I love moving art, and when the subject is Little Red Riding Hood, I’m absolutely thrilled. Red Riding Hood is one of my favorite stories, along with the Three Little Pigs. . . perhaps I have a thing for the big Bad Wolf. 😉 (That’s a Doctor Who reference, fyi.) [via Lily Wight]
I read an interesting post the other day after stumbling onto it via tumblr, a professor answers a question about FanFiction by assuring everyone that it is literature and has been around for a long time.
Shakespeare doesn’t have a single original plot—although much of it would be more rightly termed RPF—and then John Fletcher and Mary Cowden Clarke and Gloria Naylor and Jane Smiley and Stephen Sondheim wrote Shakespeare fanfic. Guys like Pope and Dryden took old narratives and rewrote them to make fun of people they didn’t like, because the eighteenth century was basically high school.
Speaking of Shakespeare, check out this post on Flavor Wire which claims they can tell a lot about you by which play of his you like the best. Personally, I don’t think I’m an *unabashed* romantic (I’m very much abashed by it), but I’ve definitely worn glitter. Thanks to Sara H. for the tip!
People are constantly mistaking me for someone else. I have people wave to me, whom I do not know, all the time. And it’s not because they are trying to hit on me. It’s because they think I’m someone else. One day last summer a guy on the train kept eyeing me and smiling smugly and texting his friend. I sighed.
When he got up to leave from the train he goes, “Hey, Darcy.”
Subtext: Bitch I see you there, don’t pretend you can’t see me.
I looked at him over the tops of my glasses. “My name is not Darcy.”
Subtext: Douchebag, don’t call me Bitch, you don’t know me. (I do have an aunt named Darcy, so I was confused for a split second, but I don’t really look like her. And I see no possibly way he knows her as she lives in upstate New York.)
He got of the train in a huff all embarrassed. I guess he was trying to prove something, all he proved was that he is a jerk. Everyone on the train watched the exchange and caught the subtext. He wasn’t that subtle, and I neither was I. The doors closed and everyone around tittered at his brashness turned embarrassment.
But this kind of thing happens a lot. Not so much now that I dye my hair red (and it’s one of the reasons that I do), but apparently I have a couple of dopplelgangers out there. And I’m not the only one. A photographer in Quebec hunts down and takes pictures of unrelated look a likes. It’s eerie. You should check them out.