The Saddest Part About Twilight's Popularity

Is that it never actually had to happen. To elaborate, a few months back, Summit Entertainment's publicity machine made a big deal out of its first group shots of the "New Moon" werewolves. In any other film, this would mean a flaunting of either CGI creations or actors in extensive makeup appliances. In Twilight, however, this means a handful of young male actors, bronze-skinned and as Andrew Sun would say, beautifully sculpted curvaceous body of an angel (although I'm not sure if he was talking about Taylor Lautner or Taylor Swift, really, it's hard to tell with that guy), standing around looking aloof and mean. Response?

"lulfgt", "vampires don't sparkle, if you sparkle in the sunlight, you're a crappy fanfic character; if you burn up and die a slow, agonizing death in the sunlight, you're a vampire", "what the hell, vegetarian vampires? aren't you still killing animals? what part of that is vegetarian?", and "werewolves turn into human-like beasts, not actual wolves, dammit"

In Twilight, werewolves are humans who flash-morph into truck-sized canines, so they go about shirtless and in sweatpants so they can quick-strip and avoid having to constantly buy new clothes. Of course, we all know exactly why this happens: the Twilight engine runs on (heterosexual) female lust, and having it work this way allows author Stephanie Meyer an in-plot excuse to send a whole team of tanned, toned boys galloping near-naked through the woods. It's fetishism and objectification; nothing more, nothing less.

In other words, the same thing that the rest of the entertainment industry has been doing to its female characters since the first Greek scupltor stepped back from his marble magnum opus of a rendition of Aphrodite, the Goddess of Sexuality(/LOVE), took a good hard look (I accidentally a whole triple entendre) and said "Maybe those could be a little bigger".

And you know what? If we even tried to attack the point, we'd probably disprove our OWN explanations and excuses every bit as shaky and transparent as Twilight's nonsense about its wolf men's limited wardrobe budget: "In this future, spacesuit-polymers can be skin-tight and sufficiently-protective!" "Her costume has what amounts to a cleavage-window because she's still deciding on a logo!" "Female ninjas probably would use their sexuality as a weapon!" "Women in medieval-fantasy don't need to armor anything but their nipples and crotch, cause their fighting-styles rely on looking hot!" "JEDI PRINCESS SLAVEGIRL PRISONERS!"

It's the same principal by which Tyler Perry has made his ill-gotten fortune: Hollywood has done such a poor job in creating entertainment that appeals to the African-American middle class that almost any sufficiently well-marketed entry into the void was going to turn a profit. Just as Perry's terrible films stake their claim by being the only game in town for black audiences looking to see their community onscreen in something other than a low-end comedy shoot-em-up; Twilight offers younger female genre fans a world that, however shabbily-constructed, speaks to their perspective, experiences and fantasies (yes) in a way that almost nothing else on the radar does.

Now, am I saying that all this context somehow justifies Twilight? Hell, no! In a way, I think it makes it worse. Stephanie Meyer is giving salted meat (HI AUSTIN) to an audience that's dying of thirst in the desert. Plus, they're driving down the value of the genre even further by occupying it. Anyone trying to pitch a good female-centric supernatural romance franchise will inevitably have their work compared to Twilight and taken less seriously as a result.

Holiday Blockbuster

Heh.

Makes me laugh a little, no apparent reason.

Left is Gustavo Dudamel, conductor of the LA Philharmonic, right is Alan Gilbert, conductor of the NY Philharmonic.

Individuality

me: non-conformity sucks

Kathleen: nope it does not

me: "hooray I am expressing my individuality in a blatantly conformist way"

"i wear black eyeliner and I'm not a girl! I'm such a rebel"

me: "my clothes manufactured by a multimillion dollar franchised company show the conformists who's boss" Kathleen: ?

me: "my zune stuffed with norwegian black metal that everyone else listens to screams that my soul is individual, along with every other soul who listens to this ridiculous genre"

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Oh look, five Ayn Rand fans in the same place. Must be a convention.

Violin Phail

On a rare occasion, disaster strikes the concert hall. When that happens, the soloist is obliged to trade instruments w/ the concertmaster.

1)

2) http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=StBe3m4gI2g (embedding was disabled >:O)

3)

4) Pros do it too;

Ninja Turtles and Brittle Seahorsies

Sorry about my inactivity- I simply have too much on my plate right now (literally too). I make more posts when violin work cools down for me.

There is something awfully peculiar about my tortoise, Wamu. Well it's repeatedly somehow surmounted that double fence as shown in the photo above. I've always checked the obstruction for loopholes, but apparently my tortoise can divide by zero and fly/climb/jetpack around it. There's nothing special beyond that gate either- it's just a dilapidated shed containing a ladder, lawn mower, some Christmas decorations, and the air conditioner generator thinger. It's fenced off because it's easy for a tortoise to get lost/stuck in a jumble of misc crap. (Perhaps Wamu is dating that lovely rusting green ladder off to the side, but I'd rather not speculate.) I'm thinking that Turdy here must be some sort of Japanese espionage agent; don't you agree? (Actually there is a loophole if Wamu uses brute force and pushes through the slightly bendable white fence, but then it'd be Super-turtle.)


Another revelation that I've had, is that boiled seahorse soup is absolutely putrid. As I've been telling an awesome person a moment ago, my parents have been feeding me remedies that will "surely" make me grow, in a new fit of panic over my height. As if metallic-tasting, peach-flavored Asian calcium tablets weren't enough.
Today, they cooked me a fat bowl of the "delicious" soup. One sniff and sip was enough to provoke a queasy stomach for the remnant of the day, but no- I had to eventually "drink" the entire portion. It consisted of a bitter, beige watery liquid and some chicken, but it all tasted like what fingernails would taste like if you made soup out of that. I came up with a decent strategy to ingest the delightful stuff: cram a handful of peanuts and anything else w/ a pungent flavor into my mouth, and slurp as many gulps of the soup I can through a straw. My record is 3! Unfortunately, I have to go through this chronically until I grow two inches. Hopefully I'll get used to it and not have to nom a pound of chocolate afterwards to mask the aftertaste.
(Poor seahorses. >:)