Heeeere's Blicky!

Wow that's scary. Sorry and my apologies to Jack Nicholson. Let me salve your nerves with an image from MFA Boston's show Titian, Tintoretto, Veronese; Rivals in Renaissance Venice.

There, that's better. Even Venus looks frightened. Blicky scared her so much her clothes fell off. My apologies for the extended silence, gentle bloggy readers. I was really quite busy:

A. Translating the phonebook into Esperanto.

B. Building a love nest/covert missile testing range for Kim Jong-Il.

C. Building a cool pillow fort in the living room.

D. Starting a new business enterprise in the burgeoning field of door-to-door interpretive dance.

E. Altering my address and facial feastures to avoid being stalked by Mitt Romney (I told you. It could never work. Stop calling me!).

F. All of the above.

So I try to make good use of my limited reading time these days, really I do. Usually it's historical non-fiction or really amazing fiction. I mean life is short, why not fill your mind with beautiful words?

But this summer a friend convinced me to read the Twilight series. First of all thanks a lot. You know who you are. Here's an excerpt of dialogue from the Blicky homestead while I was sucked into that series.

Kittens: Mumma we're hungry. You forgot to feed us breakfast and lunch.

Me: Shhhh, Bella's talking to Edward.

Kittens: Mumma, you left us outside in the rain. We're cold and wet.

Me: Be quiet! I think he's going to tell her.

Husband: Hi Sweetie! I'm home. I vacuumed the house and I love you.

Me: Go away, you not-Edward-Cullan-mortal man. I want a divorce because you're not Edward.

Cigarettes have warning labels, alcohol has warning labels. I think the publisher should be required to place a warning label on the Twilight books too. They are the literary equivalent of crack cocaine and something needs to be done.

I was initially ashamed of my habit until I remembered a very brilliant and well-read friend scoffing as the idea of a distinction between "high art" and the trashy read. What makes the distinction? I read some Chaucer's Canterbury Tales to the kittens a while back because I remember thinking it was hysterically funny when I was little. Here's a spoiler plot summary of the Miller's Tale:

Young guy moves into an apartment at the home of an unpleasant man with a hot younger wife. Young clerk woos and seduces said wife. Nerdy guy also gets wicked crush on the hot wife. The wife and the young man hatch a plan to spend the whole night together. They convince the jealous old guy that a second deluge is coming and that he should get set up in the attic for a great flood. Clever couple enjoys some amorous sport. Lovesick nerd comes by and begs for a kiss. Hot wife sticks bum out the window. Lovesick nerd, after kissing bum is no longer lovesick, but ticked off. Stalks off to find a hot poker. Clever young clerk thinks nerd wants another kiss and received a sound branding on his bum. Clever young guy has hot young wife but sore bum. Jealous old guy wakes up thinking it's the end of the world and falls two stories. The young couple convince everyone he's nutty and live happily (albeit sorely) ever after.

So is it really so awful that I got sucked into a romance about vampires, power, love and death and metaphysics?

Enjoy your mandatory fun: