Crawling Back On The Gyllenwagon. Kind Of.

Those of you unfortunate enough to have been acquainted with me and this blog back in 2008 will probably remember the extremely intense, protracted, disturbing, only slightly ironic and (hopefully intentionally) hilarious phase during which my universe revolved around Jake Gyllenhaal. It was a time which birthed truly epic posts, the likes of which I may never create again, simply because I cannot remember how I managed to muster that level of fanatic attachment to this one man.


Oh. I think I remember now.

Luckily for all of us, that phase eventually passed, and I learned to dole out healthy doses of obsession among a wide and varied collection of unattainable famous boyfriends. But Jake of the Gyllenhaals will forever remain the biggest and most influential celebrity crush of my young life, and recently I found myself wondering what he might be up to these days, and that maybe I should go catch up with him, for old times' sake.

And then I see this.




WHAT IS THIS FUCKERY, JACOB.

Now, I admit I was kind of aware of the fact that they were allegedly dating, but the news never really registered in my mind, for some reason. I was ready for the outbreak of blog posts which would eventually reveal one of three things :

1. They were just good friends, and the whole thing was being misconstrued by the gossip media.
2. It was an opportunistic PR stunt to promote his new movie and her new album.
3. The whole thing was an elaborately crafted Photoshop hoax, designed to make me cry (I didn't).

Fortunately, they did break up at some point while I still wasn't looking, but not before all this nonsense took place. Behold :

a. Walking romantically down the street in a ridiculously inconvenient fashion.



What do you two clowns think you're doing? What is this? Why does your hand need to be draped so senselessly across his chest like that, Taylor? Why would you two choose to stroll down this lovely city sidewalk in the manner most restrictive to your physical mobility? Does (the illusion of) romance take such precedence over normal human movement? What happened to walking side by side, and maybe holding hands? Why do let yourselves walk so stupidly, Gooberballs?


Much better. Idiots.


b. Buying hipster coffee, all hipsterishly.



Ugh.

c. Contaminating Maggie Gyllenhaal's universe.


You really overstepped the line here, Swift. This is an outrage. Mack on Jake all you want, but this? This is Maggie Gyllenhaal we're talking about. You can't just touch her kid, or her grocery shopping, or breathe her air, or be seen with her in public. Do you know how disgusted - oh. She actually looks...happy to have you around. I don't...I can't.... Is she also a part of all this? Did she get roped into this performance? How am I supposed to carry on when I can't place my faith in a Gyllenhaal any longer? What has this family come to??


After all this foolishness, came the news that Jake had broken up with Taylor over the phone.



And so all the pretty princess unicorns wept.


And I was ever more convinced that this was nothing more than a publicity thing taken a bit too far. I have nothing against Taylor Swift as a person, even if I do think her music is vapid, albeit catchy, and her overall image perpetuates a few things I simply cannot stand (princess culture nonsense and a fair amount of slut-shaming in her videos, not to mention the perpetual virginal-white-dress-of-purity). This whole debacle, whatever it was, seemed far too staged, too odd, and generally did not make sense. I guess I just cannot see what a guy like Jake could find attractive in a girl like Taylor (as opposed to a girl like, oh I don't know, ME). I suppose she's pretty. But what did they even talk about while they were dating? Taylor Swift, from what I can tell, is a 22 year-old with the mindset and world view - romantically, at least - of a 15 year old. Everything about this screams "PR sham".

edit : These days I'm more convinced that Swift is actually much shrewder and smarter than I gave her credit for, and that all her musical pandering to the fairy-dust-teardrops-on-my-guitar brand of eternal high school romance is just her evil genius way of winding her core audience firmly around her little finger. But that's another post for another day.


No; if anything, this has brought Jake down a few pedestals in my eyes. It's one thing to date a younger woman, but another story entirely to do it in the interests of a PR-friendly hookup (which is most likely the case here). For shame, Jacob. I honestly thought you were made of better stuff than that. And why, really? Why, Jacob? Both you and Taylor are perfectly prolific, marketable and attractive on your own terms. Why together? Why you? Fire your publicist, child. I should never have taken my eyes off you, post-Reese Witherspoon. I didn't like that much either, but at least she was a grown-ass woman who knew what she was doing and was less likely to be in the grip of romantic fairy dust high school delusions.



You know I'm serious when I actually start yearning for the old days of yore when GyllenSpoon was all the rage (GyllenSpoon. Heh).

But then I hopped over to Youtube and watched some new interviews of you, and by god Jake. you are as charming, hilarious, sensitive, sincere, dorky and adorable as you ever were. Consider myself half-smitten again, Jacob. But the road to redemption is a long and rocky one, and I've got one eye planted firmly on you from this day forth. So don't try anything shady. Now buckle up and get ready for that awful, awful, awful song that is going to be written about you any day now.



edit : This is evidently ancient news, but I had actually drafted this post up last September, and having come across it today, decided to publish it anyway. Why waste a perfectly good Gyllenblogging opportunity, amiright?

More Love and Less Pushing, Because I Am Honestly Too Old To Deal With This Bullshit [Foster The People Live In KL, 13 January 2012]

After two months of giddy anticipation, Foster The People finally came down to this part of the world for an unexpected but very welcome addition to their Asian tour dates. Here is a slightly muddled recap of the good, the bad, and the shitloads of plain ugly that went down on Friday night.

• Sue Fyenn and I managed to make friends with some adorable first time concert-goers while waiting in line, which was lovely, because meeting new people who love the same things you do is never not awesome.
  
  
• The sound system was fairly good, but could have done with more work ; the synths and vocals on some tracks were far too soft, and the bass and drums were often a little overpowering. The band gave it their all and had some terrific energy though, so I am ready to forgive.
  
  
• The cover of Weezer's Say It Ain't So, and two non-album tracks, Ruby and Broken Jaw, ended up being the highlights of the night for me. For one thing, those were three songs where you could actually hear Mark Foster's voice, which is most excellent, because that boy can sing. Nay, that boy can saaaaang.
  
  
• Let us now talk about the crowd. I have always heard about gig experiences that were otherwise ruined by an asshole or two, and now I finally understand the utter frustration that comes from a large group of people who all collectively decide to behave in the shittiest way possible. I'm talking to you, a large portion of ticket holders of the front section of the Fanatic Zone area. Yes, you.
  
  
• I am not talking about your standard gig moshing. I am talking about pushing, elbowing, shoving and falling over even before the gig started, which obviously got that much more worse when the band actually took to the stage. I am talking about the entire front section of that crowd stampeding to the left and right, to follow Mark Foster across the stage.
  
  
• I am talking about Mark Foster himself having to take a few moments in between songs, early in the set, to call out that section of the audience for aforementioned pushing and shoving, and ask everyone to please give everyone else some space, "because it's all fun and games until someone dies, guys".
  
  
• I am talking about people who continued to behave like dicks even after being called out by Mark Foster himself. I was so relieved when he actually tried to get people to stop shoving. So relieved. Because people who love Mark Foster and his music so much would obviously pay heed and listen to him, no? No. No such shit. But thanks for your concern, Mark. Didn't work, but much appreciation anyway.
  
  
• I have been to my fair share of gigs of the moshing variety, and never once have I ever genuinely feared for my life, the way I did last night. I am talking about people in the front rows being pressed against metal barricades so hard, they couldn't breathe. I am talking about flat-out panic. For those of us in possession of any amount of gig etiquette knowledge, it wasn't fun. It wasn't wild. It wasn't whack, you guys. It was scary, it was annoying beyond all comprehension, and it robbed us of the musical experience we should have enjoyed that night.
  
  
• You know what else I'm talking about? I am talking about that girl I have never met who passed out next to me, while I was trying my hardest to hold on to her arm and not let her drop to the floor, where I would definitely lose her in the darkness and confusion. I am talking about the people who were ready to climb over her to get closer to the stage, and I am talking about having to scream DO NOT FUCKING MOVE at everyone within a three-foot radius to make sure that kid did not get trampled, while the band went on
  playing whatever song it was they were playing at that point.
  
  
• I am talking about first-time concert goers who were pretty much in tears, claiming that this would be their first and last gig, because nothing could be worth this much physical and emotional trauma.
  
  
• I missed almost all of Houdini because some bitch was screaming and yanking at my hair with both hands. Are you kidding me? Are you kidding me?
  
  
• And to those obnoxious, entitled pre-teen girls standing behind me before the gig started? If you know you're short and will have problems seeing the stage, come early and pick out a good spot. It is in no way your god-given right to elbow and bulldoze your way to the front. It is not your god-given right to keep elbowing me in the back and the side of my left boob, expecting me to take the hint. It is not awesome to actually use your elbow to wedge out a space between me and the girl next to me. I do not have the memory span of a goldfish, which means that after you're done poking me, you can't just sweetly ask me to "please swap places, pleeeeeease?", because you girls haven't exactly been endearing yourselves to me for the past twenty minutes.
  
  It is not cool to keep elbowing, shoving, smushing, making very loud and pointed passive-aggressive remarks and leaning your entire weight on everyone around you, especially me, when you have been repeatedly told to kindly fuck the hell off. If you had actually started off with a polite request to have me give you some space closer to the stage, I would have been nice and totally let you move up front, no problem. It only became a big, obnoxious, shitty deal because you turned it into one.
  
  
• To the folks I met there who were actually nice, and who looked for out each other and spent a few minutes after the show going around and asking everyone if they were okay, thank you. Thank you. I never learned your names, but you are all a collective beacon of hope in the crumbling ruins of my shattered faith in the inherent goodness of humanity.
  
  
• To the people who have been going all "Well, that's just the gig environment for you, totally normal, happens all the time", or "You bought tickets to the FANATIC zone, what were you expecting?". Fuck that shit. What was I expecting? I was expecting a fun, rowdy, boogie-down time. I expected some roughness, some pushing, some degree of having people get all up in my grill. I wasn't expecting to stand there fearing serious, permanent damage to my internal organs while Pumped Up Kicks played in the background. I wasn't expecting to constantly have to check on people next to me, to make sure they were still breathing. I wasn't expecting to have to type out a barely sort-of gig review with next to nothing I can actually say about the music. I wasn't expecting to walk out of that hall feeling shitty beyond belief, angrier than I have been in a long time, and on the verge of tears. Normal gig behaviour? I'm sorry, but what happened on Friday night was pure lunacy. I understand the passion, the euphoria, the insane mob mentality that comes over people in that situation. It does not make that behaviour acceptable on any planet. Justifying that behaviour or even expecting and accepting dickishness at a concert, is crossing a line with me. Delegitimizing my experience in there by insinuating that I was being an oversensitive prude who couldn't deal with a bunch of clearly overexcited teenage girls, that I am overreacting, is not cool either.
  
  
• By the fifth song, I was seriously considering trying to catch the attention of a security guard and getting the hell out of there, but I came up with the much better and wiser decision of moving as far back into the crowd as possible. Eventually I came across a pocket of people who were very calm, happy and clearly just there to have a good time. Not to mention they had the sense to give everyone at least half a foot of dancing space. Once there, I was able to enjoy the last seven or eight songs in the set, which was highly fortunate for me. I still feel incredibly bad for the people who were trapped up there in the first few rows with nowhere to go and absolutely no way of being genuinely able to enjoy this gig.
  
  
• All in all, I would feel really bad if I crowned this as the worst gigging experience of my life, because Foster The People themselves were on top form, were incredibly nice, and did nothing to merit the undeniably shitty behaviour that surfaced that night. They deserved better fans than this ; anyone would expect more love and positivity from fans of such a happy dancey band. And hell, people like me who showed up to have a good time, only to be almost entirely robbed of that experience by other people in attendance, also deserved much better. I can also personally testify that not everyone in Hall 4, KLCC, that night were assholes, but all the same? Shame on us, Kuala Lumpur gig-goers. Shame on us.
  
  
  

I offer a sincere apology to you, Foster The People, for the collective lunacy of a crowd that was more interested in letting you know (as loud as humanly possible) how much they wanted you to fuck them, a crowd perfectly willing to kill each other over their race to get prime stage-front spots, rather than listening to anything you had to say that night. For a far more heartfelt and eloquent apology, head over to read Sue Fyenn's open letter to the band. And here's to purging all the worst memories from Friday night, and looking forward to the next rocking, fun and positive, palate-cleansing concert experience.

I'm glad I was fortunate enough to have been able to safely enjoy the last half of the night, but all the same, I'll just listen to MGMT and Phoenix until I stop feeling a physical ache in my chest every time I hear a Foster The People track.

edit :
It has recently come to my attention that the management and security were pretty crap as well - most people from various ticket sections got mixed up at the entrance, a dividing gate/barricade/thingy was left open so that people from the back could come charging up towards the stage, which obviously did not help matters. Also, a video screen was placed on the back wall of the auditorium, instead of somewhere in front, or the sides. You know, where people would actually be able to see it. How are these people allowed to manage events? How?

All in all, worst concert experience of my life to date, and it was never, at any point, the band's fault. I cannot stress this enough, because Foster and his People did a fabulous job. In any case, a million thanks to the band for coming all the way here, and if the guys ever decide to pay a visit to KL again, I know where I'll be ; safely in the middle of the venue, having my own personal boogie-down time and not getting punched in the head.


moar edits :

I really don't want to be superficial here, but yes, Mark Foster is insanely good-looking up close. It is a testament to his total nom-liciousness that even in the midst of being tossed around like a rag doll, I had the time to look up at the stage and register this thought : "Fucking hell, he is fine". You gotta appreciate the little things, you know.

"Men Seldom Make Passes, At Girls Who Wear Glasses"

The makeover reality show (reality makeover show?) Plain Jane is something that flew under my radar a little bit when I first caught the opening episode earlier this year. There were several things about it that bugged me, but I wasn't able to fully articulate them until now, when I managed to sit through two or three episodes of the second season (who keeps renewing all the shit shows anyway?).

To put things in context ; each week, British fashion expert and self-professed "fairy godmother"Louise Roe takes one average-looking, socially awkward young woman in her early twenties, and gives her a head-to-toe, inside-to-outside makeover. At the end of the show, the no-longer-so-Plain Jane is put into heels and a tight dress, and sent tottering down a dramatic staircase to confess her love to the guy she's been secretly pining over for years.


1. Being a "plain" girl is bad.

First of all, here's just one example of what this show considers to be an unattractive woman.

Right.

These girls, to me, look and are perfectly fine. Sure, they could all use some polish here and there, but the show takes it several steps further. The girls are made out to be walking fashion disasters, completely socially inept, and general failures at being women at all. It's patronising and insulting, and for a show meant to be empowering and feel-good, it does exactly what everything else in mainstream media already does for women ; it emphasizes a certain beauty ideal and constantly reminds you of how inadequate you are until and unless you change the way you look so drastically that cute boys will finally want to actually speak to you, let alone have voluntary sexy timez with you.

Second of all, it's really striking to note how there really isn't a male equivalent for the term Plain Jane. It seems to be in a category of derogatory words apparently created exclusively for women (slut, spinster, bitter old cat lady) that somehow don't apply to men. As my Gender & Sexuality lecturer is all too fond of saying ; "That is really something you need to think about".


2. Being a true woman means you need to like makeup, cute shoes, and doing your hair.

No plaid shirts, sweats, ponytails or comfortable shoes for you, young lady. Nope. Because what will people (read : your super cute crush) think?? Not at all - you must be an expert at slathering three different kinds of foundation on your face, you must sashay down sidewalks like a goddess in strappy high heels, you must have impeccable hair. Do you enjoy playing football, eating pizza with your fingers, conducting scientific experiments, and reading lots of books? Well aren't you the tomboy. All that will have to change, or at least be tucked away long enough for your crush to not notice. Plain Jane is here to help you embrace your womanity and turn you into A REAL GIRL dammit.


3. Flirting is the most important life skill you will ever learn.

Or at least, that's what the people over at Plain Jane will have you know. There is a segment of the show devoted to teaching our Jane how to flirt properly ; how to be coy, how to giggle, how to keep the conversation "light and fun". She is usually set up at a restaurant or a park, with a string of fine young gentlemen she is meant to impress within a certain time limit. Which leads me very nicely into :


4. Electrocution is TOTALLY ACCEPTABLE in the noble mission of imparting the art of flirtation to sad, lonely, desperate plain women.

I'm not even kidding. The girls on this show are fitted with a device that will administer a mild electric shock (but still an electric shock) if they do anything wrong during their crash course in Flirting 101. The fairy godmother hostess Louise Roe ensconces herself nearby, out of sight, armed with a hidden camera and advice from an expert in body language or psychology, and presses the electrocution button at any sign of bad flirtation behaviour. These transgressions include everything from laughing too loudly (how unladylike), being "goofy" or "dorky" (oh god forbid) or asking the guy what he does for a living and whether he enjoys it (so unsexy).


5. It is completely appropriate to stalk your crush when Louise Roe makes you do it.

Here's the thing ; the crush in question is usually someone the girl already knows, and is pretty good friends with. So the unrequited loving is not a case of admiring the dude from a tortured, pining distance, while he goes on with his life without a clue that our Plain Jane even exists. He knows her, and clearly likes her enough to be her friend and hang out and stuff.

Which makes it that much creepier when Louise Roe insists that "I simply must have a look at this crush of yours!" and immediately employs all sorts of inappropriate fairy godmother ninja moves, like stalking him at the park from inside a large black SUV with tinted windows. Or skulking around shelves at the campus library, trying to get a glimpse of him through stacks of dusty books. The crush is oblivious, and carries on drinking his coffee or perusing his astrophysics textbook or tossing his Frisbee around (this is not a euphemism for...anything). And as our Plain Jane candidate gets ever more nervous and flustered, Louise Roe is all like "Why are you freaking out?" and I'm like BECAUSE YOU'RE MAKING HER ACT LIKE EVERY BAD GUY IN EVERY SPY MOVIE EVER. And also like Edward Cullen.


6. Going skydiving (once) will give you self-confidence.

Plain Jane isn't all about external beauty. Nope. Once per episode it tries really hard to pretend that it also cares about other things, like how our Jane might be afraid of taking risks, resists change, finds it difficult being spontaneous, or is afraid of snails. The prescribed cure is usually one round of some sort of extreme activity which involves jumping out of a plane in mid-air, or variations thereof. And voila! Self-esteem!

Okay.

The only good thing I can say about this stage of the makeover is that it's the closest the show ever comes to acknowledging the women's own personality or interests. The rest of the time, Plain Jane is just too busy glamming these girls up to really care.


7. Getting the guy at the end.

And therein lies my biggest problem with this show - the ultimate prize, the final goal, the greatest incentive to go through with the entire makeover process, is the promise of True Love at the end of it all. Louise Roe can yammer on all she wants about how it's not just about the guy; the fact is that the show is packaged that way. Every stage of the makeover is somehow designed with "What will Ty/Benny/Matt/etc. think?" in mind. It's real life packaged as a romantic comedy - awkward geeky girl in glasses, handsome and seemingly unattainable love interest, makeover montage with the help of an impossibly glamorous fashion fairy, all sorts of slapstick shenanigans courtesy of our heroine's inherent clumsiness/social awkwardness, culminating in a romantic fantasy of transforming into a beautiful, stylish, confident and desirable woman who will finally clinch the affections of the long-time crush.


The one redeeming quality of this show is most definitely the Plain Jane girls themselves. All of them seem sweet, genuine, goofy, funny, smart, and the kind of people I wouldn't mind hanging out with at all. None of them come across as fame-hungry young things jonesing for their 15 minutes in the spotlight. They seem to really want the help they've asked for, and there is not a whiff of pretentiousness to be found anywhere. And in a reality TV climate so full of rich, entitled, vapid, stupid people becoming famous for no reason at all, this is refreshing indeed.

Here's an entire episode of Plain Jane condensed down into three and a half minutes, so you can experience it for yourselves, and also witness Louise Roe's incredibly frightening, spindly, insect limbs of evil.

OMGWTFBBQFAIL

We now return to one of my favourite pastimes ever ; Twilight-hating! I was skimming through the last (or hopefully the last) instalment of the atrocious thing, when I came across what is possibly the worst sentence Stepehenie Meyer has written.


"I guess my brain will never work right. At least I'm pretty. "
-Breaking Dawn ch.20 p.406

Actual words in an actual book which is actually published and is an actual literary and pop culture phenomenon. I fear for my generation. If that line had been written by anyone else I may have stopped and considered the possibility that those last four words were uttered under influence of sarcasm but I know all too well by now that Bella is too STUPID to be sarcastic in any form.

Other notable offenders from this sorry excuse of a novel;

1. My mother is part albino.
OMGWTFBBQ I don't even know. When read in context of the rest of the page, this is officially the Most Random Statement Ever.

2. I had been vacillating during the last month between Bruce Wayne and Peter Parker.
18 year old girls don't use the word "vacillating", SMeyer, however intelligent they may be. In Physics homework maybe, but not in their deep, intense and passionately romantic bloodsuckage memoirs.

3. It was all I could do to keep myself from falling backward. He'd probably just drag me along anyway if I did.
Says the girl who is so pathetically dependant on her undead boyfriend that she can't even walk straight without his guidance. WTF Bella. Your clumsiness, no doubt meant to be endearing and quirky, does not charm me in the slightest.

4. His liquid topaz eyes were penetrating - trying futilely, I assumed, to lift the truth straight from my mind.
a. I'm not entirely convinced that "futilely" is a real word.
b. Imagine phrases like "liquid topaz eyes" and "alabaster skin" all repeated a few thousand times across 400 pages or so and you have a rough idea of what it is to read this book. I beg you to resist the urge to defenestrate yourself at the mere thought.

5. You...made...me...faint...
You...trigger...my...gag reflex...

6. His voice was sad. He was wallowing.
Yes yes wallowing. In his own stunning liquid topaz beauty.

7. I should be afraid - I know I should be but I couldn't find the right kind of fear.
And therein lies one of Twilight's biggest problems - the absolute lack of tension. Because Bella is far far too dumb to have any sense of self-preservation. A vampire is lusting after her blood in particular and she remains in some hazy hormone-induced fantasy of electric skin-to-skin contact and almost-but-not-quite-kissing and "OMG will Edward be in Biology today?" and "Oh god he's looking at me he is so hot I wonder what he smells like". It's basically Sweet Valley High with some supernatural beings thrown in to give it the impression of badassery, complexity and intensity. All of which it does not possess.

8. Stupid shiny Volvo owner.
Not entirely sure if the adjectives refer to the owner or to the car, but they'd be accurate either way. Edward does sparkle in the sunlight, after all. And he's pretty stupid to boot.

9. He unleashed the full, devastating power of his eyes on me, as if trying to communicate something crucial.
Does this read like bad fan fiction or does this read like bad fan fiction?

10. His voice was like melting honey. I could imagine how much more overwhelming his eyes would be.

You learn a lot about Edward's eyes. It's like the weather report up in here, peeps.


IN CONCLUSION!

Oh How It Irks Us That So Many Millions Are Made Off One Mormon Housewife's Wet Dream

I am not the type to hate on something for the pure sake of hating on it, so you can be sure that my anti-Twilight sentiments aren't born from a need to seem cool or set myself apart from the herd. It's just that it has been years and years since I have found something so much fun to hate on. And very deserved as well. I mean, I'll spare you the details, but let's just say that Twilight (books and films) are AWFUL. Just plain AWFUL. The kind of AWFUL that defies definition, really. Not AWFUL the way B-grade horror films are, even, because Twilight seems to actually take itself seriously, making its AWFUL-ness all that more painful to witness.
And right after exams are over, I shall run off to the nearest cinema to watch New Moon and validate everything I already know is AWFUL about it. But in the meantime, here's a little list of the most ridiculous Twlight-themed/inspired merchandise on the planet.

Harper Collins' "Twilight Fans" reissues series.


Wuthering Heights, Romeo & Juliet and Pride & Prejudice. All with brand-spanking-new Twilightesque cover designs (heck, with the exact same colour scheme, even) with suitably vampiric blurbs like "Love Never Dies" and all that shit. I came across this in the Sunday paper Christmas gift recommendations list and nearly had a fit. Of course, it would only be natural, considering that Wuthering Heights happens to be Bella's favourite book (two really awful people being all obsessed with each other? Oh LOL), and all three novels were responsible for inspiring SMeyer in her writing efforts. And I suppose you'd think it's a good thing that a whole new generation of young female readers would be introduced to classic literature and all, right? Right? NOT RIGHT. Not when SMeyer is telling them to read it. Not when the books have been given a proper contemporary Gothic makeover and are being marketed as companions to the tragicepicloveofalltimes that is Edward/Bella. Not cool. Not cool at all. Jane Austen, she spins in her blessed grave.


Custom Shower Curtain

Seriously. Who wants that noggin staring at you while you're taking a dump or something? This one was made upon special request, and somehow that makes it creepier than if it were a mass-produced item.


Edward Wall Shadow


Possibly the most disturbing of the lot. It's basically this life size vinyl Robert Pattinson-shaped sticker that you can put up on your bedroom wall and pretend that Edward-OMG-So-Hot! is watching you sleep every night. Quite realistic in that sense, because that's what he is, anyway. A creepy stalking stalker who stalks. And if you're on Team Jacob, fret not! They also sell Taylor Lautner-flavoured ones. There are also smaller versions for your laptop and stuff, but really. Big is always better.


Twilight perfume.


You won't find these anymore. Apparently the bottle design was a rip-off of an existing perfume brand (staying true to SMeyer's tradition of pathetic unoriginality) and production was shut down. I'm curious though. What did it smell like? Was it yummy and tantalizing like Bella's blood? Or swoon-inducing like Edward's vampy breath?


Coffin couch

It comes in red, purple and black to match any home decor, and would be a truly unique addition to your living room, parlour, kitchen or grave. You know. For when your pathetic mortal body gives out. Think of the money you'd save on funeral costs. Just tack a few nails on top and you're all set for the afterlife.


Twilight Barbie

Indeed. You can now own the Barbie and Ken versions of Edward and Bella. The dolls don't look very authentic, though. I mean, there is no way RPattz's hair is that clean. And honestly, could they not have made the Bella a wee bit more sulky? When does Kristen Stewart ever smile?


Twilight Edward body shimmer

It's basically like one of those sticks of regular body glitter, except this one has Pattinson's face on it. So now you can sparkle the way Edward does in his Sparkly Meadow of Sparklitude bathed in buttery sunshine (buttery being the bestselling flavour of sunlight in SMeyerverse).


Twilight t-shirts
You get those lame one that say "Team Jacob" or "Mrs. Edward Cullen", and they're all pretty generic, really. Except the one this guy is wearing. The one this guy is wearing, is awesome.


And this one, which is a bit sad. Oh, SMeyer, what have you done to humanity??



Sparkly vampire dildo


That's right, ladies! It's a pleasure toy that sparkles in the buttery sunshine, just like every one's favourite pale, cold, creepy, emotionally unstable, abusive hot vampire! Also you can totally toss it in the fridge for that authentic, chilled vampire flesh feel. If you're that way inclined.



Also I've been hearing word around the interwebz that someone is coming up with a line of Twilight tampons, or Twilight-inspired tampon ads. So Edward can like, suck your blood for realz. HAHAHAHAHAHA!


Ugh.

I May Lose Some Bloggie Friends Here, So Please Help Me God If You're Really There And Then We Can All Try And Keep The Hate At A Bare Minimum.

Before I go on with this review I'd to extend my heartfelt apologies to International Mastermind, Random Irregular, and Irregular Kiki. These three ladies have been trying to get me to read Twilight for months now, and it pains me that I must be harsh. So please please please don't hate me for being honest! I love you guys! I do I do. I love you like I love Jensen Ackles and chocolate fudge ice-cream. Together or separately, doesn't matter. Now, on with it.

The Twilight series by Stephanie Meyer has long been touted as the "replacement" for the Magnificence that was Harry Potter, and I got sick of people telling me how wonderful Twilight is, so I went out of my way to borrow a copy from a friend, who passed it to me in an orange paper bag with very strict instructions as to how exactly I was supposed to hold the book and turn the pages ( which I did not mind one bit, since I torture others with the exact same instructions anyway). I read it in three sittings, and I have decided to review it in parts, as I usually do.


What Its Basically About
Bella Swan (Seriously. Bella Swan?? That's what you name your heroine? I realize I spent nigh on a decade following another fantasy series where characters had names like Dedalus Diggle and Nearly Headless Nick , but Bella Swan, in my humble opinion, is kinda pushing it. )
So anyway, Bella moves from Phoenix to a little rainy town called Forks, in Washington (of her own accord, may I point out) to live with her father, so her mom will be happier with her new squeeze. And to cut a long, long story short, at her new high school she catches the eye of like, the gorgeousest boy ever, and then she falls in love with him, and then she finds out he's like, really weird because he's like, totally a vampire, and he (Edward) finds the scent of her blood almost insanely unbearable but he controls himself because he loves her and doesn't want to hurt her, but then a bunch of not-so-good vampires (unlike Edward and his Gorgeous-Beyond-All-Reason family, who only drink animal blood) who totally want Bella's blood and it's up to Edward and His Gorgeous-Beyond-All-Reason family to save her.
That's what pretty much happens, except that for at least the first 300 pages we are treated to a mixture of over saturated teen angst and overly-disgusting teenage love. Seriously. Almost 300 pages full of Bella waiting and waiting to see if Edward will show up at lunch, or to 6th period Biology and I, of all people, understand obsessions, but this is just pathetic. Mainly because I don't really like Bella.

What I Didn't Like About Twilight

*Bella Swan
Never before have I come across a heroine who is so bland and so disgustingly drownd-ded in her own little obsession. She has virtually no personality, and her only positive trait seems to be the fact that she can make a mean lasagna and smells nice after a shower ( which I do too. So there). She arrives at her new school all sour and depressed and quite determined not to make friends, and then whines about how nobody seems to really want to talk to her. She moves to Forks of her own accord, mind you, and then goes abouts being all glum and oh-I'm-so-bored. Freaking martyr. And if her clumsiness and klutzy behaviour (banging into furniture, passing out frequently, etc) is supposed to be cute or endearing, well then, cute and endearing my *insert not-so-polite-word-here*. And screw the fact that Wuthering Heights is one of her favourite books. The fact was only mentioned in passing, and we only see her reading it once, almost like the author simply wanted to let us know that her heroine reads classic literature and therefore must be excessively intelligent. She's smart? That's nice. She's not funny. She's not particularly kind or generous. Everything nice she ever does for her family is tinged-no, soaked- in buckets of martyrdom. Her devotion to Edward is nauseating. I wouldn't even call it devotion, really. It must be some kind of classified mental disease. I mean, the guy's been breaking into her room every night for weeks to watch her sleeping and she finds that not only acceptable but also romantic? Can you say ICK? Dude. Bella. Really. Reading the story through her eyes makes me feel suicidal for the fact that her character even exists, and that millions of teenage girls see her, of all possible fictional characters, as a role model or one they can connect to (Hermione Granger! Hermione Granger dammit!). And I truly am sorry for being so harsh (especially to I.Mastermind and the Irregulars) but Bella just makes me so..so..so.........angry.


*The relationship between Bella and Edward.
I like Edward. I really do. Look beyond his Gorgeous-Beyond-All-Reasonness and he's actually a pretty nice guy. I feel bad for him actually. He's the one who has to constantly resist the lure of Bella's blood, and has to utilize every inch of his willpower to keep her safe from himself. And Bella, blockhead that she is, has no fear or concern at all for her own safety or even for Edward's own internal struggle. She continues to hang around him, letting him do all the abstinence-ing and self-controlling. Selfish *insert-you-know-what-word-here*. It's a totally unhealthy and unbalanced relationship, when Edward is the only one who has to take full responsibility of both their lives and safety and well-being. Sometimes I feel like clobbering him on the head for being such a doting fool. Why can't he go find some hot vampire chick somwhere, eh?
Another thing is the fact that you have virtually no idea why they're so deeply in love in the first place. Edward's reasons, if we ever get to find out, may be a little less superficial than Bella's. But in her case, the only impression I seem to get is that she's mad for him because he's so, well, gorgeous. Practically every single page is littered with descriptions of Edward's beauty. Sweet, honeyed, icky, worshipping descriptions of his lavender eyelids, or the perfect marble curve of his throat, or his impeccably sculpted lips. And you pretty much lose count of the number of times Bella had her stupid breath taken away by the sunlight's glow on his eyelashes or the way the lights in the Biology lab set off the contours of his nostrils or whatever. On. Every. Single. Blessed. Page. There were some that had me quite literally laughing out loud in disbelief, and thinking that what a shame it is that trees had to die in order to have this stack of ICKiness printed by the millions.
So why are they in love?
Because Edward's gorgeous.
Seriously, Ms. Meyer. Stop bloody objectifying your own male characters.


*Plot
Or the lack of it. After the first two points I think it's safe to say that pretty much nothing happens. Nothing that got this reader even mildly tense or interested anyway. In fact, I was kinda hoping somebody would just off Bella.

*The fact that this series actually exists.
Enuff said.


What I Actually Did Like About Twilight.

*Jasper Cullen
Jasper strikes me as being probably the Gorgeousest of his entire Gorgeous-Beyond-All-Reason blood-drinking family. And that's saying something since I have no clue as to what he's supposed to look like in the movies. He's the most interesting person in the entire book, mainly because he speaks the least and spends the rest of the time skulking in the background. I have a thing for characters who don't talk much and skulk in backgrounds. His special power is being able to control emotions, which makes me want to see him on Heroes really badly, because that would just kick ass. Being quite a recent vampire initiate, Jasper still has only minimum control over his vampirish urges, which makes him far more interesting because of the unpredictable, uhm, danger element. The boy seriously has no leash on him. And if anybody is likely to drain all the stinking blood out of Bella's icky body, it's Jasper. And if I ever pick up another book from Twilight series to read, it will only be to discover Jasper's fate and/or how he evolves. (Pleasedon'tdiepleasedon'tdiepleasedon'tiepleasedon'tdiepleasedon'tdiepleasedon'tdie)

*Twilight. The movie.

Look at all them pretty pretty peoples! Can somebody tell me which one Jasper is? I'm too lazy to Google. Oh wait. Sorry. They all come with labels. Oooooooo.....
Also I really liked Kristin Stewart in that other movie she was in, and maybe, just maybe, she could redeem Bella Swan just a little bit in my eyes.


The Verdict
Books me no likey.
Movie? I'm up for it. I can forgive almost anything if you stick an entire cast of gorgeous young people under my nose.
And more apologies to the Mastermind, the Random and the Kiki. Please girls, minimum hate! Please! I love you! Jensen and fudge! Just like I said earlier. Remember?

(A special shout-out to the BadTempered Zombie for presenting me with the awesome honour of a Superior Scribbler award! I shall blog about that next time, and present said Superior Scribbler Award to 5 of my own bloggie friends then. You want this award, you be nice to me. Start sucking up. Like, right now.)