I Am Almost 30 And I Love Twilight

Since Christmas I've been wondering what it was that made me read all four of the books in Stephanie Meyer's Twilight series.

The truth is, I didn't just read them, I voraciously read them. It was the most fun I've had reading a book since I discovered JSF's Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close. I read the first book over the Christmas holiday, swearing that I just wanted to see what was up, swearing that I wouldn't enjoy it, or read the next one--but then I read the next one. I finished it completely unaware of anyone else at the laundromat, my clothes waiting already done in the dryer. And then here's where I get a little fuzzy on the third and fourth books, because I'm pretty sure I read them both--all 1380 pages of them--in three days. I remember particularly, towards the end of Breaking Dawn, that my eyes had gotten so bleary I could hardly see the words.

I should have known I would like them. I'm an unapologetic romantic; I practically live on a diet of The English Patient, Atonement, and Cold Mountain. I'm pretty much a 14 year-old girl and always will be.

Which is why this explanation of the Twilight phenomenon in The Atlantic really explained a lot for me.

And recently I read this critique in Bitch magazine, about why Twilight is really just abstinence porn. (This is a good read.)

I agree with both articles even though they contradict each other quite a bit. Bella and Edward's love is both saccharine and dark, delightfully appealing in every way. The books appealed to the pre-teen dreamer in me, the girl who daydreamed crazy fantasies about a particular high school senior that involved emotional rescues ("But how did you know I needed you right then?" "I just knew. I know everything about you.") and odd locations I thought would be romantic (e.g., the middle of a cornfield at night.) I remember once in the locker room before gym class, a girl a few years younger than me stormed in visibly upset and threw herself against the lockers, practically stage crying. She gripped her fists against her heart and said, "Why does he do this to me?" I turned my head and laughed to myself at her over-drama, but that girl was seriously who I was inside my own head.

Of course now I'm completely ashamed of how I behaved in my head--that silly, romantic girl--which is also how I feel about Twilight. I love the books, but sort of hate that I love them. I try to tell myself, you have a master's degree.

Because most of the great love affair is quite silly, particularly the unique abstinence between the couple--Bella continually gets "carried away" and longs to be taken by her vampire prince, while the stoic Edward again and again keeps both of them under control.

And maybe that's who we all wanted to be back when we were 17 years-old; the girl who wasn't a buttoned-up prude, but really quite fiery and sexual. And just so we wouldn't have to give in to being terrified of actually doing the deed, there would be a guy there who wouldn't let us do it, retaining for us our image of being wildly desirable carefree vixens, so that we'd never have to show we were ever scared.

Reviewed: Smashing Pumpkins, making apple pie, snow

It's snowing today, a swiftly falling pelt-you-in-the-face kind of snow. This weekend I did all kinds of things for once. On Thursday, when Joe said, what do you want to do this weekend?, I said, I want to watch a whole bunch of movies at the theater. My ambitious plan was to watch all the Oscar movies I had meant to watch beforehand, maybe even two-a-day if I could handle it. 

We ended up seeing one a day (like vitamins!) with my friend Ellen replacing Joe on Sunday night's Wrestler date. All in all, I was kind of...blerged out. Milk and The Wrestler certainly were better by far than The Curious Case of Benjamin Button (undeserved best actor nom, Brad Pitt, undeserved!). But nothing was surprising, or even particularly transporting (Sean Penn excepted.) The movies were...okay. I want another Grindhouse! Or, at least, something like The Departed! I want something that makes me forget I'm in the theater, but also, thanking god that I am seeing such an amazing movie as this in a theater. I want to see a movie that makes me want to watch it a second time the minute its over.  

We also wandered the Village and got some books for my new sexy book club (Murph, you WILL join) and also--my favorite of the weekend--Smashing Pumpkins Siamese Dream on LP. 

Which I am listening to now, while I make an apple pie out of the apples I bought on Friday and didn't have time to make (since I had more than my hands full blackening shrimp and simmering red beans and rice, on top of the brussel sprout, tomato and fresh corn salad!) I was ambitious this weekend, and it kind of worked out. I cooked food. We slept in. We watched the season 2 finale of Dexter. I went uptown. We walked back home from the BAM down 5th Avenue. We ate John's pizza. We tried to get in to Rissoteria. I caught 20 minutes of Alive on HBO. Since I minused out the normal weekend couch-lounging and General Hospital-catching-up, it felt like having a week of vacation unzipped from a weekend's worth of time. So nice. 

But this music makes me think about how idiotic of a teenager I was. Ah, Smashing Pumpkins. Sophomore year of high school. The guy I crushed on was uninterested, heart-breakingly so. My sister and her HighSchool boyfriend (the worst of the lot, perhaps) went to a Smashing Pumpkins concert, and I stayed home inwardly pouting for not being able to go. I tried so hard to be cool back then, that when they got home I questioned my sis and her HS bf about all of the songs I was able to name ("Did they play 'Whir'? How was 'Disarm'?") and when HS bf confessed that he had gone to buy a t-shirt during "Disarm" I scoffed and said to all my friends later, "I mean, who would leave during "Disarm"? It's only the best SP song ever." 

My oh my. Memories.

75 Stars for today.   

Reviewed: Presidential Address

Last night was the presidential address, which in the past has really annoyed me by taking place instead of Gossip Girl, but I had just gotten home from a drink with a friend and Obama's quite nice to look at so I curled up on the couch with Joe and shared a handful of Reese's Pieces. Of course, the mood in the room was so different this time around, like I could spookily feel it through the television. Obama's our celebrity, but it's more than that. It's the way he addresses, not just the Congress, but "Madam First Lady" and looks for Michelle, and she smiles and blows him a kiss and mouths, I love you--and oh my, it's so nice to see an American President so in love with his wife!  

I'm an easy kind of girl these days on politics. I could have just watched the first ten minutes of that speech--ha! the first 30 seconds of the speech--just long enough for that I love you and that's all I need to know. (If you're looking for in depth political analysis--yikes!--go elsewhere.)

All I can say to the rest of the world is--jealous? I am, and I live here! I wanted to be that little girl who got a hug from our gorgeous First Lady. I wanted to be the First Lady. And that made me think, how many little kids in their homes tonight are looking at the television thinking the same thing about Michelle Obama, about Barack Obama. That means that a bunch of little minds are inspired to be something more than 'making a living' or just the generic 'being successful.' Growing up to really be something. Something not generic, something extraordinary. 

Oh, I'm getting cheesy. It must be the sun coming in the window this afternoon, saying, February is almost over, Spring is coming...

100 Stars.  

Reviewed: Unexplainable Taste

I want this. I'm not sure why. 

I think because it reminds me of Lord of the Rings.

Reviewed: Nordstrom's

Oh, Nordstrom's, you disappoint me. Yesterday I got your catalog in the mail, which is usually a happy occasion because the pretty pictures of things I can't afford combined with things I can barely afford lulls me into a daydreaming sleepiness.

And usually, thinking about you, Nordstrom's, is a happy occasion. Since you don't have a store in NYC, I only get to see you in Washington when we visit Joe's family, and there you are so beautiful and clean and full of helpful, smiling workers that I would never encounter where I live. You have William Rast jeans that I like to try on for fun because Justin Timberlake made them and named them after his grandfather. You have Frye boots and Flowerbomb perfume and the most glorious selection of tights. You have a coffee stand that sells sugar cookies with thick, pink frosting and orange juice so pulp-y the straw gets clogged.

BUT...

...the economy is in shreds; here in New York everyone is losing their job and even Manhattan rents are falling so quickly tenants are renegotiating their leases.

It's cool that you included a letter recognizing that "these are challenging times for us all" and promising to "focus on what we can do to make a difference to you, our customer." Which is why it's funny that the very first item on the next page is a darling little Bluemarine dress, printed silk with a delicate ruffle at the neck and an azul satin belt, for the budget-friendly, depression-friendly, challenging-times-friendly price of $1,795. (Belt sold separately for $355.)

"We think of these extraordinary times as yet another chance to earn your business." Signed, Blake Nordstrom, Pete Nordstrom, and Erik Nordstrom.

Blake, Pete, and Eric--excuse me, Erik--I hate you all. 2 Stars.

Reviewed: Drunk Food

Joe makes the best drunk food. While I come home and throw my coat on the floor, fall over while trying to take off my shoes, spill a river of water while pouring a glass, and collapse on the couch, Joe is efficiently and effortlessly throwing together a feast in the kitchen. He even uses spices! Last night he made turkeymeat tacos and it might have been the most amazing meal I have ever eaten. One time he put together a BBQ chicken quesadilla out of the leftovers from my fancy French restaurant food. And his grilled cheese is so good I only want to eat while I'm drunk from now on.

100 stars. 

Reviewed: General Hospital, 2009

Oh, GH, what are you doing? Let's get this straight: I'm no TV-snob. I'm consistently pulled in by any show airing on the CW (last night's Privileged--nice!). I love so much about what makes you bad: the mob bosses, the hitmen, the crazy paralyzed guy who can secretly walk, the deadly airborne poison that was just let loose in the hospital, Sonny Corinthos. I even love it that every character has been on the verge of death multiple times, purely because now that only 3 of the main characters actually have anything to do with the hospital you've gotta work it in somehow.

But now?

The brain-damaged mob boss/former hitman is the person in charge of the airborne poison disaster at the hospital? His ex-girlfriend is "looking for stuff to do" to keep her busy, like running around in leather pants with a gun? The FBI agent/terrible-acting dude is handling the disaster from his office pacing around on a cellphone? And his main contact with the quarantined hospital is the brain-damaged mob boss/former hitman (recently shot in the arm by his ex-girlfriend while he's in love with a dying nurse who is about to get back together with her ex-husband for the safety of hitman's secret baby)? And you killed Leyla?!

Stop it! Even others are noticing.

50 stars, purely because of the above clip, one of the more enjoyable moments.