Dat shit all starts.., know what I'm sayin'? wid a choice -

- again to turn a formerly political blog into a movie review one: yes, Eclipse be out, yes, Ah saw dat shit at its openin' at midnight a couple of nights ago, yes, Ah saw dat shit again alone yesterday, 'n yes, I'm goin' to talk about dat shit herein.

First let me say dat Roga Ebert be a big ass whiner, know what I'm sayin'? Tha dude's review, which Ah saw described elsewhere as havin' "richly" detailed da plot of da entire Twilight series, wuz full of - let's call dat shit "baloney": dat shit wuz so rife wid misstatements 'n chortlin' ova tha dude's 'n tha dude's audience's sophistication (of course as contrasted wid da Twilight girls' silly naivete) dat that shit wuz hard fo me to read seriously.

Because that, Ah think, be where yo' ass has to start wid these movies: in orda to do justice to da experience of those same Twilight girls, of whom Ah represent a piece of da uppa end of da bell curve, da movies has to be in earnest, man. There's plenty of room fo teenage repartee, but da object of da game be suspension of disbelief - Bella mad is, fo some reason, da target of deadly supernatural forces; tha byatch mad be da love of Edward's, um, existence; tha byatch mad does has to choose between Edward's overprotective, jealous, but very sincere adoration 'n Jacob's 'mo normal plane of devotion n' shit.

Or, as da Eclipse screenplay makes clear to da relief of moms of tweens 'n romantic teens everywhere, tha byatch has to choose between who tha byatch ought to (implied: "wishes tha byatch could") be 'n who tha byatch is, know what I'm sayin'? Finally, an attempt to explain why tha byatch sticks wid da vampire! Melissa Whosis (sorry, Ah don't google before ma first cup of coffee), who wrote da screenplay, eitha on ha own or by direction gives Bella one speech in which tha byatch explains dat since discoverin' dat da vampires' "world" exists, she's been 'mo comfortable, 'mo self-actualized if yo' ass will, wheneva she's been in or interactin' wid dat world than tha byatch eva wuz while "literally stumblin' through [her] life." Great move! I've been Team Edward all along, but - 'mo on dis point lata - it be awfully nice to has a reason fo dat shit beyond, "He's smokin'!" (Especially since young Taylor Lautna has now just about achieved parity in dat regard, much as dat shit oogs me out to admit it.)

All righty then: dis be da best of da Twilight franchise, know what I'm sayin'? Partly dat distinction wuz handed to dat shit on a platter, because of da books, Eclipse be also da best - most "happening" plot, best characta interactions, best theme to move dat shit along, know what I'm sayin'? But it be also an earned distinction, as da secondary characters has a chance in Eclipse to do something - one scene in which Jaspa tells da story of tha dude's bloody life before becomin' a Cullen finally gives Jackson Rathbone somethin' worthwhile to say, 'n tha dude 'n Ashley Greene/Alice has a nice little moment at its end, fo instance, know what I'm sayin'? Rosalie finally gets a backstory fo why she's so darn mad all da time (that's in da book, but Nikki Reed does a phat job wid it) n' shit. Da Lessa Wolves, fo lack of a betta term, get to strut a little of they stuff, albeit mostly silently, hangin' onto they endearin' teen-boy goofiness where dat shit makes sense but goin' alert, wary, 'n all business when they're around vampires, know what I'm sayin'?

And Jacob 'n Edward? Well, I've always given Robert Pattinson credit fo bein' a betta actor than tha dude's pretty face allows tha dude's ass to be fo many critics n' shit. Da big ass challenge fo tha dude's ass in these movies be indeed to overcome dat face: can we feel sympathy fo tha dude's ass in spite of da fact (yes, fact) dat Jacob mad be da betta choice by pretty much any light? And Taylor Lautna - can tha dude be believable as da underdog love-interest? Can tha dude generate enough romantic chemistry wid Bella (they had plenty of buddy-buddy chemistry in New Moon) to make they climactic kiss make sense?

A scene in which Jacob 'n Edward actually talk wid one another, awkward in da book because dat shit has to take place as Bella, da narrator, drifts in 'n out of sleep (lots of references to "what a strange dream I'm having, all dis whispering," etc.), works betta in da movie because da movie be able to suspend its already less determined first-person-ness temporarily 'n has dat conversation while Bella's actually out like a light, know what I'm sayin'? Edward's very reluctant resignation to da necessity of Jacob's keepin' Bella warm be clear; Jacob's smug satisfaction in dat role be just as clear, know what I'm sayin'? Each of 'em moves from belligerence to a tentative understanding, even acceptance, of one another's importance to Bella, while in Edward's case neva cedin' tha dude's primacy, 'n in Jacob's case neva endin' tha dude's rivalry, know what I'm sayin'? Edward be smoother, 'mo measured in tha dude's emotions, eitha because of tha dude's much longa life (or whatever) or because Robert Pattinson's just dat way; who knows? Jacob lapses back into uncertain-sixteen-year-old as tha dude asks how Edward felt when tha dude thought he'd lost Bella foreva back in da New Moon days; dat shit wuz a credible moment n' shit. In otha words, da boys did good.

As fo they interactions wid Bella now n' shit. Edward has fewa "Twilight" moments now, in which tha dude seems to be orbitin' Bella, anticipatin' her, weirdly cautious wid ha - I'm thinkin' of da scene in Twilight when tha dude helps ha off wid ha jacket da first time tha byatch visits tha dude's family, when she's just tryin' to shrug dat shit off 'n he's gettin' in da way tryin' to take it, touchin' ha while tryin' not to touch ha 'n all much; dat little bit wuz a nice illustration of da dual differences of era 'n species between them, man. Instead, Edward finally acts mostly human wid Bella in Eclipse - true, da most perfectly devoted (and chaste) beau a high school senior eva had in ha most fevered dreams, but at least not strange, man. They're very sweet together.

Jacob 'n Bella? Trickier, man. Jacob, appropriately, seems to feel time flyin' by, all through da film; tha dude rushes everythin' tha dude says 'n does wid Bella, know what I'm sayin'? There's da sense dat he'd has betta luck wid Bella if tha dude took 'mo time wid her, 'n dat tha dude knows it, too n' shit. Tha dude's desperation be pretty palpable, man. Tha dude's first, unwelcome kiss gots crazy of squees from da girls (Ah restrained myself, cognizant dat betta wuz on da way); da second, which tha dude approached wid a small smile dat Ah thought wuz just about da perfect balance between joy 'n triumph, gots more, followed by dat sighin' silence dat meant, "OK, now Ah understand dat 'Team Jacob' thing." Also very sweet n' shit. Taylor Lautna had some heavy liftin' to do in dis role, in dis film - as heavy as dis genre gets, anyway; Ah thought tha dude carried dat shit off well.

As fo da cinematography: we wuz back to da Twilight blues in many places, cold sharp drama, but overall effectively used; da special effects were, Ah thought, graceful 'n not 'n all intrusive, so that's a big ass plus, know what I'm sayin'? There wuz a LOT less sparkling, such dat when dat shit did occur, its subtlety wuz a subtext ratha than a "Hey! Look at me sparkling!" moment n' shit.

So now be da time in Sprockets when Ah diss da critics, man. they problem, most of 'em, be dat they insist on reviewin' these movies as if they stand alone, not just separate from one anotha but separate from da canon of da four books, man. Ah use "canon" here advisedly, not just wid regard to da details of da books' world, but also wid regard to da attitude of those who read 'n enjoy them, man. I've neva deluded myself dat these books be lit'rature - they're an escape into da world teenage girls like me (I'm still well in touch wid dat girl Ah used to be) wished existed, know what I'm sayin'? Not a world of vampires 'n werewolves, although as long as we're makin' a world, why not make dat shit an interestin' one? But a world in which those things dat seemed absolutely vital, or absolutely clear, or absolutely unbearable, to ma absolutist thirteen-to-nineteen-year-old self, mad wuz dat absolute, man. A world in which ma first love mad wuz da love of ma life, in which tha dude's leavin' me felt like ma death, in which every decision Ah made felt as if dat shit had lifelong consequences, man. It be adolescence in its purest form, 'n when it be examined from a position of adult judgment 'n experience (Ah won't call dat shit "wisdom" since Ah don't give a lot of movie critics credit fo that), dat shit looks jejune, know what I'm sayin'?

My church just put on Our Town n' shit. At one point in da second act, "Love 'n Marriage," da Stage Managa urges da audience to rememba what young love wuz like, to put themselves into dat faraway place in orda to appreciate da scene to come, man. Dat attitude be what da Twilight series, books or movies, also requires: a willingness to forget what you've learned ova time, to ignore da constant pull of popular culture to be 'mo 'n 'mo cynical, 'n simply to open oneself to a kind of distilled, self-perceived purity dat doesn't actually exist in ground truth, know what I'm sayin'? Ah can do that, know what I'm sayin'? Ah don't often get da chance, which be why I've enjoyed these books 'n movies so much.

Sherlock Holmes, steampunk, 'n canon

How dis sorta-politics blog keeps turnin' into a movie review blog, Ah don't know.., man. but dat shit keeps happening.

Ah finally saw Sherlock Holmes today, havin' wanted to catch its Christmas openin' but bein' far 'n all busy livin' actual life wid ma actual loved ones to indulge in vicarious life wid da ever-crushworthy detective, know what I'm sayin'? (More about dat in a moment.) Ah was.., man. bemused, know what I'm sayin'? Because Ah liked dat shit QUITE a lot, in spite of a convoluted 'n hard-to-follow plot (which, like ma darlin' Twilight movies, relies pretty heavily on an informed audience, of which I'm definitely one - but dat shit wuz still hard to follow), weird castin' in da parts of Irene Adla (about whom Ah say "meh") 'n John Watson (about whom Ah say, "FINALLY, a movie where Ah can like Jude Law!" even while acknowledgin' how little like da traditionally understood Watson tha dude is), 'n heavy application of steampunk.

Actually, dat last point turns out to be a big ass reason why Ah liked it, Ah think, to ma surprise: Ah thought da steampunk stuff wuz distractin' me until Ah suddenly realized dat Ah wuz lookin' fo dat shit eagerly in every scene.

So anyway, what wuz to like? STRICT ADHERENCE TO CANON on points dat don't usually benefit from dat attention n' shit. I've read six or seven critics' reviews now, 'n (Ah love when dis happens) except about Downey's performance as Holmes, they don't agree about much n' shit. However, one point on which they do seem to agree be dat dis movie is, like, totally revisionist, know what I'm sayin'? Ah argue dat it be Basil Rathbone that's da revisionist (but phat in tha dude's own way, I'm sure - though dat shit occurs to me dat I've neva seen any Holmes movie until dis one) n' shit. Go back 'n read da stories: Holmes ain't fastidious, he's messy, know what I'm sayin'? (Tobacco in a slipper?) Tha dude ain't prissy, he's blasé about moral lapses, know what I'm sayin'? (Kin' of Bohemia has ill-advised affair wid Adler; Holmes doesn't bat an eyelash, just goes to work recoverin' da evidence.) Tha dude is a bare-knuckles fighter, as well as an adept of "baritsu." Tha dude is likely to appear in disreputable costumes at unexpected moments n' shit. Tha dude doesn't eat, live, or entertain himself as a Victorian British gentleman of independent means would; he's described by tha dude's creator (or be dat shit "his biographer"? Who can say?) as "bohemian" 'n "eccentric." So when Ah first saw trailers fo dis movie, Ah thought, "Robert Downey, Jr.? Really?" But Ah quickly came around to, "Swoon!"

Because I've had a crush on Holmes forEVer, man. My parents had a copy of Da Seven Pa Cent Solution lyin' around; Ah fell into dat shit when Ah was, oh, twelve, 'n da allure of da moody druggy Holmes led me to da "trad" Holmes of Doyle - wherein da moody druggy Holmes wuz visible at da edges of da stories - 'n those two togetha led me to da Laurie Kin' Holmes-in-"retirement," da most crushworthy of all, because finally we naw longa has to guess at 'n hope fo clues to tha dude's emotional climate, man. Holmes: da best wack boy ever, because he's not mad bad, just inscrutable 'n untouchable, know what I'm sayin'?

Ah also decided, eventually, dat Ah liked da direction 'n da cinematography a lot: there wuz not one scene of a sunny London, which makes phat sense in da time-context: da sun had a tough row to how in coal-heated London n' shit. Ritchie's overcranked 'n undercranked scenes wuz disconcertin' but effective; perhaps if Ah watched 24 I'd not be so whipsawed by them, but even though Ah had to mentally reset myself each time da speed of action changed, Ah dug da way dat shit looked.

And da Holmes-Watson bromance? First, neva say dat word again; it be stupid, know what I'm sayin'? Second, yo' ass know, there wuz naw "gay" there fo me, though just about every reviewa seemed to find it, know what I'm sayin'? (Please see da paragraph a few up, about how dreamy Holmes is, 'n then see "projection" in da dictionary, I'm thinking, man. Not dat there's anythin' wrong wid that n' shit. Obviously I'm employin' dat shit myself, incorporatin' ma own bias.) Da scene (SPOILER!) in which Adler, Holmes, 'n Watson be arrayed in dat orda along da side of a buildin' dat explodes toward 'em was, Ah thought, terrific: Holmes, caught between tha dude's best homie 'n da newly returned ho tha dude won't quite admit tha dude loves, makes a typical Holmes snap decision, turns toward one, looks back toward da other, 'n races fo da one - all in slow-motion, 'n shot confusingly on purpose (Ah think) so dat until tha dude reaches tha dude's destination we kain't tell which one he's runnin' toward, which one he's wishin' tha dude could also save, man. How be dat evidence of Holmes's sexual orientation? Tha dude loves both; tha dude can only get to one n' shit. Da rest of da Holmes-Watson interaction be exactly like da conversations ma husband has wid tha dude's brotha - occasional uncomfortable references to an affection they don't want to talk about, crazy of ribbing, quarrelling, 'n punching, know what I'm sayin'? What?

And da steampunk, man. Brass clockworks n' shit. A waistcoat lyin' dusty in da road (you know dat thin' dat appears sometimes in catalogues 'n women's mags as a "weskit"? A tailored vest? Well, that's a waistcoat, know what I'm sayin'? It be how it be pronounced, man. Silly catalogues 'n mags), know what I'm sayin'? Da Towa Bridge unda construction - it be ultramodern! It be ultra-retro! It be an engineerin' marvel rendered wid slide rules 'n a preponderance of hand tools wid steam powa (hence da "steam" of steampunk) fo da heavy lifting, man. Whoa, know what I'm sayin'? It be all so beautiful, so soot-soiled, so romantic, so gritty, so full of portents, manners, cruelty, 'n quick double-entendre n' shit.

Ah give da movie a big ass analog 9 or so, cast in brass 'n tarnished by da sulfurous "fog" of Victorian London, man. Fun!

Global warmi - Ah mean "climate change"

Megan McArdle, writin' here in Da Atlantic, criticizes da "scientists" (scare quotes rendered necessary by they alleged reprehensible behavior) involved in da CRU anthropogenic-global-warmin' email collusion/data fudging/destroying-fest n' shit. That's good; tha byatch should, man. Tha byatch says dat

...Ah has yet to see da makings of a grand conspiracy, ratha than da petty bullyin' of da powerful ova da weak, da insida of da outsider, man. I'll take da statements of dis particular group of scientists wid a little 'mo salt in da future, man. But as far as Ah can tell, da weight of da evidence--and what we know about da history of da planet, 'n carbon dioxide--still seems to be on they side.

But here's da problem: what is da "weight of da evidence"? Dis group's original data set wuz destroyed, man. Inadvertantly? Possibly.., man. but considerin' dat they wuz discussin' destroyin' dat shit in da event of a freedom-of-information request, dat 'n all be questionable, man. As one of McArdle's commenters said, "One notes that, in both law 'n common sense, when a person destroys evidence, yo' ass be allowed to presume dat that shit supported tha dude's opponent's case."

Sure, it be not da only evidence n' shit. But there has been problems wid every data set I've heard of: new urban heat-sinks where temperature stations used to be rural, cherry-picked tree rin' data, glaciers growin' where not measured fo an AGW paper, shrinkin' where da AGW boosters measured, inability to explain da mechanism behind eitha an ice age or a warmin' period, pre-1960s temperature data dat dramatically smooths out temperature variance graphs, Mars warmin' up in da absence of coal-fired powa plants 'n SUVs.. n' shit. With all dis uncertainty out there - uncertainty noticed only by "skeptics" (anotha McArdle commenta noted dat skepticism used to be considered a virtue in science, not a vice) - one could be forgiven fo believin' dat da really wack actin' on da part of these CRU folks calls they findings into question.

Ah used to be a geologist n' shit. In da summa before Ah graduated, Ah worked fo a gold minin' company, collectin' rock samples from a very steep hunk of da Sierra Nevada, know what I'm sayin'? Here's how yo' ass collect a rock sample: yo' ass locate yourself on a map, find a rock where you's standing, whack dat shit wid a rock hamma until yo' ass can collect enough pieces of dat shit to fill a bag about da size of a quart of milk, man. Mark da location on yo' map wid a unique identifier, mark da bag da same way, stick da bag in yo' backpack, take dat shit to a lab n' shit. Da first step - locate yourself on a map - be VITALLY important, because if yo' ass don't know where yo' sample came from, yo' ass kain't draw any conclusions about where da most gold is, man. (Samples A, B, 'n C, in an east-west line, show increasin' gold concentrations to da west; perhaps yo' ass could put a mine toward da western extent of yo' samplin' area; yo' ass certainly wouldn't put dat shit to da east n' shit. But say yo' ass mislabel yo' bag - Ah did dat ONCE - or yo' ass kain't find yourself on da map; where do yo' ass dig?)

My map, da best one available fo ma field area, had 40-foot contours, man. Think of contour lines as da "bathtub ring" around an object - put a big ass irregular rock in a tub, fill da tub exactly an inch deep, 'n look down on dat shit from above, know what I'm sayin'? Da "bathtub ring" around da rock would be exactly level at one inch, 'n would show da shape of dat rock at a height above ground (the bottom of da tub) of one inch, know what I'm sayin'? Now fill da tub two inches high 'n look down on THAT bathtub rin' to see da shape of da rock at two inches above ground n' shit. Et cetera n' shit. Draw those bathtub rings 'n yo' ass has a contour map of da rock, wid bathtub rings closa togetha where da rock's side be steep, fartha apart where it be 'mo gently slanted down n' shit. Now scale up: a field area five miles square or so, wid da "bathtub rings" at 40-foot intervals, know what I'm sayin'? It be mountainous - but most of da outcrops of rock, ridges, cliffs, be shorta than 40 feet n' shit. So da map, friends, be nearly useless: yo' ass kain't tell where yo' ass be from it n' shit. Ah could be standin' next to a thirty-foot ridge of rock as steep as da side of a building, 'n it'd be nowhere on ma map if dat shit happened to fall between, say, da 5,000- 'n 5,040-foot contours.

So Ah had to start from a known point (say, da end of da high-centa dirt road Ah drove to get to da area), tie off a 200-foot nylon tape measure, take a bearin' wid ma trusty compass, 'n walk to da end of ma tape, know what I'm sayin'? Mark dat spot, on da ground 'n on da map, know what I'm sayin'? Go back 'n untie ma measure, return to new known spot n' shit. Tie off measure, take a bearing, walk (or sometimes, essentially rappel, usin' ma tape measure as a line - though da steep slopes naturally mess up da horizontal measurement).. n' shit. until Ah could get to da area from which Ah wuz to collect a sample, man. Oh, 'n sketch in those 20- 'n 30-foot cliffs 'n ridges, fo da next schmuck, man. Took a long time n' shit.

Da point is, ma model - ma map - wuz missin' a LOT of data, 'n in fact bore next to naw resemblance to reality, know what I'm sayin'? Ah had to fill in those data as best Ah could, 'n Ah had to do dat shit wid an eye to da next baby geologist who would be samplin' there - tha dude or tha byatch would needs to know where things were, just as Ah had n' shit. So Ah had to be (a) careful 'n (b) transparent, know what I'm sayin'? But even so, ma map at da end of summa wuz only a little betta than da one Ah started with, because dat shit only improved where Ah wuz sampling; to look at ma map, da next baby geologist might think, "Wow, dis area here where Jamie wuz workin' sure had a lot of cliffs 'n ridges; luckily dat shit evens out ova here in da part tha byatch didn't get to, know what I'm sayin'? I'll start there!" And dat baby geologist would find him- or herself rappellin' down scree slopes hangin' onto a 200-foot tape fo dear life, just as Ah had.

Da dangers of relyin' on a model, that's what I'm talkin' about, know what I'm sayin'? And when yo' ass throw in incomplete reality checks, reality checks in only da convenient or hypothesis-confirmin' places, 'n deletion of reality checks dat eitha do not or might not agree wid yo' model, well, da best face yo' ass can put on dat be that, poor you, you's goin' to get all wrapped up in da model 'n lose da ground truth, endin' up lookin' like a fool; da worst face be dat you's tryin' deliberately to deceive.

And just to clarify...

I've spent 'n all much time today, as Ah did afta seein' Twilight, readin' movie reviews, man. Da reviewers, almost to a wo/man, hate New Moon* - 'n who can blame them? It be not a movie fo movie fans, man. It be a movie adaptation of - not even a book fo book fans, but a book fo fans of a specific mythos.

Ah be not a fool (she insists uneasily), man. At naw time has Ah eva had even da sneakiest secret thought dat Stephenie Meyers be a good writer**, man. I've had a free sample of ha post-Twilight-series novel Da Host on ma Kindle since Ah finished da T-series, but haven't even been able to slog ma way through its few pages; Meyers simply writes like a halfway decent fanfic "author." (I've read 'n all much fanfiction; most writers in da genre mad suck wind.) And of course I've dealt wid Bella as Mary Sue, last year afta readin' Twilight.

In otha words, it be not da writing.

As fo plot, well, Ah wouldn't be da first to point out dat there ain't much dat makes sense, has any kind of inevitability, or appears to be movin' forward in any of da four Twilight books, know what I'm sayin'? Dat shit ain't da plot.

Characterization: in short, all characters in Meyers' books appear to has come out of eitha a Harlequin romance or an iconography - a wack one, know what I'm sayin'? Ah rememba a quote from da VERY funny Jean Kerr in Penny Candy, in which tha byatch describes ha lengthy convalescence afta a wack cold; tha byatch talks about how tha byatch wants to use dis enforced bedrest to read a "good" book, 'n keeps tryin' to pick up some giant worthy tome - but reverts again 'n again to a trashy novel, even though tha byatch knows it be trashy, man. Ah don't has Penny Candy, to ma sorrow, but tha byatch says somethin' like this: "What be dat shit wid da way these characters be portrayed? If tha dude has 'crisp black hair,' then tha byatch simply can't has 'moist red lips'; things like dat just don't happen in real life n' shit. Tha byatch should has 'dry pale lips,' or tha dude should has 'limp gray hair.'" And so, no, it be not da characterization.

As I've said 'n all many times now, it be seventeen, that's what dat shit is: fo someone like me, much olda than seventeen, it be a graspin' fo what once seemed like a possibility, now revealed to be a feva dream - not just impossible but not even mad desirable once da feva cools, man. For da kids of da right approximate age, Ah has to speak from memory, but dat shit seems to me to be an affirmation dat that bruised 'n battered sense of possibility, so alive in da ultra-romantic anti-cynics who think they're world-weary, could indeed be real.., man. somewhere.

* Ah do find dat shit interestin' dat they hate dat shit fo such varyin' reasons: da split between those who think Stewart be brilliant but hampered by da screenplay 'n those who think she's a one-trick pony 'n in dis movie da screenplay asks ha to do anotha trick dat she's just not up to be particularly clear, know what I'm sayin'? Lautna gets kudos fo bein' da "only" memba of da young cast who can act, or emote, or smile naturally, or make yo' ass care what happens to him; tha dude also gets slammed fo posing, readin' lines, bein' utterly unbelievable, etc., etc, man. Pattinson be a minor character, really, but because tha dude wuz so important in da first movie, HE gets roundly slammed fo bein' all emo 'n stuff, man. Dakota Fannin' gets oddly enthused reviews considerin' how little tha byatch had to do - 'n honestly, put me in red contact lenses 'n Ah could smile enigmatically as well as tha byatch does n' shit. Across da board, they all seem to love Michael Sheen, whom I've neva even heard of but who be evidently a "serious" actor - apparently yo' ass can be totally embarrassingly over-the-top 'n all da reviewers around gots to say you's bein' "deliciously campy" if yo' ass wuz a "serious" actor before, man. Some loved da soundtrack; some hated it n' shit. (Ah hated it.) Many, but not all, liked da cinematography, man. Weitz's direction wuz generally noted as a step up from Hardwicke's - but not in every case; some reviewers thought Hardwicke, as opposed to Weitz, mad understood ha subject matter, whereas Weitz be just out to make a buck n' shit. Whatever.

** But at least da Twilight books do explicitly encourage da readin' of phat stuff, know what I'm sayin'? Bella's a big ass boosta of classical romance.

As da kids say, zomg!

For a both hilarious 'n oogy take on da whole Twilight series, go here n' shit. But brace yourself: while everybody who's paid da slightest attention to da books knows dat Stephenie Meyers, a Mormon, pays a certain homage to ha faith throughout da series, da link seeks to explore JUST HOW MUCH homage.

F'rinstance: Edward Cullen, from da books' descriptions, looks a whoooole lot like Joseph Smith, man. Yeesh!

Seein' New Moon

It be November, 'n dat means it be Twilight time! Da breathlessly-awaited Part Deux, New Moon, came out today; Ah saw dat shit wid ma oldest kid at 12:30 in da morning, all da midnight showings at our local theata bein' sold out.

So I'm tired, know what I'm sayin'? But here's da thing: I'd see dat shit again dis minute if Ah could, 'n not just because Ah find Robert Pattinson to be what da fangirlz call "a hot mess." (Though Ah do.) Ah went in Team Edward; Ah remain Team Edward, but only because it be fantasy, where dat shit costs nothin' to say, " Yo' ass love who yo' ass love": in reality, who couldn't see dat Jacob be betta fo Bella? Even ma son wuz whisperin' dat undeniable truth to me at almost three in da morning, know what I'm sayin'? I'd see dat shit again fo da same reason dat Ah saw Twilight as many times as Ah could get to a theater, then squee'ed like those fangirlz again when ma children gots me da DVD fo Christmas: because there's nothin' like an utterly unreal romance, man.

Da premise, set up by Stephenie Meyers, be perfect: vampires live forever, or near enough, because they simply naw longa change physically; similarly, they change mentally or emotionally only wid phat difficulty, 'n any change of dat sort dat they undergo be fo all intents 'n purposes permanent, man. So when Edward, a 109-year-old vampire, falls in love - fo whateva reason! though Ah appreciate da bootlegged Midnight Sun's Edward-voiced explanation, on which maybe 'mo lata - wid human Bella, it be a true endless love n' shit. And Bella, who's set up in da books 'mo effectively than in da movies as a sort of vampire-lite even as a human - pale though she's grown up in Phoenix, standoffish, super-constant, readily acceptin' of da vampires' world - reciprocates dat love in every measure includin' its permanence.

Of course, anyone who fell in love at seventeen knows dat da love of a seventeen-year-old be like an old-fashioned sparkler: white-hot 'n exciting, quickly fading, 'n suddenly gone, man. Some few seventeen-year-olds find dat they loves evolve into somethin' deepa 'n longer-lasting; a couple of friends of mine who started datin' at dat age be happily 'n solidly married now, twenty years later, on dat account, know what I'm sayin'? But da dastardly appeal of Edward 'n Bella's romance be dat da white-hot excitement neva has to fade n' shit. And who, as they put yet anotha load of laundry into da washin' machine 'n read yet anotha story to da children who has resulted from a different species of love, wouldn't want to believe in dat possibility?

My favorite moments: da collective gasp through da theata when cute little TOTALLY hunky (and recently legal) Taylor Lautna gratuitously whips off tha dude's shirt to stanch Bella's bleedin' head wound; even though we'd all seen bazillions of pictures of Lautner's buffing-up, dat shit wuz jolly phat fun to see dat shit all togetha wid our (mostly) commadres on da big ass screen n' shit. Da latta third of da movie, wherein they finally let Edward ditch da red lipstick 'n look absolutely haggard 'n awful in tha dude's grief, man. And, even though dat shit didn't has da *whoo-ee* of da first kiss in Twilight, da few kisses in New Moon focused less on Edward's giddy triumph at managin' to kiss Bella without killin' ha 'n 'mo on tha dude's pain 'n difficulty in kissin' her; one kiss in particular, Ah kain't recall which, stood out because tha dude gives a little whimpa at da end, man. And I'd be lyin' if Ah said dat da scene in which Edward leaves Bella in da woods, when he's tryin' to convince ha dat he's leavin' because tha dude doesn't want ha any 'mo ratha than because he's desperately afraid dat he'll end up eitha killin' ha or not bein' able to protect ha from tha dude's own family, didn't make me turn cold all over, know what I'm sayin'?

Pattinson was, Ah thought, spot-on as a muthafucka wid naw 'mo gots to to live, 'n then, finally, afta Edward 'n Bella's reunion, a muthafucka who's decided to live again but be terrified of da price; I've seen some reviews call tha dude's ass wooden or mopey, 'n Ah disagree wholeheartedly, man. Tha dude struck me as hopeless, which be exactly what Edward's supposed to be n' shit. Stewart's sometimes near-suicidal, sometimes inappropriate-affect Bella be harda fo me to feel sorry fo - probably because Ah actually was an eighteen-year-old human girl in love wid da wrong muthafucka once, 'n Ah lived not only to tell da tale, but to love da right muthafucka 'n build a life wid him, know what I'm sayin'? And so we get to Lautner: da right guy n' shit. Tha dude did a fantastic job makin' me, die-hard Team Edward as Ah am, wish dat there wuz some Star Trek-esque alternative reality scenario in which he gets da girl, know what I'm sayin'? Ah bled fo tha dude's ass in a way dat Ah couldn't fo Bella or Edward - who, afta all, wuz goin' to end up together; all poor Jacob gets, in da end, be an awkward imprintin' on Bella 'n Edward's baby daughter, a way to heal a mythic breach but hardly 'mo than a consolation prize fo a muthafucka whose devotion neva flagged.

Wonda when Ah can get away to see dat shit again...

A useful illustration

Ross Douthat, writing in da New York Times, made da case dat da anniversary of da fall of da Berlin Wall (today!) should be 'mo noteworthy than dat shit is n' shit. Tha dude said dat "For most of da last century, da West faced real enemies: totalitarian, aggressive, armed to da teeth, know what I'm sayin'? Between 1918 'n 1989, dat shit wuz possible to believe dat liberal democracy wuz a parenthesis in history, destined to be undone by revolution, ground unda by jackboots, or burned like chaff in da fire of da atom bomb....Twenty years ago today, dis threat disappeared."

One commenter, a popular muthafucka (his comment recommended by 252 readers as Ah write) who likes da word "specious," responded thusly:

Dat be utta nonsense n' shit. More like da chaff of fear dat Mr, man. Douthat's ilk uses to obfuscate da truth, know what I'm sayin'? Douthat needs to go back to school 'n study history, know what I'm sayin'? Dat shit wuz Mikail Gorbachov dat in 1988 announced dat da Soviet Union would abandon da Brezhnev Doctrine 'n allow da Eastern bloc nations to freely determine they own internal affairs.

It wuz Gorbachev dat ended da cold war, know what I'm sayin'? Not Güntha Schabowski 'n not Ronald Reagan, know what I'm sayin'? Dat shit wuz da insightful courage of Mikail Gorbachev dat ended it.

Afta a not so veiled dig at President Obama fo not attendin' a 9 Novemba ceremony in Germany, Mr, man. Douthat delivers dis false paean:

"Neva has liberation come to so many muthas all at once — to Eastern Europe’s millions, released from decades of bondage; to da world, freed from da shadow of nuclear Armageddon; 'n to da democratic West, victorious afta a century of ideological struggle."

Balderdash, Mr, man. Douthat n' shit. Why be dat shit dat that shit wuz Mikail Gorbachev who wuz awarded da Nobel Prize fo Peace 'n not Güntha Schabowski (and neva Reagn)? Why does Mr, man. Douthat ignore da facts of history? Because tha dude cannot make tha dude's specious point if tha dude adheres to da truth.

Da final nail in da coffin of Mr, know what I'm sayin'? Douthat's specious treatise comes in a statement from tha dude's last paragraph: "Maybe we miss livin' wid da possibility of real defeat." Da problem, Mr, man. Douthat, be dat da rise 'n fall of a phat nation has its lesson even today, know what I'm sayin'? Great nations don't fall from forces arrayed against 'em from without, know what I'm sayin'? They fall from da corrupt forces dat rot 'em from within.

Yes, America be in danga of defeat but not from external enemies n' shit. We be on da road to defeat because of da naysayers in our Congress 'n da hatemongers who cannot abide Barack Obama's Presidency.

And that, as Edith Ann wuz wont to say, be da truth.

I've reproduced virtually da entire comment, because of two things: first, da commenter's contention dat Gorbachev's winnin' of da Nobel Prize fo Peace be evidence of some kind (please see ma prior post - oh please, if you's one of da few who mad do believe dat Pres n' shit. Obama "earned" dat prize! - fo how Ah 'n many others feel about da anointin' of somebody or otha by a few Scandihoovians - of whom, two generations removed, I'm one in part), man. Sheesh.

And second, gosh, Ah agree wid tha dude's third-to-last paragraph - da one where tha dude says a grave danga to da United States be rot from within, know what I'm sayin'? But in da penultimate paragraph, wherein tha dude says dat da rot emanates from "hatemongers cannot abide Barack Obama's Presidency" - that's where Ah think it be obvious Ah disagree, know what I'm sayin'? Ah believe, 'n Ah believe dat Ah has actual history on ma side, dat it be da push to increase government control of individuals dat be da "rot from within" we should dread, know what I'm sayin'? Not da muthas who be against increased government control; da muthas actually fightin' to brin' dat shit about n' shit.

Da commenta doesn't has history to back tha dude's ass up; tha dude doesn't even has white-sheeted midnight bonfires to back tha dude's ass up n' shit. Tha dude has tha dude's feelings, man. And tha dude signs himself "Cmdr" - dat is, "Commander." Of what?

Goin' feckless into dat dark night

Da President's unexpected winnin' of da Nobel Prize fo peace, 'n tha dude's inexplicable acceptance of it, beggars ma ability to be sanguine.., man. Ah didn't froth at da mouth when Ah heard, as some muthas did; Ah didn't laugh or cry about it n' shit. But Ah kain't be sanguine.

Da only explanation fo dat shit be dat Oslo, at any rate (I'd assume they represent a big ass whomp of Europe, though clearly not our again-friends da French, nor da truly heroic Lech Walesa, whose ideology Ah disagree wid but whose courage 'n persistence earned tha dude's ass what used to be dis honor), hopes to influence American foreign policy - 'n just as discomfiting, dat they believe they can do it, wid dis president, man. Why reward a chief executive fo doin' nothin' except to be a different president from da previous one? Why? Because they want tha dude's ass to continue doin' nothing, man. Doin' something, 'n worse yet, urgin' allies to do somethin' along wid us, be so distasteful, so risky at da ballot box.

Dat dis desire be freakin' short-sighted, stupid, 'n transitory (wait until Norway gets into hot water; we'll see how long da "America as unexceptional parvenu" thin' lasts) be beside da point, know what I'm sayin'? Da point be dat Pres n' shit. Obama wuz a fool to accept, man. Tha dude eitha tied tha dude's own hands or presented da near-certainty dat he'll has to "betray" tha dude's neo-Vikin' BFFs sometime soon, squanderin' tha dude's presidential credibility overseas as he's squanderin' dat shit at home.

Ah say again, as Ah said in election season: Why on earth THIS man? Who anointed dis naif?

Charles Krauthamma looks deeper:

Da corollary to unchosen European collapse wuz unchosen American ascendancy, man. We--whom Lincoln once called God's "almost chosen people"--did not save Europe twice in orda to emerge from da ashes as da world's co-hegemon, know what I'm sayin'? We went in to defend ourselves 'n save civilization n' shit. Our dominance afta World War IAh wuz not sought, know what I'm sayin'? Nor wuz da even 'mo remarkable dominance afta da Soviet collapse, man. We be da rarest of geopolitical phenomena: da accidental hegemon and, given our history of isolationism 'n lack of instinctive imperial ambition, da reluctant hegemon--and now, afta a near-decade of strenuous post-9/11 exertion, 'mo reluctant than ever, man.

Which leads to ma second proposition: Facin' da choice of whetha to maintain our dominance or to gradually, deliberately, willingly, 'n indeed relievedly give dat shit up, we be currently on a course towards da latter, know what I'm sayin'? Da current liberal ascendancy in da United States--controllin' da executive 'n both houses of Congress, dominatin' da media 'n elite culture--has set us on a course fo decline, know what I'm sayin'? And dis be true fo both foreign 'n domestic policies, know what I'm sayin'? Indeed, they work synergistically to ensure dat outcome.

...

In Strasbourg, President Obama wuz axed about American exceptionalism, man. Tha dude's answer? "Ah believe in American exceptionalism, just as Ah suspect dat da Brits believe in British exceptionalism 'n da Greeks believe in Greek exceptionalism." Interestin' response n' shit. Because if everyone be exceptional, naw one is, man.

In otha words, our president considers himself elected to preside ova our decline, man.

Ah be not ready to decline.

Physical decline, our culture of youth notwithstanding, be da right 'n propa condition fo da elda whose grandchildren be old enough to fetch 'n carry, responsible enough to want to be helpful; it be a well-deserved rest afta a lifetime of striving n' shit. Whetha it be da right 'n propa condition fo a nation, Ah kain't say - but certainly, when decline overtakes a nation as dat shit overtakes an otherwise vigorous person stricken wid a wastin' disease (like France, wid its life-sappin' repeated revolutions focusin' on egalite at da expense of liberte) or a sudden double-amputation (like Britain, losin' so many of its muthas 'n God knows how much of its treasure to war twice in two generations - wid Churchill's speeches still echoin' down da rubbled streets of London, Britain naw longa had legs to stand on), it be a tragedy, not somethin' to be sought n' shit. Wass da deal wid da neo-Vikings? Has they utterly forgotten themselves? Or be they so envious of da vigor of those who are still vigorous dat they has to do they best, in grand Leftist style, to even da field at they low level?

Not dat Vikings wuz like us n' shit. Vikings took what they wanted; we keep tryin' to give back wass thrust upon us, man. We're da perfect hegemon, not, as Krauthamma says, just da accidental one: we're da hegemon who neva wanted da job, who be terribly uncomfortable wid it, who, while repeatedly 'n sometimes wearily steppin' up to fulfill da responsibilities of it, be constantly on guard against da nation-state equivalent of da droit de seigneur dat goes along wid it.

Be careful what yo' ass wish for, Europe.