October 12th, 2005

satyr, drool you bastards, bosom

On Gothic literature

The life of a copyeditor is somewhat wanting. I'd much prefer to, say, live in a crumbling English castle and be persecuted by a mysterious sect of Isis worshippers who want to turn me into their bitch-priestess of doom*; or possibly be sent by my guardians to live in a house on a distant moor that's crammed to bursting with handsome, yet vile men who want to undo me--or, to be more specific, my corset; or live in a kingdom where evil kings abound and enormous body parts rain from the sky, the two of them eventually cancelling one another out and leaving some random cast member in charge. FAR more interesting.

And none of these people would want me to index math textbooks.

* Did you ever notice how Gothic novels are like magical girl animes? You have the heroine, who is Very Special and usually as wet as a used kleenex; the heroine's friend, who is more interesting than the heroine and usually ends up dead, imprisoned, or otherwise shunted out of the plot; and a harem of men who all fawn over the heroine for no apparent reason.

Now envision Dracula in fluttery bish-villain togs.