So I read Twilight.   A mormon mom writes a novel about your ‘culture’ that becomes this world-wide teen phenomenon, and suddenly everyone is all vampire-centric again and moping over the kid that died in Harry Potter (am I the only one amused at him having therefore been raised from the dead, so to speak?).   This happens every time there’s some new revival of the – well, let’s call it a myth – and sure, curiosity gets you.   If someone is presuming to know enough about your race and lifestyle to write obsessive, fat, popular fiction about it, you check it out.

Plus it’s part of the persona, of course.   Everyone at school has been reading the series and watching the movie and dying for the new trailer.   It’s about the only type of dying that seems to be actually associated with Twilight – the stupid metaphor kind.   But I look like a teen, so I need to behave like one.   Otherwise things get kind of complicated.   And messy.

Look, I was all ready to get into this blogging thing tonight, but I’ve got to be honest.   Twilight just makes me hungry – all that non-action and looking longingly across the lunch room (and I’m sure I’m not the only one who thought the unintended significance of that was bloody funny.)   And if I was hungry for that washed-out chick or drooling for the Pattinson guy, it wouldn’t be a sweet, sighing, new mooning kind of way.   Oh, no.   Fuck the metaphors.   I’m going out for a bite.   See you soon.

 

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