twilight

Mental Pause Mama, of The Mental Pause Chronicles, is hosting a bloggy book club meeting today, here.

I am participating.
I will have to write this on the fly,
however.

I've only got three million
holiday/work/domestic
chores on my to-do-list today.
Bear with me.

Twilight.

Without doubt, the single most redeeming aspect of Stephanie Meyer's book was Edward. Not just Edward's cool and beautiful hawtness, but his restraint. His dangerous desire reigned in with low grunts and growls. His tender touch and sweet breath. How much he longed for Bella's sweet smell. What woman isn't turned on by a man who finds her scent captivating and damned near irresistible? Oooh yeah, baby. Suck my blood now. (It was enough to revive this reader's carnal desires of the human variety, if you know what I mean, and, I don't mind publicizing, one of the few books from which my husband has reaped personal benefit).

The second most redeeming facet of Twilight is the underlying storyline: teenage vampires in our midst, or mist. Well, both. It's a fascinating concept. The explanations, the myth borrowing and busting. I especially loved the ingenious vampire version of vegan. It's a metaphor for humanitarian motives: overcoming our baser instincts, practicing self discipline, bettering ourselves by making conscientious and healthy choices.

The most disappointing aspect of this book is our heroine, Bella. She stumbles through this book, literally and figuratively, in a romantic daze. I didn't find it cute. I didn't find it endearing. I found it annoying as hell. I found her clutziness a symbol of weakness and a lack of forthright, confident self-directedness and self-knowledge. Ok, so Bella is a teenager in love. Cut her some slack, why don't I? Of course. But the heroine is supposed to grow and undergo significant change in the course of a novel. I don't see this happening.

Frustrated and irritated, I just didn't find much to admire in Bella. Yes, she's a dutiful little student who gets high grades. So an intelligent young heroine, in the academic sense, yes. But otherwise, she does not represent a strong heroine with a purpose that I respect and want my daughters to emulate. I kept hoping to see a young woman who grows to make decisions in her own best interest, not one who repeatedly drops everything and reroutes her life in singular pursuit of a romantic interest. As one example, Bella becomes largely bored with her friends and loses them whenever Edward wiggles his perfect little finger. This is so not the modern message we want for our teenage girls, or adult women, for that matter.

Time and again we see Bella happily choosing the traditional female role of service toward others and nurturing loved ones, often at her own expense. Twilight opens with Bella leaving her home in Arizona, not because she wants to get to know her father better and explore new terrain but as a sacrificial offering to her mother, to alleviate her mother's guilt. Once she gets there, she eagerly cooks for, worries about and dotes on her father, the other man in her life, who, for reasons not explained, has lived alone for longer than a decade. What? No eligible women in Forks?

But the biggest problem I had with this novel? That tired and insidious female victimhood thing happening. Female victim romanticized. Yet another female rescued by strong, perfect, omnicient male. Made sexy.

At one point an evil foe is in hot pursuit: Bella comes up with the plan to save herself and her vampire friends. And everyone around her nods. Yes, this plan could save us.

Ah, I thought with satisfaction. Finally. Redemption. Bella's transforming on the page. She will save herself and save Edward too, rather than the other way around.

But no. Instead she walks right into harms way, into the hall of mirrors, further endangering herself and Edward. It reminded me of so many books and movies where the heroine (seldom her male counterpart) does the very thing that puts her in the most danger, leaving the audience incredulous: "Why is she doing that?!? What is she thinking?!? She's so stupid!!"

With Bella, I'm disappointed to say, we are given a weak and clumsy victim in need of repeated rescuing. Bah.

And yet, upon completing Twilight, what did I do? I quickly ran into my teenager's room and found the sequel, New Moon. Must see what happens next. Must be seduced by more Edwardy hawtness. Feminism be damned.

This is the true gift of Meyer's writing. Like her hero Edward, she keeps us wanting more, even when it isn't all that good for us.

edward, take off your clothes

Not long ago I gave my daughters the Twilight movie for their birthday.

Moms frequently complain about the inconvenience of raising kids? Well, purchasing a Twilight DVD is one of those times when the sleepless nights pay off.

The girls loved the movie. I was pleasantly surprised at how much I liked director Catherine Hardwicke's adaptation. With a small budget and virtually all unknown actors, she pulled it off. I thought she captured some of the steaminess that is Edward's allure. Added bonus: the director, screenplay writer and book author are all women. Twilight has made box office history.

In a previous post I complained that Bella's character was, well, pathetic. I'm happy to report, however, she improved on the screen. Gone was the perpetual whine about how beautiful and perfect Edward was, the stumbling and clutziness, the passive female deferring to the strong, mysterious male, the girl so willing to take care of her dad.

Hardwicke stayed close to many other details in the book, though. I love the way she portrayed Victoria, James and Laurent. Although I was disappointed in Victoria's strawberry blonde hair. What happened to the "fiery red" described countless times by Meyers?

My main complaint is that Edward needed more of a vampirish wardrobe. Here are a few vampy suggestions to the wardrobe department for the sequels:

1. Nothing too Bella Lugosi-esque. Just something besides that tired wrinkled blue shirt and drab ill-fitting gray coat. I mean, what was that about?

2. Nixay this Members Only throwback:

Please. This would do nothing to tempt me to stick my neck out, even if immortality and all-night-sex comes with the package.

3. More black.

4. More upturned collar.

Yeah, like that.

5. Low slung jeans. Not this:

But this:

With the black belt and boots. A little black goes a long way in vampire fantasy.

As for Bella? Keep her as is. Earthy. Natural. Comfortable in cotton and denim. You know, the real woman look.

Was it just me? Or did Edward's wardrobe seriously interfere with anyone else's vision of hawtness?

For a more indepth review, check out what Roger Ebert has to say, here. I also found a hilarious "rejected screenplay" that hits the nail on the head, here.

two hours and counting

Two hours to the test.

Will my fetishistic cultish devotion to Edward be challenged by Jacob, or, rather, this latest cinematic update of Jacob, as my kids so fool heartedly believe?

All three of my kids are incredulous that I am solidly in lust with rooted to Team Edward. Surely, they plead, I can see that hairy dark, claw-footed warm-blooded Jacob should win Bella's heart.

But please, I argue, here is the Jacob of Twilight:

Because, I mean, what the hell? What kind of misplaced vamp-mullet is that?

What was director Catherine Hardwicke thinking, putting that Eddie Munster widow's peak on a teenage werewolf? Pretty clear to me whose team she was on.

That's right.

Edward.

Even if she did dress him like a dud.

So the challenge is in place.

Will this latest example of institutionalized sexism in the Hollywood movie industry director do a better job convincing we cougar vampire moms to switch from Team Edward to Team Jacob?

Six-pack abs Game on!

edward swooners, hearken

If you are, or ever were, a fan of Edward, of Twilight fame, and are in need of a fix, pay heed.

Just recently we joined Netflix. ('bout time, right?)

My son quickly put in his picks:

Survivor: Season Two, Disc 1

Survivor: Season Two, Disc 2

Survivor: Season Two, Disc 3

Survivor: Season Two, Disc 4

Survivor: Season Two, Disc 5

Survivor: Season Two, Disc 6

Not a big Survivor fan, I realized I'd better get in queue or throttle my son, one.

Going through the ratings, Netflix generated Mira Nair's film adaptation of Vanity Fair. Reese Witherspoon as the formidable Becky Sharp.

There's nothing I love more in life on screen than classic period films.

Vanity Fair arrived in my mailbox two days later.

Only after it was playing did I realize I had already seen it. Argh. This middle-aged memory loss is a mo-fo. But I enjoyed every minute of it. Watched most of it Friday night. Turned it off midway due to a camping trip next day. Watched the remainder Sunday evening.

Yeah, that's right. A camping trip bookended by Vanity Fair. Life is fucking awesome good.

So fucking awesome good was the movie, this second time around, I didn't want it to end. I closed my bedroom door and indulged in post movie play the director-narrated version. All the way baby through.

And when that wasn't enough, I selected Deleted Scenes.

The Alternate Ending clip delivered quite the unexpected denouement: Master Edward.

And here it is. (I just love youtube, don't you?)

Potential spoiler alert, sort of, if you haven't seen Vanity Fair. This scene reveals previous plot developments.

For the sad lot those of you looking for a quickie, fast forward to 48 seconds; 3:07; 4:27.

a dream and a determination

I just woke up from a bad dream. Or I guess you could call it a middle-aged-married-woman-with-three-kids version of a nightmare.

In this dream I was driving in an unfamilliar area out in the countryside looking for the house of friends. My husband was there waiting for me and we were meeting for dinner. I remembered his directions, "If you drive into the historic part of downtown, you've gone too far." (Never mind that winding country roads never lead to historic parts of downtown. Our mind's acceptance of dream unreality is a strange phenomenon.)

Sure enough, I approach the historic district with it's four story homes, six feet tall shuttered windows, wrapping front porches adorned with strands of tiny white lights. It's a restaurant district.

I become lost in this downtown area and try to wind my way out when I spot my husband's car. Strange, what is he doing here?

I park my car and wander into the restaurant in search of my errant husband. I find myself

standing on a 2nd story balcony, looking down just in time to see my husband who looks nothing like my current husband but like an amalgamation of my former boyfriend and the actor Edward Norton.

Yes, I have the hots for Edward Norton.

I see husband Norton dart across the landing below, smiling over his shoulder in a flirtatious manner, reaching for the hand of an equally firtatious blonde 20 years my junior and 60 pounds my lighter. Think Naomi Watts. And yes, I am a brunette who carries a natural resentment toward all blondes for all the fun I imagine them having.

Also pertinent, my relationship with the former boyfriend partially starring in my dream ended when he began a real life flirtation with a skinny-ass blonde to whom he introduced me nonchalantly one night as he was bartending and I instantly knew something was up. But that's a digression I will resist at the moment. The point is, there's meaningful emotional memory here and I'm staring at it from my balcony perch in a deja vu of disbelief.

The dream goes on to my finding Norton and Naomi in an even more compromising attitude, on a couch in some back room of the restaurant, with me confronting him/them (because Naomi will not take a hint and leave my dream) only to have him/them give me the equivalent of a shoulder shrug, as if to say, "So?"

And there's hardly a more crushing feeling than to have your shocked, broken hearted, cheated on indignation shrugged off as if it's no more of a biggie, than say, finding a small parking lot ding in the rear of your eight-year-old car.

And then the dream winds it's way to a point where I run away with plans to ignore him, in the vein of, I'll show him! But then I remind myself that this is exactly what husband Norton and Naomi would want. So I turn around and desperately hunt them down. I confront husband Norton a second time, a third time with my tears and my hysteria and my How Could You's, my How Could You Do This to Me? To Us? To US?!? only to find him, once again, looking at me quizzically, as if to say, What is your problem?

And to hear him ask what did I expect, after all I was a sour puss, was no fun, was a downer, was boring, never smiled. (The not smiling thing? Something I have heard all my life.) The only thing he didn't say was, And you're fat. But he didn't need to.

And then I see me turning away, finally. Defeated. Devestated. Resigned.

So this is how it's going to be. Divorced and alone at 50. Overweight, out of shape, and out of a steady sex partner and second income.

My head drops, I walk out into the misty night rain, skulking back to my car, heart heavy. I pass a single friend of mine from graduate school who is enjoying a girls night out, and say, "Don't be surprised if I start joining you." She looks at me with an uncomprehending expression but I don't stop to explain.

I wake up with the same sinking feeling I had many years ago, thinking, No man is trustworthy. No man cherishes the longterm intimacy and attachment that comes with years of companionship. No man can resist the younger, thinner, shapelier temptress.

And then I really wake up. I locate myself in my bedroom, under my sheets and my wedding ring quilt, listening to NPR's Steve Innskeep tell us Liberace's Museum is Closing Its Glittery Gates.

I then hear the comforting sounds of Sam getting our kids ready for school. I hear him shouting at our daughter, Don't tell ME to calm down. I tell YOU to calm down! And her usual refrain, Dad! You are SO MEAN!

I stumble out of bed and walk my bleary-eyed self into the kitchen. I nod my head sleepily as Sam tells me his version of the yelling.

All at once I feel better. I smile. And am determined to smile more often.

the lion sleeps tonight

Sen. Edward M. Kennedy

1932-2009