WHIT WITH A SIDE OF WIT

Could it be her readership as a whole or just those who comment that exist without a sense of humor?

My sister, Whitney—the Rookie Cookie herself, is a barrel of laughs. A darn funny broad. In person and online. Her blog boasts gems that make me giggle when I recall them; and for me to recall them at all, let alone laugh upon recollection, is noteworthy. It's not every day. Not every post. But when she busts it out, the goods are good.

And all that splendor is wasted on her audience.

Just last week when describing her Greatest Guacamole Ever experience she wrote:

. . . The fresh ingredients are good all on their own, but when they hook up, they have the hottest, sexiest one night stand EVER.

Clever and just naughty enough. (Bear in mind that the bulk of her readership is a bunch of prudish mommies.)

The way I see it: Whitney served up a laugh with a recipe chaser—not the other way around, but everyone who deposited something for her to read skipped right over the tryst only making mention of the gloppy, green goo. They neglected to leave juvenile e-laughs, compliment her on a sordid but witty metaphor, or at least scold her for a vile comparison. Nothing! I was the only person who said a word about her concoction’s sex appeal. That sickens me. Much like I mourn withering potential, I hate to see a good guffaw go unshared.

I’m quite sure that had I written the same one night stand one-liner on this blog, two or three of you would have at least indicated its existence it in some way. But Whit is better at that kind of thing than I am—the saucy metaphor. I’m certainly more acerbic, but she can be a little raunchier. We work as a top-notch team when a blogging bump, set, spike! is in order, but she doesn’t need me to produce pearls.

And there they lay at the feet of swine.

It burns me up.

Is this Guac Incident isolated? Absolutely not. It happens time and time again. For example, when Rookie whipped up some body scrub and compared the wet sticky experience to a porno The Bird was the only reader to respond. Completely pathetic. At least rebuke the dame!

More often than not, the comments I peruse on the Rookie blog contain crumbs like, Oh, I made this last week and it was incredible! or I’m so making this tomorrow night! I can’t wait to get cooking! or Peach season is my favorite time of year; thanks for giving me a way to use up all the treasures from my trees! (Okay, that one wouldn’t have included a semi-colon.)

Yes, good people—yes!—my sister writes a food blog, but a good portion of the people who show up do so to read her little life-bits: the things Jack says, what she does in her spare time, her cooking anecdotes. You like the recipes but show up for the show.

I'd be more receptive to the always-trite comments if all she posted on the blog were recipes; but she leaves wit as well, and it gets ignored.

My blog amasses higher-quality comments than hers does. The comments you leave on my Remarks are much more substantial; they're actually worth reading. A few recent examples of the many:

Julie: She shared a tale that caught my husband's attention. And actually caused me to utter, Wow while reading.


Tom: Well, Tom never fails to provide the kind of entertainment people charge for. Do yourselves a favor and hunt through my past posts for bits of Tom. With comments like this, who needs a USA Today app?

Jessica: Always insightful. She left me some words to consider and received a big fat comment as response. I am a responder; leave a comment that causes thought or emotion, and, providing I have the necessary time (a commodity there seems to be less and less of these days), I'll get back to you.

Errin: She let me in on a little introspection. I couldn't be more flattered. And she granted the gift of gag.

Erica: The Ask-n-Gab comments are always a party. I wish I had more time to snatch a few to feature. And when Erica answered this question, she enriched my day with an image of Grover that I'll never be able to eschew.

Good grief. Gold, I'm sayin'. Stand-alone posts within their own right. Why doesn’t Whitney get the same thing? She’s smart. She's funny. And she puts a ton of time into this blogging nonsense. She deserves better.

Now, Dear Remarks Reader, think not that you must leave a hearty, well-composed, life-altering comment each time you have something to say. My aim here is to point out that my blog is rife with great responses while my sister's blog is gifted with great comments like these only once every other month. (And generally you or I left them.) Also, I plead with you not to assume that what I've posted here are the only Remarks comments worth repeating. It's late. I'm tired, and a small sampling of the gifts I get is going to have to do.

I am thoroughly flattered that you readers I have never met, people with whom I've never lunched, will take the time to toss me engaging responses like the lengthy ones above that serve as fodder for a dialogue. It's as rare as a worthwhile comment on Whitney's blog that I receive a comment I scan and think, Well why the heck did you leave that? It was a total waste of Internet. But I constantly find myself mired in thoughts like that when I read the typewritten banalies visitors leave on my sister's blog.

You could say that Whit's e-space is not my space, thus I ought maintain apathy toward the droppings readers leave behind; but she's my sister, her humor is too entertaining to be ignored, and, well, I do feel a sense of ownership over that blog—yeah, I'm only in charge of the looks, but it's an investment nevertheless.

If you're a Rookie reader, for me—forget about her, please react and respond to the pearls she leaves with the plums. There's stuff there that's just too tasty to get tossed with the pits.

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The disclaimer you knew had to follow: I didn't tell Rookie I was writing this. She takes no issue with her readers. She actually likes them quite a bit and has gone so far as to call them her homies. (Don't worry, her husband has answered the call to mock her for that.) Thus the above lambasting was without permission. If you find offense, don't blame her. Blame me. I take a nefarious sort of pride in the fact that I have the ability to agitate.