lizzie mcguire, you disappoint me

i was really excited when this arrived today. yeah, i know that she is getting published because she is famous*, a (reasonably) good singer (ok, i admit i love her music and know nearly all the words to her songs (well, first two albums anyway)) and cos she has really pretty hair.

but i was more than willing to overlook that fact, and was looking foward to reading about Clea, the photojournalist with famous parents who hides behind her camera lens to escape the spotlight.

this excitement lasted until i opened the book and saw the title page. quite an aesthetically pleasing title page, it has the title (as you would expect), black and white versions of the cover flower, and then the author: hilary duff (this bit is fine) WITH elise allen (this bit is the bit that pisses me off).

ok hil, you want to write a book. fine. i don't have a problem with that. i also dont have a problem with the fact that you got published solely on your fame. i do have a problem with you putting your name on a pretty cover in big letters, doing all the signings, making all the money and generally getting people like me who have adored you since the beginning of time (or the beginning of lizzie mcguire) all excited, only to CRUSH OUR HOPES WITH YOUR SHITTY**, BASICALLY GHOST WRITTEN BOOK.

there is nothing left between us now. it's over***.



*hil, i say this because any chance at getting published on your own writing merit is gone when you need someone to help you write your book.

***although at least you credited elise allen for the work she did. i guess you aren't totally heartless (erhmm. cough cough. james frey you are a wanker.) ill probably always love you.

**it may in fact be fantastic, i haven't read it yet cos i am feeling so traumatised and let down. although, really, what did i expect? shame on me and my optimism.

an outdoor chandelier

hello! i'm back.

here is a review:





oh fuck. i think i just have a reviewing block. so here is a picture of some renovation madness:

oh dear

so i know that when i got my (shiny) laptop, i made a big hullabaloo about how i was now going to be a blogging dynamo.
i'm sorry, i lied.

it's just that i have all these fab ideas (well, i think they are fab) and want to share them, but then when i'm sitting in front of the computer they never seem to come at me, they always come while i am on my way to the dentist, or in the middle of the park watching my chien chase birds and roll in dead things (bad, smelly dog!) or whenever i am anywhere but in front of my computer.

consequently i end up with scraps of paper everywhere which i then instantly loose, or pink moleskines filled with vague notes on books i always plan to review RIGHT AWAY but then forget about, or when i do finally sit down to do to them, i get discouraged. i suspect that i get discouraged because even though i tell myself to just spit it out, i then get wrapped up thinking about all the hours and years that the author took to write the book, and i begin to feel guilty for not spending as much time on my review. so then i generally just don't review at all because i think to myself, well, how could i do justice to all that time and work with a few (often hastily constructed) thoughts and sentences? and then i start thinking, well, is this even what i think at all? and i get all confused and stop.

a vicious cycle indeed.

so today i have decided
fuck it

i will just spit it all out and not think about it and if i regret it later, oh well at least i didn't sleep with the neighbours cat
(this is not something i, or anyone i know, has done, but i imagine whoever did it would certainly regret it. at least, i hope they would)
(not that anyone did sleep with the neighbours cat. they don't even have a cat, a lady in a yellow car ran over it) (actually that's not true, it didn't die and it didn't belong to the neighbour either. i think) (it is true a lady in a yellow car ran over it though. i witnessed it and it was extremely traumatic) (for me, not the cat as the cat jumped up and ran away) (possibly to die) (this is entirely ridiculous) (i will stop now)

and now, see, i have written such a long and stupid post i no longer have the energy to review a book. oh dear.

placement

today as i walked towards the school gates there were cries of

'hey, it's the library girl'
'hi library girl!'
'hey, i know you!'
'hey, i saw you! on the weekend, at the bookshop!'
'hey, look everybody! it's the girl from the library!'

and one of the grade six kids i won over last time (tough crowd, but any mention of Glee and you should be fine...) greeted me with a

'dugong lady*! how are you!? where were you on monday?! what are you doing now?! ok, i'll see you at lunchtime!'

i felt a bit chuffed, and happy to be surrounded by such exuberance. this is so definitely, no questions, absolutely, my career of choice. at least until i take up travelling around the world with my violin and border collie. but then i will come back and be the library girl again! lovely.

*insert real name here

monthly monday milf meeeem

MMM is a meeeem created by The Dugong Lady and kate.o.d in celebration of those who lurk handsomely in the background. We want you between our pages.

and the winner of round two is... ding ding ding!

vernon.

aha! i can imagine you all now. vernon dursley, you say? really? i always knew this dugong lady was indeed some kind of a fruitloop...

but you are WRONG. i speak not of vernon dursley, that beef-necked twerp.
no, i speak of another vernon.
i speak of THE vernon.
the vernon that made the name, once synonymous with aforementioned beef-necked twerp, sexy again.
the vernon that comes not from harry potter by ye olde castle dwelling rowl-monster, but from i have a bed made of buttermilk pancakes by jaclyn moriarty.

the vernon that is buff from lifting boxes of bananas.
the vernon that is musical, with maple syrup eyes.
the vernon that takes his little sister and girlfriend on midnight swims with a spot of trespassing. (oh, i do love a rebel!)
the vernon that saves dessert for said girlfriend by hiding it under a chair, even though she is late and he is at her family dinner.

he is gorgeous, and lovely, and, according to marbie (the girlfriend) he is an incredible lover also. what more could you want in a man?!
flesh and blood, perhaps.
aside from that, though...
phwoar.

snippetty snippretty

okay, i was wrong. the finished cover for immortal beloved is in fact quite pretty. a little, i dunno, predictable maybe? but pretty. and reasonably enticing. reminds me a bit of american beauty the movie.

so i retract my rather rude comment to the marketing people (it probably isn't the marketing people that are responsible for the covers anyway, they surely have a design section or somesuch). bit harsh, sorry guys.

i got super excited when it arrived in the shop, and yes, i may have yelped. it was like greeting a slightly unpredictable, not to be trusted with your darkest secrets but fun to party with, old friend.

except, obviously, a book.

a book that i just discovered shares the name with...

a film about beethoven (ludwig, not the st. bernard)

the name in some love letters beethoven addressed to an unknown woman (i assume this is explained in the movie. i watched in ages ago but mostly i just remember beety chasing some girl around the table, giggling and groping.. creepy)

a hair salon in the 14th st neighbourhood that caters to the 'stylistas' of washington life.

now wasn't this just unexpectedly informative?

rambly book talk

Ruined by Paula Morris
soooooo.... i found this book lurking in a drawer (it wasn't my drawer, but before you go accusing me of thievery, it was a draw i am allowed to take books from) and debated whether or not to read it. it was a debate because i have a fascination with the deep south (this book is set in new orleans) and really want to go there and love reading about it. but because the pages of my found copy were that really crappy, cheap thin paper that probably isn't even partially recycled (bastards) and makes the spine feel awkward and sort of like it is ashamed of being a spine, i didn't want to read it.

but i did. and it was good. it wasn't brilliant, but i did enjoy it, and i absolutely loved the detail about new orleans. oh it sounds so amazing! i want to go! after, of course, i go to bhutan (gross national happiness people!), nepal, new york, the daintree, alaska, the moon... fuck me, i may as well give up now- no! i must remain optimistic, i will get there one day... assuming i don't get distracted and add another sixty thousand places to my visiting list.

err, this has turned into a 'i want to go here and here and here' travel rant, so i shall stop now.

actually, i just want to say that it really was quite a good book. there where times when i wanted to smack the main character, but mostly i was grumpy with the baddies, not the goodies. which is a pleasing characteristic in a novel of this kind, with lots of intrigue and family mysteries. now that i think about it, the plot was like something from 'passions' (and yet again i find myself referencing this ridiculous 90s soap opera), with ghosts and crazy class rivalry, but the way Morris managed it was excellent, and honestly, it is worth reading just for an insight into the gorgeous, multilayered mystery that is new orleans.

au revoir!

oh! wait! i forgot to tell you, i read another Eva Ibbotson (lordy, she is fab) story- Journey to the River Sea- about Maia, an orphan sent from england to live with distant relations in the amazon jungle. it was brilliant! utterly brilliant. i felt excited, scared, angry and ridiculously happy all in the right places, and it left me with the same aftertaste that the Piper's Son did. and now i want to go to see the amazon jungle! well, more specifically Manaus, the capital city of the state of Amazonas, a city hidden in the jungle!
oh, dreams.