and/or spouse in an effort to be humorous. There is no humor in disrespect in my book. More often than not it is the one reason I click the little red X and never go back. It is fair to say that I remove people from my list for the same reason. (For the record my current reading links are not up to date as I am working on a new template and will be doing away with that page soon.) After a few weeks/months of reading I begin to develope a sense of knowing about the writer. I lurke in the shadows trying to decide if this is a person I would invite into my house. Is this someone I want to be my neighbor and share gossip over the back fence, a cup of sugar every now and then or to see me in my housecoat when I dash out across the yard early in the morning hoping that no one sees me? If the answer is yes, I begin to leave comments. Some journals have comments closed and I am either too lazy to send email or I presume comments are not welcome and I don't bother. Sometimes I am just in awe and I never comment. Ever. That has been the case when it came to Jen over at Jennsylvania. Besides my own reasoning for not commenting she has written on more than one occassion that she is lazy about answering email and whatnot so I didn't want to be in the numbers of unanswered mail sitting in her box like some lame-o fan. I was thrilled to read of her book deal and have waited and waited to purchase a copy. I did not rush right out and buy a copy the minute it hit the stands. I rarely pay full retail and I am not embarrassed to say I was waiting to pick up a second hand copy. (Sorry, Jen, if you ever read this.) Nothing thrills me more to see the writers I love the most make it in the publishing world. In the past I have been suckered by all of the hype and bought a book and was highly disappointed. I have recieved a free book club selection and been thankful that I didn't waste my money on it. I was delighted when Susie gifted me with a copy of Jen's book. When I read it and enjoyed it so very much I felt guilty at having gotten such pleasure from it when I was so unwilling to pay the retail price for it. I am on the verge of gushing over her book. I want to tell you all the places I laughed the hardest. I want to share with you the pages I read out loud to Steven while he looked at me and the chick humor caused his eyes to roll back in his head. I want to tell you how badly in the beginning I wanted to smack her upside the head for her smart mouth and bitchitude. Then I want to tell you how I wanted to be her friend and drop by her house or go out for a drink or send her little gifts in the mail just to make her smile. When I finished reading my copy I was thinking how much this book would be enjoyed sitting out by the pool on a long summer afternoon. If you haven't already pick up a copy, pour yourself a pink girly cocktail, sit back and enjoy. But instead of acting all willy nilly like a deranged fan I am opening the first edition of Home Grown magazine today. The feature this month is the review of Bitter Is The New Black, a soon to be best selling new book by Jen Lancaster.
A Pink Collar in the World of White Collar Finance

Jen Lancaster made a pink collar splash in the white collar world that was the dot com industry. The girl from small town Indiana climbed the corporate ladder to a six figure income and a Chicago penthouse. Pearls clutched in a tightly fisted well-manicured hand, she fell from her lofty perch at the top of the world and missed few rungs on the ladder on her way back down. From the penthouse to the poor house, from bottled wine to wine in a box, from riches to rags, the self-proclaimed modern Greek tragedy Bitter Is the New Black reads more like romantic comedy. The spotlight is cast not only on the loss of a lucrative career but the brutal honesty of a wedding in the midst of a porn convention, the night spent with a missing groom, and the gusto of an overweight chick who would not be made to feel less than beautiful, smart and sexy. With wit, cynicism and razor sharp snarky humor this is the reality of a plus-sized Cinderella, her depressed Prince Charming, more than a few pair of designer glass slippers and the beauty’s beasts known to the rest of the world as Maisy and Lokie. Jen serves up her sensational new book much like a steak dinner with all the trimmings. In the end not only will the reader love her but will be wondering what’s for dessert.

Compared to other reviews, like this one in the Washington Post, you would not think we read the same book. Look deeper. There is indeed a love story under all the snarky sorority style writing. If you ask me, the story every one seems to latch on to is superficial compared to the story that takes place in the shadows of high-end living, unemployment and designer diva blues.

Journal Stuff

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To all the Journalists I read: I can't see your haloscan to post a comment. I have read everyone of your posts. I just cannot comment!
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Take the MIT Weblog Survey
Take the MIT Weblog Survey. Someone set me the link in email so I took it. Jo over at Counting Sheep has it up today, too. It is not hard. Go get busy. Snap to it.
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I am so pleased with the international readership of my journal. Look at all these places you lovely people hail from: United States Austria Australia Canada European Union France Germany Great Britain Isreal Italy Japan Netherlands New Zealand Norway Mexico Papau New Guinea Portugal Poland South Korea Seychelles Sweden Taiwan Attn Italian readers: how about leaving some recipes? I need something new and delicious! Attn MIT readers: Aren't you afraid of being dumbed down by being here so often? Not that I am complaining. No way, not at all. Keep coming back as often as you like. Attn US Military readers: God Bless YOU!! Attn US Gov't readers: Are you reading at work? On tax payers time? Hmmm? To the freak searching for "pictures of whippings": please go away and do not come back. To all others here searching recipes: I have recipes! Tell me what you want and I'll post it.

Pondering

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If you can be fired for what you post on the internet ... If schools can institute Privacy Policies preventing photos taken at school of other children being posted on your personal website ... If internet conversations and email can be used in a court of law for or against you ... Can child protective services use an online journal to question the welfare of a child? How much of what we read is purely for comedic effect? How much of what we read is the truth? Do you believe everything you read? Do you take things said as tongue-in-cheek? Do you take it with a grain of salt and move on? I really do wonder sometimes ....

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