The Softer Side of Blogs

Michelle Nguyen told me that in Palo Alto, professional contacts expect you to have a blog. If you don’t have a blog, you’re not a serious person.

At a recent wine tasting, I encountered the other, nicer side of the coin. I met Colleen and Vanessa, two of the three women behind Wishbone Clover, a blog without a theme. “We just blog about what we care about,” Vanessa said (as I have guessed). It’s a way of talking to each other and, oh yeah, other people can read it.

I said I had a blog, too.

“Have you ever been stalked on your blog?” Colleen asked. This might be the friendliest question I’ve ever been asked at a party.

“Stalked?” I said.

She meant that someone had repeatedly left very nasty comments on her blog, such as “you draw like a 4-year-old” (she is a graphic designer and often posts drawings).

I said no, most comments are favorable. No one has ever left nasty comments.

She explained that she had been at a museum party in Boston and a woman at the party thought that she (Colleen) had been hitting on her (the stalker’s) girlfriend. that’s what caused the stalking. It really upset her.

The women behind Wishbone Clover met when they worked at Wells Fargo. All three were told working at Wells was an “awesome opportunity”; all three left. Colleen now works at another bank. Vanessa is a writer; she has a writing job at UCSF and writes fiction. I forget what the third one does.

Wishbone Clover has a great list of categories, including aggrieved, I am so mad right now, glimpses, special guest star, exchanged (conversations), and the mysterious hlp. I especially liked an entry called “ My Mother’s Royal We.” It begins:

One recent morning I chatted, via IM, with my BFF, EB. I noticed a quirk in our conversation: when I describe some difficulty, especially related to poorly behaved gentlemen, she tends to respond in the third person, for example:

We don’t have time for that bullshit. Let’s drug his drink, leave him in Nebraska, and see how he fares.

However, she doesn’t like it when her mom uses the royal we. “We don’t like raw fish,” her mom once said.