When real things happen to imaginary people

When I started thinking about what I wanted to say about Dracula The Undead (other than I wouldn't recommend it even for silly trashy vampire reading purposes), I realized that I had (possibly deliberately) forgotten huge swathes of it. So I'm re-reading it at bathtime each night, and ... uuuugh. It's not just that it screws up things that are canon from the original novel (and uses the most hackneyed plot "twist" ever to try and excuse it), it's not just that it fails rather spectacularly at using real historical personages as characters (to quote various friends of mine, "Google, motherfuckers. Use it."), it's not just that it blatantly lifts dialog from Star Wars (oh, I wish I were kidding); it's that on top of all that, the writing is, well, dire. Really dire. Last night the Stroppy One took a look at one of the pages, winced, and handed the book back to me. It's not even so-bad-it's-entertaining; it's more of so-bad-Jilli's-head-may-explode-from-rage.

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Anyway. When I read cleolinda's fantastic New Moon in 15 minutes, I also went and re-read her post on seeing the movie. In her philosophical ramblings section, she wrote this:

( Cleolinda being brilliant )

( Which got me thinking )
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Hey, you know what is also romantic? When your spouse is willing to bring you lunch and blessed, blessed coffee after they drop you off at work. Mmm, coffee. No, tea was not quite doing it this morning. Tuesdays are hard.