freckles_and_doubt

OMG! I'm, like, totally addicted to The Princess Diaries! If someone doesn't rugby-tackle me now and take my credit card away from me, I'm going to hie me straight forth to the publishers' remainders sale and buy me books 4-to-infinity in the series. And then read them back-to-back, drinking tea and giggling. When I should be marking third-year essays on Disney and Shrek.

Meg Cabot actually writes refreshingly well: at last, a journal-keeping protagonist who isn't the kind of total, hopeless, ineffectual ditz who makes me want to slap him/her. (Evidence in point: Adrian Mole, Bridget Jones). She has her teenage angsts, but they're relatively realistic (which I never thought Bridget Jones was), as intelligent as possible under the influence of adolescent hormones (which BJ absolutely isn't while not even having that excuse), and interposed with moments of actual agency. And the princess/celebrity stuff is kinda cute (whereas in BJ it's simply agonising*). As cult teen lit, we could be doing a lot worse.

I owe a vote of thanks to

khoi_boi, who rescued me from intense toast dialogue and Iburst battery yesterday by inviting me out for lunch in Obs. I realise, somewhat belatedly, that I actually don't hang around enough with people of my own vintage, who recognise the same 80s music as I do and can sagely bemoan the moral degeneration of the younger CLAW crowd from the same vantage point. Not that I derive anything but enjoyment from the less agéd among you, but the cultural references aren't quite the same.

Also, courtesy of

wytchfynder, a new webcomic. Scary-Go-Round. British, whimsical, understated, off-the-wall. You have to relax and let it gently sneak up on you.

* Did I mention how much I loathe and despise Bridget Jones? In either book or film form. In the latter, she's definitely not worthy of Mr. Darcy.**

** Cue stv at this point: "Oh, Mr. Darcy!" . He gets quite camp.

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hey, mr darcy does not get quite camp!

he is so butch.

You know what I meant, mister. Mr. Darcy, since he never actually flutes "Oh, Mr. Darcy!" is certainly not camp. You, on the other hand, when performing putative apocryphal imitations of "me" fluting "Oh, Mr. Darcy!", certainly are.

And I'll have you know I've never camply fluted "Oh, Mr. Darcy!" in my life.

Pshaw. And likewise Tchah!

Yes, but if camp fluting (as opposed to eerie piping) *were* to take place, Mr Darcy would be an excellent subject for it. I myself prefer a more tasteless "Hubba-hubba, Mr Darcy, is that a stately home in your pocket or are you just glad to see me?"

OMG, I think my mind just blew. You devil-woman, you.

I don't see Darcy in the context of camp fluting. Wickham, yes. Bingley, hell yes. Darcy, no.

Damn, now I want to watch the series. Again. For the third time in the last two months.

Memo to self: Darcy icon.

What sort of fluting does Mr Collins warrant? ;-)

Demonic pan-pipes inducing helpless, energetic dancing until death by exhaustion. Mr. Collins badly requires to be made to look intensely silly before dying horribly.

Heh.

help!

i think not

Re: i think not

Re: i think not

Re: i think not

Re: i think not

Re: i think not

camp fluting