Here Comes Another One, Just Like.....

Happiness is an Internal Pursuit is the name of the blog being reviewed today. That sounds pretty deep and meaningful and shit. But you know what else is an internal pursuit? A pap smear. However, you don’t see women putting that one in their blog readers to be revisited at weekly intervals. From what I have heard, it is a once in every two years experience that is akin to having fingernails scraped down a blackboard. Except in your vagina.

So already this review has taken a review south. But I knew that when Shiner gave me my next mission, which I chose to accept. It unfortunately did not blow up in a delicate-ball-of-paper-sized explosion when I had finished with it.

Here is the bit where you realise I am a grouchy old dinosaur. Not to be confused with the hip young thang we know as Johnny Raptor. He is all up with where it is happening and whatnot. Not so much me. I still like to think of blogs in ‘book’ terms. Number one: it has to grab me on the first page. Usually someone in the book publishing process, least of all the author, will make sure that this will occur with a decent percentage of the people who have picked up the book. Unfortunately for the blog world, there is no editor to tell the blogger, ‘You know, I just think it needs a little more boom, pow, pizzazz? You picking up what I am putting down?’

Sufficed to say, the writerly stylings of Bipasha did not lure me willingly into her world. And here we come to number two on Redpen’s Good Blog list. Use correct punctuation. I am not a nitpicker – I won’t get all up in your grill if you try, and fail, to use a colon or semi-colon properly, but a capital letter at the beginning of a sentence will work wonders if you would like people other than baggy-assed jean wearing tweens with cell phones surgically attached to their fingers to read what you have to say. The ellipse, contrary to the belief of those under 18, it NOT an acceptable fill-in for any other form of punctuation; nor does it make it seem like you are soooo deep and there are so many other ideas peering out from within those little dots; ideas which your awesome intellect could not be bothered elucidating upon. But like the good Indian kid she is, having listened thoroughly to her teachers, Bipasha does manage to give the exclamation mark a good airing. Good girl!

Look, Bipasha is a compassionate woman who lives in a fascinating country. At times she tries to highlight it and I get a little bit intrigued. The problem in that scenario is that it ends being me that does all the imagination leg-work while trying desperately to ignore the abominable teen email/text speak…and FUCK ME. I really thought this chick was young. Like early 20s at the most. I seem to have been proven otherwise which disturbs me on all manners of levels. I really don’t think I can continue on. Thirty-one? Is that a typo?

I really don’t know what else to say Bipasha. You are an intelligent lady who lives in a scary and cool place. You are sweet and idealistic and I am a little bit in love with your dog Dexter. And I like you well enough. You are thoughtful and observant but fuck me if you write (in English at least, the only language in which I am fluent) like a fifteen year old - all grand ideas, a little bit of heart and terrible techno short hand.

This rating isn’t really for you. I mean, just for you, you would get a:




But for the culmination of Indian blogs with the same bloody issues I give you a:










And finally, for Shiner;









I am sorry I made you post my last four reviews. You can tell why by the bloody lay-out of this one. I also did try to think of something more 'hip' to give you but meh. I am nothing if not unoriginal and mother-lovin' lazy.

Ambrosia and its Opposites

When I was a mere dot and home from the School for hols, Nanny used to try and force me to eat rice pudding. Now there are not many things I will not eat. I am a gastronaut of the highest order – William Buckland can’t hold a candle to me (although I will own to never having nibbled the mummified heart of a king, I have eaten a kebab in Cleckheaton). However, I know what I like and I simply cannot bear rice pudding. It’s something to do with the skin. Nanny would cajole and threaten and great Scenes would be caused, but as soon as I saw rice pudding at the table I would clap shut my mouth and fold my arms and that, much to Nanny’s disgust, was that.

When I saw that I had to review a blog entitled ‘Single Mom Says’, written by the fragrant Mindy, my first though was rice pudding. My second thought was ‘Good lord, I had no idea that there were actually real people called Mindy’. My heart sank further when I read her header. It reads ‘A single mom’s thoughts and observations on life as a single parent, dating, relationships, kids & women’s issues’. I can tell you know, Mindy, that they way you mean the term ‘women’s issues’ in no way reflects the lives of any of the women I have ever known. My Fanny’s issues revolve largely around the unclogging of the traps and Mother, when I saw her, was preoccupied with the bejewelling of her vast cast of land crabs.

None of this endeared me to Mindy, and to top it all off, her ridiculous stalker widget thinks I come from Derby! Derby! I haven’t been back to that godforsaken place since the Unpleasantness and do not intend to do so ever again. However, now I am an old clown I must be brave and eat up my rice pudding. As Nanny used to say, if you just try it, you might like it. Poor Nanny. She had to leave us in the end, when all my teeth came in. Anyway, I held my nose and opened my mouth and dug in to our Mindy’s ‘about’ bit, thinking it best to get the skin off first. In this section Mindy provides us with a helpful list of dramatis personae and links to what she considers the pertinent posts. They make for grim reading, my tiny friends. Mindy has fair been through t’mill, as they say around here. Her best friend stole her husband and they are stirring up all kinds of trouble. She is raising four daughters on her own. Neither of the fathers sounds like much cop. She is desperate to find a good man but internet dating is proving unsatisfactory. All in all, poor Mindy has been having a miserable time of it.

I do hate it when reviewees have Sad Stories. It makes me feel as though I should make allowances and then I have to do all kinds of wrestling with myself and I get all flustered and Fanny has to mop up and then she sulks. Besides, sad stories are fun to read for a while, but then the schadenfreude wears thin and it’s just depressing. The problem I have with personal blogs is that they are often far too personal, just a relentless grind of self-obsession. But we must look beyond all this, though, to the real proof of the pudding, the writing. I suppose.

When Mindy started her blog, she wrote long, self-help style essays. They were breezy, relatively well put together pieces that have that ‘Sassy Mom’ tone we have encountered in so many other pink-hued places. Very chummy and reassuring and most helpful, I would imagine, to similar women in similar situations, although they are a touch shiny-eyed, as though she is just enthusiastically regurgitating the last book she read. It’s very much not for me (it’s those around me who need help, not I) but I can see that it has some merits, despite the crashing generalisations and the sneaking suggestion that all men will inevitably turn out to be massive cunts.

However, the recent posts suggest - and I hope this is true – that our Minds has found something better to do than blogging, because they are scanty at best. At times she resorts to the unspeakable crime of just listing things she did, like a child’s back-to-school essay. I did this and then I did this and then and then and then. Look at this, for example;

My weekend was a busy one, marked with a few highs and a few lows. Here’s a peek at some of what’s been going on lately:

I caught a cold. Maybe strep throat. Ow. Throat pain SUCKS.

Got in a minor car accident. No one was hurt but can’t say the same for the cars. Or my insurance premium.

Came to the conclusion that Karma is a slow-ass bitch. Or she’s drinking on the job. Whatever the case, she is obviously VERY confused.

Had date #2 with the single dad from the bowling alley. He needs a name for the blog because he may be mentioned here again. (and it can’t be Bowling Alley Dude or Dad because that would be BAD).

What, pray, is the point of this tripe? Sweet Felicity Kendal, why did you bother? It’s all very well and good if you just want to give your chums a quick update on what you’re up to, but when you submit to this site, you must know we are going to want something more. Your stories aren’t stories, they are merely hints. I know you can do it, you just need to be more consistent in the quality of your output. You could make lovely little pieces out of your dating adventures with a few judicious descriptions, a bit more dialogue and some actual effort, but you seem to have stopped bothering and if you can’t be bothered, Mindy, neither can I.

So, having gagged my way through as much rice pudding as I can handle, all I can say is that I hope Mindy manages to find a way to live, and thereby write, outside her problems. I hope she finds a man (although she would be wise to remember that Buttons is often a better bet than Prince Charming). I also hope that she finds her missing knickers, although I do wonder about the coincidental nature of her fancy frillies going missing just before her daughter goes out to celebrate her sixteenth birthday with her boyfriend. And I hope that she either gives up blogging or decides to do it properly.

Mindy, you get a Meh.

One Thing's for Surgeon, Your Blog Sucks

I am seriously considering writing all of my reviews drunk as hell, and I'm nearly there, because sometimes it's the only way I can till some of these blogs. Seriously, I can see the future because I have access to the submission list and there are some goddamn wearisome plebes sitting around waiting for life to happen coming up on the roster.

Of course you know that I am not a wearisome plebe. I am brilliance fucking manifest. Plus I got superior typing skills even when rocked on fucking wheat fermentingations or whatever because I memorized where to find the backspace key.

Long as we're listing things I got, I got medical horror stories up the ass (not like literal probes, although I know you guys are serious buttpokers), but this fucking guy collects eyefuls of peculiar shit daily, and believe me when I tell you: he makes crazy medicinal drama about as fucking interesting as ironing pleated pants. I actually prefer ironing pleated pants. I can do that shit drunk.

Techknowdoc writes with holes and impotence. It's very, "This woman had fat legs. And I said, 'gee, your legs are fat.' Man, some bonky things sure do go down in my wacky surgical ward." Except that quote that I just totally paraphrased is infinitely more interesting than everything on this blog just because I utilized "bonky." Use it, Techknowdoc.

By the way, nice nomenportmanteau. And by "nice" I mean "cancer."

As far as presentation...you know, it is what it is. The header is a menacingly stretched scalpel-hand and a splooge of pointless labels clog up the lower half of the template, and it's all Halloweeny colored and basically lame. But regarding content?

Doc, okay. I get it. It's exciting when patients are up to their elbows in fishbones, and that's some zany fucking hijinx, but your version of "lateral thinking" relates to egg-laying roosters and grave-digging planes, and your sprightly professional medical explanation regarding how foreign objects enter the human body is this:

"the fish decided to do one last heroic act before dying and made the bone fly into his elbow!!"

And you just...I don't even know. Accept it. You just accept a fucking telekinetic fish flinging daggerbones at fisherman as the hilarious breakdown of events in the most banal possible manner. You don't tell us the motivation behind the offense or give us an exciting play-by-play, it's just, the fish "made the bone fly into his elbow!!"

It's all unanswered questions, disgusting-ass pictures of surgeries without fixin' the reader with medical explanations or offering ameliorative advice, and fuck you for wasting my time and my PBR on bullshit like this. Assorted condoms exist. A woman blows her nose. I can't tell if your aim is pompous comedy or pompous revolution. Your blog is an unsanitary succession of narrative pap smears, and fuck you, I'm sober now. And I get things. Believe me. I am very smart.

Look Doc, I'm sure you're like, a good surgeon and stuff, but I'm just burning to give you these.






Also, I am very partial to the "rat poisen" tag that the illustrious Nutjobber added to the AAYSR label list. It's my cheap grammar crack.