Twilight: A word I used to Like

I will admit it publicly. I read the Twilight series. I got curious. I started wondering why every time I turned on the television I heard about vampires and werewolves and Robert Pattinson's latest haircut (CNN updated me on that. Newsworthy). The fever was everywhere I turned. The deciding point was when I read an article that described an 11 year old girl screaming, "You complete me, Edward," to Pattinson at the movie premiere. I got curious.

The first thing I will say about this 'saga' as it is called, is that it took me all of 72 hours to complete the four books. I have always been a fast reader, but even that speed astounded me. I was not completely entranced, but the writing was so elementary, so amateur, it didn't require much concentration. I promise, this will not be an entry on the mechanics of Stephanie Meyer's writing. BUT, Creative Writing 101: It's all about the sentence. The sentence, the sentence, the sentence. Had I found just one in all four books that I actually liked, that actually evoked an original thought or feeling, I would admit it. I would admit that she was a talented writer and I may have allowed the content to slip. But because her writing, at it's most basic level was completely weak and cliche, I was unable to forgive the rest. Stephanie Meyer comes off as a 30-something year old woman who is as unsatisfied with her life now as she was at 17, when she was fantasizing about a non-existent man who would save her so she would never have to save herself.

I will admit one thing. As I was reading these books, I was not always immune to the somewhat charming ways of Edward. Oh the problem of Edward. The enticing teen vampire who doesn't know whether he wants to murder or have sex with Bella. How sweet. He loves her, he loves her blood. What will he do? As it has been noted before, the relationship between Edward and Bella is so obviously a commentary on abstinence that it becomes excrutiating to read. The lovers cannot consumate their love because it could possibly kill Bella. hmm. Interesting.

But the most troubling, the most unsettling aspect of the book, is the character of Bella. If these books had been written by a male, I may have been able to forgive. A man could be forgiven for writing cliches and inaccuracies about one woman's journey through an unlikely and mythical love. But not a woman. For a woman to do so, is inexcusable. I think if I ever met Stephanie Meyer, I would have just one question, "Why did you feel the need to create, in the 21st century, one of the weakest female characters ever written?" As I read, I thought back to the 11 year old girl who screamed to the actor, "You complete me, Edward!" She clearly identified with Bella and that is simply frightening. Before Bella meets Edward in the novel, she seems satisfied to simply float through life. She seems not to have goals or desires other than avoidance. Only when she meets Edward does she find a direction. Shock: the direction is him. I have a problem with a young girl, with no desires of her own, offering up her body and soul to a man who may or may not murder her. And don't kid yourself, that IS what the books are about.

The author calls Bella "stubborn." I would call her "dangerously obsessive," and it would be a cautionary tale for all 17 year old girls. In book two, when Edward leaves, Bella falls into complete despair. She loses the ability to function as a human being. She is even described as "catatonic." Yeah, break ups are hard. We've all had to suffer through at least one. But at some point, you wake up and start over. It seems for Bella, that the only cure is dangerous, "reckless" and suicidal behavior. She takes to motorcycles and interacting with threatening strangers as a way to lure Edward back into her life. She goes to the woods when she fully realizes that predators lurk, waiting to kill her specifically. She throws herself off a cliff. Literally. Meyer plays these actions down. She wants the reader to see these actions as Bella does, acts of love and desire. Attempts to remain close to him. The motorcycles I could stand. I have jumped on the back of one myself from time to time. But it all continues to escalate until Bella hurls herself off a cliff and is prepared to let the waves pull her to her death. Even as she is dying, she thinks only of Edward. There isn't a single thought of her own unlived life.

Her obsession with this man/vampire/whatever, leads to unhealthy, obsessive and suicidal behavior. Meyer attempts to make the American Indian/Werewolf Jacob the remedy, but his character falls flat and the subsequent love triangle is as unbelievable as the rest of the world she has attempted to create. Bella is nothing more than a slave to the men in her life.

For me, the real kiss of death, is Bella's desire to change into a vampire. She is flippant (at best) about ridding herself of her soul. She is next to unfeeling about leaving behind her father and mother forever. She lusts only after immortality (and sex) with Edward. Meyer attempts to make Edward noble, but her heroine undermines everything. He suggests Bella go to college, she suggests sex. He suggests marriage, she suggests sex. He suggests mortality, she suggests sex. It becomes evident that Bella desires little else in her life, than to have sex with Edward. Forever.

Sigh. There are so many problems. Bella constantly requires saving and never once does she save herself. The main character is as weak as the writing and by book four, I believe she loses even the biggest Twi-hards with the unbelievable twists and turns. By book four, the story is cluttered and confused, with Bella literally changing form and character right smack dab in the middle of it.

I find myself (if you haven't figured it out already) furious with Stephanie Meyer. Girls and women are more than the absurdity to which we are diminished on her pages. We are stronger as individuals than we are ever given credit for in this series. We are more than obsession and lust and contrary to what Stephanie Meyer seems to believe and wants other women to believe, we don't need a man to attain completion.

Sigh again. and again. and again. "It's fantasy," I have told myself over and over. "It's a romance novel," has been my mantra. No matter what it is, I cannot forget the damaging and miscontrued concept of femininity found in the books. I cannot get that 11 year old girl's words out of my head: "You complete me, Edward." It leaves me confused, leaves me wondering, leaves me a little heartbroken.

It's tough for me to decide which representation of women I hate more these days: The Twilight Saga or Sarah Palin.

The Elderly

We have this temp working in our office right now. She is fresh out of college and sweet and nice and all the things I think I might have been once. Well, maybe not. But I was fresh out of college once, and not that long ago. Anyway we were sitting around eating lunch one day and she kept making comments about age. She said them in a way that made me think she thought I was old. Things like, "she is younger, closer to my age," etc. I got the distinct feeling that she didn't realize we were probably no more than a year apart in age. So I asked her, "How old do you think I am?" And she looked at me with innocent doe eyes and I thought for a moment she was going to say a number that began with 3. My stomach dropped. My lunch was coming up. "How old do you think I am?" I repeated, my voice getting more shrill, the crease between my eyebrows deepening. "I don't know," she said anxiously, "28?"

Well it wasn't 30 something, but it wasn't my actual age either. And I couldn't help but wonder if work actually speeds up the aging process. The sweet girl was kind enough to say, "Your face looks young, but you act older." But, damage done. It's not that I mind much if she thinks I'm older than I am. Scratch that. It's just that I can't believe I'm one of those people. You know who I mean. Remember when you were in school and anyone who was out of school and working was just sort of...faceless? I remember just lumping them all together. The people who wore khaki pants and sensible shoes. The people who went through the Starbucks drive-thru instead of sitting inside and enjoying their coffee. The people who had short haircuts. They were a separate kind. A people foreign to me and my carefree days of a few hours in class, a few pages of notes, mostly friends. I can't believe I've joined them. Can't believe the only time I go out is for a happy hour, still clad in my work clothes. I can't bring myself to wear khaki but I am always wearing sensible shoes. I have this flower barrette my dearest friend once gave me and I've been nervous to wear it to work because it seems just 'too flashy.' Why does this happen to us? I never cared about blending in just two years ago. Does something in us break or settle? Do we simply calm down?

In any case, I'm no 28. And I plan to avoid 28 for at least a few more years by never wearing pants like this:

Football for Women

This past Sunday I was at home watching football with my boyfriend and best friend. I don't mind watching football if it's a game or team that I care about but I don't have the attention span to sit in front of a television all day watching game after game. My bf and my bff do not feel the same way. On this particular Sunday I was fuming. Did they not realize that I was missing a special on Exorcism on the History channel!? No. Football season. The thorn in my side, the bane of my existence, my cross to bear. All I want to do on Sundays is curl up on my couch and watch bad movies or the history channel or E!. I was lamenting over my inability to do these things when I had an idea of how to improve football. "What if," I thought, "there was a network where women called the football games?" My spine tingled at the brilliance. It could be great. And I would watch it and like it. Perfect. See below for some of my Sunday football thoughts.

*Oh that Tom Brady. He's got two children and only one of them is legitimate. Also, I hate his chin. However the gene pool he's got going with Giselle is pretty top notch. Though I don't like either of them so I sort of hope their son inherits Giselle's boobs.
*I'm 99.9% positive that Tony Romo broke up with Jessica Simpson because of that mom jeans and leopard print top fiasco. I'm also 99.9% sure it was him who set the wolves on her dog.
*Football players are so lovable when they go on Dancing with the Stars. Look at Michael Irving this season. He can't dance worth a crap but he's so precious you can't help but keep voting for him to stay. I wish football was more about dancing than about football.
*I like those Bengals this year. I'm always pulling for them in all their close games. I got to really love each of them in the one episode I watched of 'Hard Knocks.' Mostly that little Ochocinco. And Carson Palmer. Who couldn't help love that jumbo size red head?
*Eli Manning's barber should be ashamed of himself.
*On the topic of the Mannings and barbers. I love Peyton. Love him. I love him so much I would pretend to be a barber so I could touch his head once a month.
*All I know about Kurt Warner is that for awhile he was an old man grocery bag boy for awhile. I also remember that hideous outfit his wife wore to the super bowl when he was still playing for St. Louis.
*I like the hair commercials Pala-whatshisface from the Steelers does for Head and Shoulders. He does have beautiful hair and it does trick me into thinking Head and Shoulders is an adequate shampoo choice.
*Why are they playing a football games in England now? Don't they know football means something else in Europe? I'm sure that's how they got people to attend the event. "Hey, would you like free tickets to this football game?" Poor Europeans. Tricked by the Americans again.
*I hate how Brett Favre wears his jersey. It's too baggy and too long. He's a sexy man for 40+ but that baggy jersey is not doing him any favors.
*I always sort of thought the Dolphins were a team they made up for Ace Ventura Pet Detective.

"Youth," she said with a shudder

It started in Victoria's Secret. I went there the other day and I left completely disturbed. Not by the posters this time either. Not even by the green pair of sweatpants that proclaimed 'PINK' on the butt. Those things, though stupid, were tame in comparison. What killed me, I mean absolutely killed me, were the girls. Girls ages 13-17.

Let me start by saying, I remember being 13 years old and going shopping. Oh I remember it. I remember the embarrassment and self consciousness that would make me end up only buying shoes or a bracelet. I remember staring at my chest, wondering what was wrong with me. I think I wore a sports bra for about three years before I realized anything else existed. It was torture to stand in a fitting room and try on undergarments for women while I was still built like a boy. I also remember being 16, still at odds with my body, though suddenly no longer built like a boy. In some ways this made the chore of shopping even more humiliating. I wasn't sure of my size anymore. I wasn't sure what types of clothing I should be wearing. I wasn't sure how things should fit, I wasn't sure of anything, least of all my appearance, and I had little guidance when it came down to bras and panties. Those things were private after all. Disagree with me if you want, but I'd say most girls my age and older experienced this type of discomfort and awkwardness at that age.

The thing I noticed during my last trip to purchase unmentionables was the lack of that obvious awkwardness in young girls. Now, it could be argued that I am too far the other way. I still have a sense of embarrassment about physicality. I basically wear turtleneck sweaters, flannel pajama bottoms, and knee socks to bed. I still get slightly embarrassed buying any type of underwear, even the grandma kind. Regardless, I don't think I'm that out of touch. However, when I see a 14 year old girl shopping for lingerie with her pimply, 15 year old, brace-faced boyfriend, I want to vomit. I think to myself, "Isn't holding hands supposed to make them blush at their age?". My mind races on, "Shouldn't their idea of a date be sitting silently, uncomfortably, side by side in the backseat of a car while their mother drives them to a movie?!" "Shouldn't they be unable to make eye contact!?" I have so many ideas I want to share with them and I am contemplating approaching the children with these ideas when I hear her say, "How would I look in this?" and she holds a leopard print something or other to her body and giggles and that's it. My head explodes. I have wasted away into a pile on the floor. The thing is, I could have possibly pieced my head back together were it not for the two dozen other teenage girls doing basically the same thing, though the majority of them did not have their boyfriends in tow. I know what you're thinking, "How big was this Victoria's Secret? It must have been huge to house 30, screeching, pubescent girls." Answer: No, it was just your average, cramped, whorey-smelling Victoria's Secret.

I'm still trying to decide what bothered me the most about my experience at the panty shop. Was it the lack of fear they displayed about their bodies? No, that's not it. What a world it would be if girls no longer had body issues. But there was something about it. Perhaps they had confidence, but certainly they were lacking self-respect. They stood staring in mirrors in a frightening way and it was almost like I could read their minds: like me, want me, love me.
I think what bothered me most is that I realized there is a stage missing. Going straight from childhood to womanhood. Well, not real womanhood, but a version of it. It's damaging, I think, to miss the awkwardness of developing. To miss those years when we can't sit in a chair without wondering if we should be sitting a different way. They are important, no matter how uncomfortable. They make us more empathetic, more caring.

And sometimes I think, maybe it's just different now. Maybe they do feel that way inside, maybe kids are just different now. Maybe I'm just getting older. Maybe it's just because I'm around adults all day, etc., etc. But rationalize as I might, I can't get them out of my head. The way they didn't blush, the way they walked, the way they smelled of entitlement. It's strange and at least for me and my outdated ways, a disturbing change.

In unrelated news, I will be opening a new lingerie shop. The only fabrics available will be flannel and cotton. Girls only. Adult, normal, female chaperones required.

DC Land--

It's been over a year since I've updated this thing--but I stopped being confused
for a bit because Obama won so I didn't have anything to write about. That's a joke. I will forever be socially confused. Forever and ever.

I can't remember where I left off so I'll just start where I am now. Life is good in DC, aside from all the death panels I've been subject to. They are practicing on us Washingtonians before the bill passes. Not really, Fox news, not really.

Anyway, life is good. I have a new home, a good man (which is hard to find), and a large number of monuments in my life. I'm a lucky, lucky girl.

Good things in life right now:
Weeds
Red Stripe
Zachawy
Roof tops
Michael Franti and Spearhead--Say Hey