by Author Name Withheld 45

Created on: October 28, 2009

I suppose we all look for diversions from the humdrum of life, and alas the book series Twilight has arrived. Recently I found myself surrounded at book club by giddy housewives waxing poetic over the young and mysterious hero of the novel, Edward. I shunned the actual reading of the book as a teen vampire theme did not seem too terribly compelling to me. However, several Cosmos later, I began to question my choice as I listened to this 40-something crowd croon and swoon over his mysteriousness, brooding eyes, and raw sexuality. Curiosity abounded, and I soon found the "cliff notes" version via a DVD viewed from the privacy of my bedroom. Mind you, I was preparing myself to be in the right place should I find myself stirred to wanton fantasies about youthful blood suckers; one should keep an open mind.

The movie begins with Edward as the brooding mystery man. I love a mystery, I do, but not one sporting an obscenely whitened face with red lip stick applied thicker than an overly enthusiastic Avon lady. Okay, keep an open mind; they are building the story, right? The young lass, Bella, sits next to him in Biology class, as he gives her the creepy stare down and oddly sniffs at her. Hello stalker! I do love the notion of being completely irresistible to someone, but a stare and sniff down seems a bit over the top even for me.

The movie goes on and on with Edward's clown face and stalker eyes never abating, lurking and watching Bella like some weird Big Brother, popping in to save her from being crushed to death by a car and being gang raped by drunken and marauding high school boys (hello melodrama!). The worst is Edward watching the poor Bella while she sleeps. I love a good fantasy, I do. I'm often being "altruistic" with Brad Pitt on an almost daily basis, but never, ever would I want the Bewitched pop-in while I'm sleeping. For goodness sake, I might be drooling with a wrinkled up face and matted down hair, grasping my pillow and blithering out unintelligible shout outs, and who knows what other untoward thing I might be doing while sleeping. No nocturnal pop-ins for me thank you very much. My young fantasy lovers need to be appointment only so that I can be gussied and flussied up with strappy heels and well into my second Chardonnay.

The only time young Edward did much of anything for me was when he played the piano and briefly danced to DeBussy's Claire de Lune; ah perhaps an intellectual and thoughtful side will be revealed? Unfortunately, the scene

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