Twilight: the Updated version

Thursday, November 20. 2008. 11:59 p.m.

Nicole grabs my hand. We squeal in unison, wetting our pants with the realization that our most beloved novels ever are being presented before us pictorially. FINALLY. No more imagining what Forks looks like. No more fantasizing about how Edward's lips look the exact moment he wraps them around Bella's. No more trying vainly to hear how Edward's velvet voice sounds. This is one of the more memorable moments of my life. The moment when Twilight hits the big screen. The moment when Sara Fradella's eyes get to orgasm for 2 hours straight, uninterrupted.

The theatre goes dim. Color grows softer, fainter. Excited babble about the movie dies immediately. All faces turn to the stretching canvas at the front of the room, eyes wide. Hearts pounding. It must be midnight. November 21st. The day for which I've been waiting a lifetime, it seems.

Nicole and I drop hands. Mine recoils into my sweatshirt as I sink further into my chair, trying to quiet the beating of my own heart. I open and re-open my eyes incessantly, nervous to miss the first shot of the movie.

Bella's voice. Black screen.

Then, slowly, a forest emerges from the mucky darkness. It's beautiful and vivid and moist and green, everything I pictured it would be. And more. I glance at Nicole quickly, perhaps wanting to exchange a nod of approval? I'm not sure, but it doesn't come to fruition anyway. She's engrossed beyond cognitive function.

I turn hurriedly back to the screen, realizing I've just broken one of my cardinal Twilight movie rules by turning away from the unraveling wonder before me. A deer. How beautiful. Something rustling in the forest. Hunting the deer? Of course. I'm amazed by the cinematography. In fact, I lose about 5 minutes of actual absorption of the film. Busy gazing at the richness of it all.

Bella in the desert. How beautiful. Packing a cactus. Leaving Arizona. Renee! Phil! All these characters, they look so accurate!! My hearts starts pounding again. Maybe, just maybe.....this will be a fantastic adaptation of the book. Just maybe it will transcend the very hard-to-transcend boundary between movie-adapted-successfully-from-a-novel and successful-movie. Just maybe.

I continue watching. Bella driving with Charlie through Forks. Bella unpacking. Bella meeting Jacob and Billy. All so similar to what I thought it should be. Well done, Stephanie Meyer. Well done.

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...But oh, what is this? Eric Yorkie is....Asian? Hm, I didn't....know....he was....owell. I see Mike Newton, or is THAT supposed to be Eric?? Mike HAS to be better looking than that.....why is he calling Bella "Arizona?"

I can feel my eyebrows furrow in the dimly lit room. My heart stops beating for nervousness, and is replaced with confusion. Thump. Jessica should not be introduced like this. Thump. Angela Weber isn't nosy and catty, and she is certainly not a photographer with her nose up Bella's ass. Thump. The Cullens have too much make up on. Thump. WHY is Emmett ghetto? Thump. Is Jasper....constipated?

I giggle idiotically to myself in the midst of.....well, complete silence. Apparently, I'm the only one who's noticed the over-acting.

There he is. The sharp intake of breath in the theatre is lost on no one, myself included. Edward. Edward, Edward, Edward. Look how he walks! Look how he....uh...looks!!! Oh my goodness he's so dreamy! He's so pale and sexy and- did Rosalie just eat a carrot?

I stop preparing myself for mid-movie-masturbation and turn my attentions back to the rest of the film. Yes, she did. Vampires don't eat vegetables. They drink blood, and blood only! What. The. Fuck.

I sit up and readjust. Minor hiccup. Doesn't matter. A movie buff and Twilight fan like me can forgive that quite easily.

THEN, it starts.

Bella walks into the science room, the heater hits her hair and blows an almost visible cloud of scent-o-human at Edward. He tenses up and jerks around like someone's just forcibly inserted a gerbil into his anus. The face he makes....I let a laugh escape my lips. I let it escape my belly really, seeing as it was a true laugh. A Santa Claus, hold your stomach, pain in your side, tears in your eyes laugh. And I don't stop. Not even when Nicole (and a few others, I'm sure) turns to me to try and quiet me with her eyes. To no avail, my guffawing continues for the next 80 minutes, or, also known as, the end of the movie.

Robert set it off with that most admirable bit of acting EFFORT. I can't actually call it acting, because that would be lying. I can't call the Twilight movie a success either, since that would be lying, also. I can, however, call it one of the biggest disappointments I've ever encountered in the realm of theatre. How tragic. And to think, I almost peed myself when this movie began.

The movie ends. Black screen. Some sort of music. Seats squeaking. Empty popcorn bags ruffling. NO talking. None. Everyone is lost in thought. In my case, mourning. The death of my favorite book series' film debut.

Twilight

Yes, I know. EVERYONE and their grandmother's dead grandmother is talking about it. It's like "the new Harry Potter" and "every Hot Topic customer's wet dream." It IS TEH Twilight.

I absolutely BEYOND LOATHE when people pick sides for the sake of picking sides. And that's what, oh, 60, 70% of the people I know have done. Many (most) of the folks I know have not read any of the books. And many (most) of the people I know therefore hate it. Why? Because it's popular.

God forbid I become really popular. There'll be a "Let's kill Sara" group on Facebook the day after the internet shrine is constructed in my honor.

I mean, seriously? Have you even seen a book cover for any of the novels? You're going to hate on it because it has a big following? Wow. Just, wow.

Typical conversation between myself and Twilight Hater A:

"Hmm Hmm Hmmm. *see's Twlight trailer on internets* Ooh!! Can't wait!!"

"*eyeroll so loud and obnoxious it actually gets my attention*"

"*blank stare* [Internal dialogue "God. Another one. Whatever, bring it."]"

"You read ''''''''Twilight'''''''''''? (< 700 sarcastic finger quotes)"

"yeah"

"OMFG WHAT THE HELL SO STUPID *vomit*"

"*blank stare*"

"BLARH BLARH LIKE SERIOUSLY LET ME GET THIS STRAIGHT THIS IS HOW THE STORY GOES 'HEY I'M BELLA MY LIFE SUCKS WAGGGH' ' HEY I'M EDWARD I'M A VAMPIRE RAWR' 'HEY OMG I LOVE YOU LAAAA' 'LET'S DO IT' 'MAKE ME A VAMPIRE' THE END! *eyebrow wiggle*......ha."

"*.......* .... *..blank stare*"

"Yeah, like so I've heard it's the single worst piece of literature ever written. Ever."

"*lightbulb*....wait, so, you've never actually read Twilight?"

"Well, no-"

"*chuckle*"

"But I-"

"*continues living life*"

I mean, really? At least read the book first. Then you can spill your stored up word vomit all over my t-shirt while I'm trying to do more productive things. Until then, SHUT THE FUCK UP.

OH MY GOD. I MEAN IT. SHUT. THE. FUCK. UP.

Art History Class today

"Chinaware pitcher included in this composition is a typical element of a Dutch still life.

...I'm hungry. Like, really hungry. Like starving in the middle of a desert, could-stab-to-death-and-eat-the-camel-I'm-supposed-to-be-riding hungry. Maybe I'll go to the Union and get Chik-Fil-A or something.

"By definition, still life painting is always a variation on the same theme."

...I don't have enough money to buy any Chik-Fil-A

"Simplicity of the vessels convey the wholesomeness of rustic life."

....I have no money....

"Other objects are rendered deliberately crude to focus all our attention on the copper object.:

*embarrassingly loud stomach growl*

"Perhaps Chardin's most ambitious still life painting.."

...*yawn* Fuck I hate yawning. Now my eyes are all leaky and I can't see my computer screen. Fucking shit. Fuck.

"Commissioned by Catherine the Great of Russia..."

I love cursing. Mm.

"Brushes, drawings, rulers, portfolios, academic awards, etc.."

Fuckety fuck fuck. Fucky McFuckerson! FuckDonald's. I want a fuckburger from FuckDonald's. And maybe some fuckfries.

"Attempt at a description of the intellectual and material universe of an artist."

Fuckfries. Haha.


"Chardin even convinced Diderot in his salon criticism of 1769 he wrote:..."

....I have to remember to never show my parents this blog.

"Here, the monkey as a painter becomes a sarcastic indictment of academic conventions."

*foot itches inside shoe* God DAMMIT!

"Alright, that is it for today. Have a good day everyone."

Alright, now all I have to do is make it to the elevator before everyone else so I can ride down one floor by myself. I'll use that time to RIP my shoe off and scratch that spot so hard that it NEVER itches again. Shiiiiit.

*hurries*

"Hey Sara, wanna go get some-" *bitch slap*

"Sara, hold the elev-" *close button close button CLOOOSEEE BUTTONNN*

Ahh. :)

Sally Mann: Intimidating as the fuck

I apologize for my brash entrance. It's just that I've been sauntering back and forth across the internet, going from blog to wiki bio to blog for hours, and I'm rather cranky. There is a woman, her name is Sally Mann, and I believe she sucked all the good photographs straight from the rest of America's inferior lenses and ate them for breakfast. 

I don't know how one person can..... feel so much. Express so much. So successfully. Coalesce thought and concept and execution so magnificently that all *I* can do as a viewer is stare at the finished product with my mouth hanging wide, bits of awe-induced drool slobbering down my (probably unclean) sweatshirt. What happened to critiquing? I practice PLENTY of that in the why-so-serious Art Department at LSU. Good Lord. Everyday is a critique. Let's critique our rough comps. Let's critique our....uh....ideas. Let's critique our wardrobe choices for the day. 

I should be able to critique Sally Mann. I should look at her like a fellow artist and try to actually pick apart the inner workings of her mind. But I don't do that in the face of greatness, and it makes me angry. I get stupid. I go cross eyed. Ugh.