Martha Stewart Is Kind of Right

expert popsicle stick house

expert popsicle stick house

Oh, the shorts in a bunch. My Facebook and Twitter feed is all up in a tizzy because Martha Stewart said “Who are these bloggers? They are not trained editors at Vogue Magazine…[blah blah] bloggers are not experts.”

First of all, I would like to hear the whole question before I know what the heck she was talking about.

Secondly, SHE IS RIGHT. Relax, though, my esteemed colleagues. She’s not talking about you.

There are 8.5 jigawatt-gazillion blogs. They can’t all be experts.

Yes, there are plenty of true experts blogging about their fields. I don’t really consider myself an expert on anything besides my own opinion. When I throw a recipe up here on the blog, I’m not suggesting to you that I am an expert chef or baker. When I write about makeup, I am not saying I’m a beauty expert. These are my opinions, my experiences, and I’m sharing them with my readers.

And that’s what SO MANY BLOGS are. Maybe yours IS an expert site about food. Maybe it’s about fashion. Maybe you ARE an expert. I’m pretty sure Martha wasn’t talking about you. You have to admit, there ARE those bloggers who slap up a popsicle stick and Elmer’s glue cross and call it “crafty,” or don a hipster beanie and a chunky necklace and call it “style.” While their opinions are relative, a blogger.com account and a cute dress don’t make you an expert.

Besides, just like we teach our kids, if the insult is untrue, then it shouldn’t really hurt, should it? Just yesterday someone called me a skanky old bitch in a comment here, and I laughed. Because dude, I’m not THAT old. I watched that clip and didn’t think Stewart was including me in her version of “bloggers” at all.

So relax. And as with every other non-story that not much of the rest of the world cares about, maybe if we stop talking about this, it will all go away.

Wordless Wednesday: Hot Boy

summer boy basketball court

Conversation With a Quilter’s Grandson

photo

Brady:  Mom, look, a pumpkin on our door!

Me:  I know, I put it there. Do you know who made it?

Brady:  Gramma!

Me:  Right!

Brady:  It’s like a little blanket, right? Like the one with all the shapes and colors, like purple, and blue?

Me:  The one she made for me this summer? Yes, it’s just like that. It’s called a quilt.

Brady:  (trying out the word) A quilt…

Me:  Yes, and Gramma is a quilter. She makes quilts.

Brady:  A quilter? What is Grampa?

Me:  Grampa is a reader. He reads books.

Brady: …

Brady:  And a napper!

 

Senior Moment

The phrase “senior moment” is starting to not be funny anymore. Except when it is. I have a friend who is insanely young, like 30 or something, who has had three kids already and remembers everything I say, especially when I text it or leave comments on her blog:

I saw this photo and I was not at all distracted by the first T-shirt. No, I liked the one in the middle the best:

street-vendor-venice-beach

And then I said this:

comment

And then I promptly forgot about it. But lo and behold, on my birthday Desiree sent me this:

HOUSE OF PRINCE

And it is awesome.

But I’m still weirded out because I have no memory of making that comment. I wasn’t even drunk. It was 9am!  Oh well. At least now I have a cool button. Not that anyone will ever use it but if you happen upon this post and think it would be just HILARIOUS to link to me in your sidebar, here’s the code:

House of Prince