From Ennui to Blind Rage

For months I resisted jumping aboard the Twilight train, because, well, I really had no interest. The movie looked dumb, and I'm horribly addicted to True Blood, so I figured there was a not chance in hell that it would even come close to measuring up.

However, I'd finished reading Chelsea Handler's latest, as well as Michael Ian Black's riveting masterpiece, My Custom Van, within two days, and was desperate. Stepmom had gotten Twilight for Christmas and there it was, sitting on the coffee table, taunting me. StepMom-lady finished it Christmas day, so I figured it'd be just as short a read for me, getting me through until Cosmo arrived on my doorstep.

So I read it. As expected, it was crap. I finished the last page with as enthusiastic a "huh" as I could muster, and then did some channel surfing.

Then today I come across this bullshit:Yep. That's it. Twilight perfume. For $50 you, too, can smell like a vampire... or vampire bait. I'm not entirely sure what its intent is. And you're not even gonna attract a cool vampire either. You're going to to draw a totally bogus and shitty vampire. Twilight vampires are vegetarians, for Christ's sake. Even human vegetarians suck. Also, these assholes turn sparkly in sunlight. Bad-ass vampires burn the fuck up if they even think about UV rays. They would certainly be disgusted that Stephenie Meyer is talking about their resemblance to a Lisa Frank glitter sticker in the sunlight like it's a good thing. It's not. It's gay.

While I'm bitching, I must add that the pathetic excuse for a heroine sets the Women's Rights Movement back a century or two. She faints once a chapter and is constantly getting rescued, and then when her emo vampire boyfriend dumps her ass, she gets suicidal. Fantastic role model for its young adult audience. Gah.

Looking back at that little rant, I suppose the horrifically mind-numbing shittiness of the book just needed a little time to sink in and little more of that oh so American parasitic merchandising, to turn my "huh" into a "aww hells no." I will as a result be spending the rest of my afternoon planning the picket signs I will be sporting at the approaching Teen Book Festival, and while I'm at it, I'm gonna write Anne Rice some hate mail, because her stupid vampire books suck too.