The defense for my Twilight fascination

The defense of this posting may arrive at a later date.


This weekend a friend of mine noticed the Twilight poster pinned to my daughter’s bedroom door and said, “Twilight? You? Really? That’s trendy.”  So I’ve been experiencing the need to explain. Okay. Here it goes.

The poster technically belongs to my daughter because it’s on her door…because I talked myself out of hanging it on my bedroom wall/ceiling, and after you turn thirty, posters in the living room just look tacky.

Yes. I tend to recoil from trendy things, but there have been a few in the past that have merit and true artistic integrity. #1. The Spice Girls The Beatles. 2# Leg warmers The Cabbage Patch Doll. 3# Kincaid Andy Warhol. Now, I have Twilight.

This Mormon has power. Not only has Stephanie Meyers motivated many teenage girls to read epic-sized novels, she’s brought out the 16 year old living inside of me (and the residual 20 year old). Thankfully I resisted the desire to set New Moon on fire when I read, “Today was my birthday” and later when Edward removes two motorcycles from the trunk of a Volvo. From my experience on the way to Denny’s one night, a Volvo trunk fits one living body comfortably. Only in the fetal position.

The endless similarities between Bella and I.

An awkward teenage klutz trapped in a small town…

…with zero athletic ability, makeup, money, or fashion sense.

Dating an icy, bloodsucking monster.

The vampire named Rosalie (love you Ro!).

Risking eternal damnation for a nibble on the neck.

If you’re Twilight obsession is based entirely on the first movie, you’re over thirty, and you haven’t read any of the books–get yourself to a hospital STAT, ask for a head CT with contrast. That was horrible and left many important aspects out. Like vampire teeth.

How will the movie industry do with the last movie Breaking Dawn. The borderline incestuous family is nothing.  How will they make it socially acceptable? If done correctly, it will be like David Lynch for children. In a few more years, we will know.

Looks like they may have learned their lesson. But maybe that’s just the hormones talking.

Who needs dialogue?

This is the closest I can get to enjoying a teenage werewolf’s physique without violating Megan’s Law.

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