Daria: Is It Fall Yet? Page #3

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Kevvy! You look so cute.

And you look hot.

And your muscles, they're so ripply.

Aw, babe.

Hey! You guys are supposed to be watching the pool!

What about this arm? Is it ripply, too?

Ooh... let me see how ripply. Oh...

Can't talk... top secret mission.

Well, complete your mission soon because I'm sending you on another one. Mr.

O'Neill called looking for day camp volunteers and I signed you up.

You didn't.

You start Monday. I'm sorry, but you're not staying locked up in your room all summer.

So instead, you're going to lock me up with a busload of whiny kids and the poor

man's Kathy Lee Gifford.

Daria, you need to be more tolerant. You know what they say. "Judge and be judged."

And I judge myself unfit for human contact.

That's exactly what you will be if you don't start engaging with the rest of us.

You keep hiding your real face behind that antisocial mask and one day the mask

will be your face. I'm not letting that happen. You're working at that camp.

What about my feelings? What about my rights? What about my bribe?

But Stacy, how can I possibly decide if you should wear your chocolate brown or

beige brown headband if you haven't picked out your eyeliner? Beige brown, bye.

Sorry.

Okay. As I was saying, people in the Middle Ages were in constant...

God, we're still in the Middle Ages? I mean, things were so depressing then, and

everyone was so short. Sandi, hi. I'm kind of bus... she wore under-the-knee

knee socks? No!

Hang on a second. Where are you going?

Far, far away.

Sandi, I'll call you right back. Okay. So we were talking about short people.

No, you were talking about sock length. See ya.

But you can't go! I haven't learned anything!

Gee, and how do you propose to do that when you're on the phone through the

whole session?

But they call, David, they call!

Look, you seem bright enough, but I just can't sit here and listen to any more

vacuous prattle with your brain-dead friends. Eyeliner, headband colors... God,

are you boring.

I'm not boring! I'm popular!

Hey, the only reason you're popular is your looks, and those won't last forever.

You have nothing interesting to say and no intellectual curiosity whatsoever. Do

the world a favor and don't go to college. Give up your spot to somebody who

wants to learn.

But... you just said I was bright!

So what? It doesn't matter, if you're hell-bent on achieving complete brain

atrophy before you're old enough to vote.

I'm not!

Do you even know what atrophy means?

David, my friends and I all got practically the same scores on our P-STATs.

So?

So they were bad. And I know I can do better. It's not like I care or anything,

it's just that I know I can.

It's not like you care? It's not like you want to do better? Then why the hell

am I here?

All right. I care. I want to do better.

Okay, then... the Middle Ages.

"With a knickknack, gentle pat, give the dog a bone, this young person helps out

at home."

Now just the counselors. "This young person, he played... " Oh, dear.

Greetings, and welcome to the Okay to Cry Corral. I'm Uncle Timothy, and

together, we're going to take a journey to the land of self-discovery. A land

where it's okay to laugh, and it's okay... to cry.

I feel like doing that now.

And now, I'd like my co-counselors, Daria and Uncle Anthony, to say a few words

about what they hope to accomplish here.

After you, Daria.

Thanks, Uncle Anthony. My goal is to get out of this unscathed.

I'm hoping to rediscover the joys and satisfactions of teaching, and the motives

that led me to pursue such a thankless... I mean, rewarding profession in the

first place. At least that's what my doctor says I need to do before I incur a

cerebral hemorrhage!

Uncle Anthony... I mean, what are your goals for the campers?

Oh. Um... "To help make this a pleasurable experience for all. Let's learn to

love ourselves together."

Okay. Let's divide into three groups, shall we? One, two, three. Daria, you take

group one.

Um... hello. Would, um, anyone like to say anything before we get started?

How come you're so pale?

Why do you bite your nails?

Do you ever smile?

Um, how about you? Would you like to say anything?

Is it fall yet?

When I unveiled "Paper Plate Genocide" in 1991, it was hailed as intriguing,

provocative, even brilliant. And not just by me.

No, we all know critics tend to get carried away. But what was I thinking when

I created a work that seems to have turned out both seminal and semiotic?

"I can't believe I'm getting away with this?"

Excuse me, Mr. Dotson?

Please... Paris, isn't it? Call me Daniel.

Daniel. I just want to say, I think you're the greatest living artist of our time.

"And not just because I have no taste."

I was wondering, where do you get your inspiration?

"My alimony bills."

I don't sit around and wait for inspiration. I grab it -- in the glint of the

sun on a frozen peak... in the pain of an arthritic's hobble... in a lover's

whisper in the dark. So I'd have to say, my inspiration comes from life itself.

Wow.

Well, that's enough of the old windbag's ramblings for today. We'll pick up here tomorrow.

Hi. I'm Alison.

Jane.

Our Mr. Dotson's really something, isn't he?

Well, he certainly doesn't let substance get in the way of self-congratulatory yap.

At least we'll never have to worry about him intimidating us with his talent.

I want an Astro-Pop!

Hang on.

Ring the bell!

Give me a fudge bar!

Just a second.

The flavor went out of my sno-cone!

You suck!

Yeah, you suck!

Yeah?

Sounds like you're having as good a day as I am.

Well, things are looking up now. Want to do something later?

I can't. I'm gonna be stuffing envelopes all night. But I'll see you at my

family's Fourth of July party, right?

Right. Unless I... shove an ice cream scooper down someone's throat first!

Are drug-crazed rodents raiding your child's medicine cabinet?

"Rats on Ritalin," next on Sick, Sad World.

Hey. Maybe you should get some of that for the little campers.

Ritalin or the rats?

Hello, Daria. It's nice to see you again.

Um, you, too, Mrs. Sloane. Hi, Elsie.

Elsie, why don't you show Tom and Daria the dress Richard made you for the

Starry Night Ball?

Oh, I couldn't ruin the surprise.

Daria, is there any way I can change your mind about going? Then you and I could

gang up and convince Tom.

Um...

Sorry, I forgot to tell you. Mom's on the board of the Lawndale Art Museum.

They're holding a benefit to raise money for a new wet bar.

A new gallery. It should be a lot of fun.

Um, sounds like it.

If you like watching ice sculptures melt.

Actually, these things are excruciatingly dull and stuffy, and I told her

there's no way we're going.

Well, um, I guess that's right.

You wouldn't want to compromise your quasi-rebelliousness.

I hope Richard left enough room in that dress for your faux jadedness.

Children! You know, Daria, this event is not members-only. I'd love to send your

parents an invitation if you think they'd be interested.

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