About the Author
Alister Flik grew up in a fundamentalist Christian home in the Midwest with a healthy variety of crazy available to her, and her middle child syndrome hardly affects her at all anymore. At 18, she moved to the West Coast, got a tattoo, and now lives happily as a quirky theist amidst the Portland heathens she so dearly loves. Her idols are Joan of Arc (crazy or not), Flannery O'Connor, and Daria. Her favorite superhero is the perfect superhuman combination of Joan of Arc, Flannery O'Connor, and Daria dressed in a cape, armor, boots, and armed with wit and a pen. She is currently looking for someone to illustrate this into a comic book.
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How Twilight Ruined My Life
Part 1

So, to be honest, the title is a bit of an exaggeration, but you should realize that good attention grabbers are required in media presentation. High school vampire lovers, for instance, really snag your attention. It doesn't have to be positive attention, as I'm sure many in the Twilight cult will hate my title. I'm not too fond of the plot behind their religion, though, so I guess we're even.

Now that we can begin on even footing, I should clarify what I mean by my title. I should do that, but as I've just started writing, I really don't know what I mean, yet. I'll figure it out along with you. All I know, is that my life absorbed quite an impact from the shockwave of the popular teen vampire explosion known as: Twilight Age, or to some, the Twilightage (pronounced differently).

In this age of undead hormonal romance, I find myself lost in a new culture. A culture where my pale skin is now seen as something bloodlessly attractive. My world is turned upside down, as I wonder what it would be like to have a suntan of diamond glitter.

I should continue to be honest and admit that I have not read any of the Twilight books. I have, however, seen the first movie three times. Yes, three. I didn't want to see it once, but…shit happens. Each time I saw it, it was to appease one of my drooling family members drawn into the pale lover's drama. Eventually, after I came to expect the drawn out, cheesy love scenes, I took comfort in laughing at what I could. And I can find humor in most things.

One of the first tragedies to strike me was the ruin of two amazing songs. The temple in my mind built to Muse crumbled to an uninspired pile of rock as their interesting base rhythms beat behind the vampire baseball match. Then, as the credits began, I initially thought, praise be to God! Until, I recognized the song playing as the sexy teen's names rolled up the screen. Radiohead fell among the ruins, even as Thom Yorke's voice rose to astronaut heights.

I'm only joking, of course. I wouldn't let anything as silly as a teen romance, no matter how "HOTT," end my devotion to great bands. Or even mediocre bands. I did, however, cringe a little during the movie's attempt at band slaughter.

One scene that really got me in that movie, and there were a few, was the one where the two lovers walk off together into the woods and he admits to her his true vampiric nature. He tries to scare her and says something like, "I've killed people before," and what is her response? "I don't care." Oh, honey. When your boyfriend admits that to you, it should take at minimum a five minute conversation to ask him a few things before you gloss over it and stare dreamily back into those big, black, bloodthirsty eyes. I mean, when my boyfriend told me he'd killed someone, we had to talk for nearly an hour to decide what to do with the body. Admitting to murder always comes with baggage. Remember that.

I do understand the appeal of the story line. Who doesn't want to be swept off their feet by a really old guy who looks like an Abercrombie model? What confused me in the movie was how every single guy in that tiny town was interested in that one girl. I mean, she's not unattractive, I guess. I just didn't see her as the spider pulling so many young lives into her web. Think about it. The Asian newspaper geek. The jock who asks her to the dance. The Native American *spoiler* wolf-boy. Yeah, I never read the books, but that subtle part of the plot did not go unnoticed after the heavy-handed allusions in the movie.

I first noticed the true power this Twilight Age had, after I saw the movie for the second time with my older sister. As we exited, and I wiped a bit of post-movie vomit from my mouth as Mr. Yorke sang, "How come I end up where I started. How come I end up where I went wrong," I felt a part of me die. I heard my sister say, "I loved that movie!" It was horrible. My ears burned. "I have to read the books. Does anyone here own the books?" Two of my cousins raised their hands. "Oh dear, Lord," I prayed, "Let it happen now. I'm ready." But I lived.

I rode home that evening, in a car filled with six women. The estrogen was running high, and I was running low. Everyone else felt invigorated. They were chatting away about feelings and shit. Nothing ridiculously girly, but just girly enough to make me uncomfortable. Which, I guess doesn't take much. When, however, I heard them developing a continued evening plan of movie-watching, I began to sweat. Pride and Prejudice…either the six-hour version, or the one with lizard lip Keira Knightley. I considered diving out into the black night at the next traffic light. Maybe a vampire would find me and put an end to this, or maybe he'd fall in love with me because I smell so delicious, and he would have a conscience telling him not to eat me. Then we could date and make out.

Last edited by Alister Flik on May 20, 2010, 11:59 am
"I do not think, therefore I am a mustache."
-Sartre *Nausea*
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