volcanic's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- hello all you sad people First, off: Grim, mate, there's no need to apologise- I totally agree with what you're saying. What Grim's saying, by the way, is the assumption that bloggers and online diarists are Sally Saddoes and Johnny No-Mates is not just reactionary and elitist, but also a little outdated and ill-informed. Unfortunately, the person who made that spurious comment just happens to be one part of the heavenly triumvirate that comprises my own private fantasy dance troupe, Volcanic's DreamBoyz. Hmm. All I can say is Warren, you need to read some better blogs. My links would be as good a place as any to start. I know full well that there are oodles and OODLES of appallingly bad diaries and blogs out there, ones which have endless accounts of teenage angst, or tExT LiKe ThIs, or those evil Comet Cursor thingies, and millions of Neopets and I-Moods, and ones that just fail to impress because they're just dull. Hell, I run a diary-ring which has 262 members, and the vast majority of them are guilty of at least one of the crimes listed. Hmm. I just deleted the para that I wrote here, because it sounded a bit ranty and a bit reactionary itself. Suffice to say the net's a big place: there's enough space for everyone, from the writers who have pop culture oozing out of every single one of their archly ironic orifices, to those who'd rather gurn and drool over Lance from NSync. Or the Backstreet Boys, or the Osmonds or Menudo or whichever bloody boy band he's from. I don't know- I'm just waiting for the Take That reunion tour, me. Especially if Lulu drags her botoxed bony ass on stage and shrieks along with them. Me and my best friend both agreed yesterday that Lulu is largely devoid of any talent or redeeming qualities whatsoever. I struggled, for niceness' sake to think just one, and the best I could come up with was that she had a hairdo I liked a few years ago. I bought a white shirt today. I don't think I've had a white shirt since Balaam & the Angel were hovering around the bottom of the charts, and that one was a scary frilled pirate affair, in which -if my memory serves me correctly- I hoped to look like some kind of cyberdelic bike chick-cum-Poldark vixy foxtress. In reality I probably looked more like a Durannie who'd missed the bus by at least six years. Anyway. The new one's not at ALL like that- it's fitted, sexy and frighteningly grown up, and I'm hoping that somewhere amongst the morass of black nylon and lace and cotton and trilobal that comprises the world-famous Volcanic lingerie collection, there lurks a white brassiere. Otherwise tomorrow's outfit's scuppered. Bah. Bath now- I need to do my nails to co-ordinate with tomorrow's handbag of choice. (Red metallic PVC, if you're at all interested) By the way, Happy Fourth of July to everyone who's celebrating it. I thought I was hallucinating this morning when I woke up and saw the stars'n'stripes fluttering outside through my window. Blimey, I phrased that sentence badly. It's a good job I'm going off to learn how to write, isn't it? What I meant to say was I could see-in the middle distance- an American flag where the British one normally flies. It's not my own personal flagpole or anything. Although the idea tempts me... 9:47 a.m. - 04.07.02 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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