I effen hate vampires!
Hate 'em. And that's all that's being talked about at my house these days. How beautiful they are. That vampires are kinder and more humane than humans, sometimes. I'm having lengthy discussions of how vampires are tragic characters, who can learn and grow and evolve and be better and less evil and...
GRRRRAAHHHHH! I hate the freakin' undead!
Mrs. Film Geek is addicted to HBOs True Blood, a soap-ish series depicting vampires and humans co-existing in society. It's a modern day Dark Shadows, with the usual dramatic trimmings and lots of sex and nudity thrown in for fun. Like her obsession with The Sopranos, the show (which just ended season one) was a must-see on Sunday night, and a must-discuss on Monday and Tuesday.
Mrs. Film Geek really loves the anti-hero.
My daughter--who at 12 is ripe for new ideas her old man didn't explain to her first--devoured the four Twilight books. Within a week she had read them all, and was an expert in all-things-fang-y.
"Don't you think vampires are evil?" I ask. Because, well, I sure do. Her look at me was one of complete confusion.
"No, they're misunderstood."
In my youth, I slept each night with my sheet and blanket tucked between my shoulder and neck. Really tight, so that if a vampire flew through my window and into my room, he'd have to yank the blanket from between my vice-like contraption to reach the veins in my neck. By the time he was able to get the blanket out, I reasoned, I'd be awake and maybe able to fight him off.
There's no way I'm gettin' out of this, though. I'm livin' in a nest of vampire-lovers. And I'm scared.