So, first of all, both of our cats are pretty much in love with books, and they'll come lie by/on my wife and me for story time. We thought it mostly had to do with the fact that they love to lie on them, but they've just pretty much proven that they're only interested in good books.
Sana is a Harry Potter fan. I'm pretty sure she's a Slytherin.
Gwen has been reading Craig Ferguson's Between the Bridge and the River with us.
Remember when I borrowed and read Twilight because my integrity is some kind of masochistic asshole that didn't feel like I should be making fun of it if I hadn't read it? Well, the other day I was finally going to get it the fuck out of my house return it, so I went to grab it off the shelf. This is what I found:
Yes, it was upside-down on the shelf. Just because it was in my house doesn't mean I couldn't protest it.
"Sorry you had to do this, Jake." I think that was the one sentence in the whole book I could identify with.
Clearly, someone had taken issue with the quality of literature (I use that term loosely) that they found. My money's on Gwen, or at least one of the foster kittens, as they lived in that room for six weeks. Also, they were actually small enough to stand on top of the books while peeing, whereas Sana would have needed to employ some kind of crazy-ass Cirque du Soleil maneuver just to get herself into the unnatural arrangement necessary to provide this particular critique.
What I find most hilarious about the whole thing is that this was the only book on the shelf that they disliked. Neither of the books immediately next to it was even touched, which seems to imply an intentional measure of control on their part, especially since both books next to it were taller. In fact, none of the other books they could reach seemed to offend them, and it wasn't like there weren't plenty of other options:
"Thoreau, OK. Tolkien, fine. Twain, Vonnegut, good. Twilight?!? What the actual fuck?"
Seriously, I don't think I've ever been this proud. Also, I owe someone a new copy of Twilight. Sorry.
So, against my better judgment, I finally fucking read Twilight. It took me almost a year. Not because it was deep, or had tiny print, or contained anything even remotely intellectually stimulating, but because it was excruciating. Dear. God. In. Heaven. 500 pages of an awkward, irritating girl fawning over some asshole boy's body. This didn't deserve to be a novel; this should have been a note passed in study hall: "OMG, Edward is soooo hot!!!" The End. It's the sort of writing that would have given Mark Twain a stroke.
When she's not busy swooning, Bella takes every opportunity she can to remind us that she's so socially and physically awkward that she can't carry on a conversation or take three steps without falling over. Combine that with her complete lack of any instincts for self-preservation and it's nothing short of a complete miracle that she's survived even this long. Case in point: Edward is going to take Bella home to meet his glampire vampire family, and Bella is nervous because ZOMG, SHE DOESN'T KNOW WHAT TO WEAR! THIS IS THE MOST LOGICAL THING TO BE WORRIED ABOUT IN THIS SITUATION!
"It was hard to decide what to wear. I doubted there were any etiquette books detailing how to dress when your vampire sweetheart takes you home to meet his vampire family." (Ch. 15)
You know why? BECAUSE HE'S A FUCKING VAMPIRE! He doesn't take you home to meet his family. He takes you home to kill you by draining all the blood from your body. You should wear a steel turtleneck soaked in garlic. That is, assuming that Eerie Hymen Pest hasn't changed the mythology so that garlic just gives them the power to bounce off shit or something.
On that topic: (skip to about 3:15 for the most relevant bit)
You know what's the worst part of Twilight? He sparkles. HE FUCKING SPARKLES! Even though I knew about it before I read it, I couldn't handle it when this happened. Suspension of disbelief = OVER. I literally threw the book across the room and went to pour myself a drink.
But then, the other night, I saw this on TV and it made me feel a little bit better: Anne Rice and Craig Ferguson making fun of some unnamed glampire story. Any resemblance to other stories is, I'm sure, entirely coincidental (starts at 2:00ish):
Dear Stephenie Meyer, or possibly someone else, because we totally can't tell who they're talking about: When arguably the most successful vampire writer in history is making fun of you, you're probably not doing it right.
I promise that this is the last time I'll bitch write about Twilight, probably. You should really check outReasoning With Vampires, though. Dana is hilarious, and gives us the sort of commentary on the series that Mark Twain might if he were still alive today. And way more crass. And proficient at image editing.
In other news, I'm two books into The Hunger Games. It's refreshing to read something, well, good. </plugs>
