The Magical Mystery Tour: Day 6 - Dracula Has No Thrall

Sunday was a gloriously lazy day. I loosely planned my course home for the next couple of days. We watched a little Arrested Development (which always makes me want a chocolate dipped frozen banana) and Stephenie made a delicious dinner --- using my coal mining sauce on the chicken which worked out well. After dining we went to watch the night’s episode of True Blood with Roxane and Jerimee. With the exception of some minor exposition for Evan and Steph, who’d never watched the show before (I may have coined the term “rehymenated”) the night was pretty uneventful. For that reason this is about to turn into a post on fictional vampires (as opposed to the nonfiction ones.)

Given the seeming ubiquity of vampires in the world today I’m feeling a little introspective about my own vampire experiences. I wouldn’t say that they’ve had a significant role in my life, and I’m quite glad that I had an adolescence that lacked a “Vampire” section of the book store. Even still, I can’t ignore the presence that these bloodsuckers have had in my little corner of society.

The earliest memory I have of a good vampire movie is The Lost Boys, and who could deny it’s awesomeness? You get all that undead action, plus the Coreys. I think Kiefer Sutherland was especially effective as a bad guy vampire (and I love that Dad came along a few years later to train up a Slayer) but I never really loved him until he was Jack Bauer. Evidently I only appreciate torture and violence when it’s done in the name of national security.

I watched Bram Stoker’s Dracula (that’s the early 90s Coppola version) an inordinate number of times, and I still think it’s a good movie, but I have my qualms. The most significant limit, in my mind, is Gary Oldman himself. Don’t get me wrong, amazing actor. He totally makes me weak in the knees in True Romance and The Professional. And Sirius Black comes in a close second to Professor Snape in my lovable wizards list. But I feel absolutely no thrall from him as Dracula, even as the young and supposedly attractive Dracula. Nothing at all. Call me crazy, but Dracula should be chock full of smoldering magnetism and there was none here. In truth, I’ve never met a Dracula that lived up to my expectations. You do, at least, get to see Tom Waits as Renfield here.

By the time I hit ninth grade the entire school (read: the 12 or so people I sat with in the corner of  the courtyard at lunch) was aflame with Anne Rice-itis. I was no different. Books were read. Interview was seen at the theater. And the school was abuzz with the hotness of Louis and Armand.  But probably my favorite vampire cinema experience is From Dusk Till Dawn. Robert Rodriguez is excellent. Plus you get Quentin Tarantino. This is also the movie that made me love George Clooney. A lot. And I must give some major credit to Salma Hayek for being a ridiculously hot lady vampire (until she actually turns into a vampire, then not so much.)

When Buffy the Vampire Slayer in its television form came about, I scoffed. I liked the campiness of the movie, such as it was (hello, Paul Reubens’ death scene alone!), but didn’t see how that would work on tv so I didn’t bother. Then, my first year of college my friend Nina and I were sharing a crush on our British Lit professor when she commented that he reminded her of Giles. Who is Giles? I asked. She was quite surprised that I wasn’t a Buffy viewer, saying that I “seemed” like one. (In retrospect, I know that she was calling me a nerd, but I’m cool with that. I am one, and proud. She was too.) I consulted with Stephenie, already an avid fan, and joined the ranks myself. Years later, I am a total Whedon acolyte. While my heart belongs to Giles (Nina was so right) Angel and Spike are the principal vampires in this little world. With Angel you get tall beautifulness, but with a fair amount of whining --- unless he’s evil and in leather pants, which is a whole different story. With Spike you get comic relief in the form of a blonde, accent having, bad-guy-with-a-heart-of-gold which is one of my favorites. 

The next wave of vampirey stuff I was aware of came in the form of the True Blood/Twilight surge of 2008. I got swept up in both. With Twilight, before I really knew what I was getting into I had read all the books. I felt kinda used and dirty afterward. With True Blood I skipped the books, but am sufficiently hooked on the show. I find almost everyone incredibly irritating (I could kick Tara in the face) but I’m a total sucker for Eric, another of those blonde, accent having, bad-guys-with-a-heart-of-gold.

*Inclusion of a vampire does not constitute endorsement of said vampire.

All said, these bloody vampires have been with me for a while. If there really are vampires in the world, they are doing an excellent job at infiltrating the media in order lull us into feelings of security and familiarity for when they decide to mainstream. I just wish I had a clear memory of The Count from Sesame Street giving me a numbers lesson. Then I’d feel complete.

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My Experience as a Wallflower

Dear friend,

The package was delivered around 6 pm. I started reading around 11 pm. I finished the book around 2:45 am. By 3 I was playing The Smiths and typing. 

Now to explain a little. A couple of weeks ago my cousin Sarah suggested that I read The Perks of Being a Wallflower, saying “it was just...high school.” I’d heard of the book, never giving it much thought, but welcomed her recommendation as I trust her taste in most things and added it to my mental to-read list, with no real immediacy. A few days later I actually saw an image of the cover of the book and some sort of spell fell over me. Maybe it was the minimalist cover art or the greenieish green but something about actually seeing it gave me some sort of laser-focus on obtaining the book and reading it soon. 

My much annotated copy of The Perks of Being a Wallflower.

I consulted my local public library system. No go. In an effort to attempt to save money that I don’t have to spend in the first place I visited a local used book store. No go there either. I even asked the kind proprietor and she hadn’t even heard of the book. (This doesn’t exactly speak well of her literary street-cred in my opinion. Sure, she shouldn’t be expected to know all the books, ever, but this one is somewhat established. It’s at least 10 years old. And the movie’s coming out next year. In retrospect I should have known better. This is one of those used book stores that doesn’t have an Existentialist Fiction section. They have a John Grisham section.) Ultimately, Amazon took care of business --- though I was disappointed that my copy’s clean, green cover was besmirched by a circle of blue touting the upcoming “major motion picture.” (Very reminiscent of The Catcher in the Rye’s cover, now that I’m thinking about it, but I’m guessing that’s what they were going for.) I’m sure young Ms. Watson will be fabulous, and I’m glad to see that the author is also the screenwriter and director, but I could have done with out the plug. (Also, whoever’s in charge of the soundtrack had better do the job right.)

From the second paragraph (honestly, the second paragraph) I was enthralled. Not because there’s some great mystery to figure out. Or some big denouement you see coming down the road. It was just lovely to read. I was also radiating thoughts pretty much the entire time I was reading --- not in a distracted way but in a......I don’t know exactly, just in a good way. Said thought radiation did make me go through half a stack of post-its and move directly from reading mode to writing mode as soon as I finished up on page 213. And even though there’s a fair amount of darkness in it, the whole “Wallflower experience” was...comforting...I guess? Except when I ran out of Kleenex on page 90.

Like Sarah said, it was high school. While I wouldn’t say the book “brought back memories” exactly, it did make me remember myself, or my mindset, or my mood(s) a little better I suppose. (Wow, I really did cry a lot. Sorry friends that had to clean me up, and what not.) It was more like I was reminded of that blissful freedom you would feel when you escaped the school parking lot with plans to spend your afternoon in Little Five rather than Ms. Yates’ class. Or how I still have buried in my closet a small box of mixtapes from different people that probably wouldn’t play on my stereo even if I still had a functioning tape player on it, but are treasured commodities nonetheless. Or how I really didn’t think that other people thought things about me, until I did.

Another thing that it jogged in my memory is a recent trip to the grocery store. I think I was buying wine and the cashier made a crack to the guy bagging the groceries that I’d brought them a present. Amusing for two reasons: One - the cashier was clearly under 21. Two - give my wine away? You kidding me? I said something along the lines of “I would if I could” (a lie). She said something about being able to buy her own when she’s legal, and I replied with a “yeah it’s much better on the other side of 21” which she agreed with but then her next line threw me: “But then when you get into your twenties everybody just wishes they were back in high school.” I was rather thrown. At this point we were at the “have a good night” stage of the check out process, so I gave no real response, but I was really surprised by what she said. 

I appreciate nostalgia and shared stories of old but I don’t think I’ve ever really had that feeling. Sure, I might like to go back and NOT fall down during that fire drill that one time, but a full-on wish-you-were-back-then thing I have not felt. But Miss Teen Grocery Store now has me wondering if that’s a common thing. I didn’t hate high school but my twenties kick the shit out of my time at AHS. And if I weren’t currently into what I think I’ll refer to as my “George Costanza Period” (no job, living with mom --- but not bald, at least) I’d say my thirties were off to a good start. Really, unless I can work out some sort of put-right-what-once-went-wrong thing, I don’t want to even touch my time in high school. Too much crying, too many chemicals, and poor bathroom options. (I do really miss my first car though.)

Me, approximately midway through high school.

All that being said, the sweet sadness that The Perks of Being a Wallflower gave me, combined with me actually contemplating and rejecting the idea of returning to high school have put me, oddly, into a nostalgic mood, which I think will lead to a handful of nostalgic post. I’m not talking about “this one time I found a pumpkin seatbelted into the passenger’s seat in my car” or “do you remember that time we got kicked out of the Taco Bell because of that story about the tampon” --- both highly entertaining instances, but not what I’m feeling right now. Though, who knows? That might change. 

Love always,

Carrie