I walked through the front door of my local Barnes and Noble today and was immediately confronted by a colossal display for the Twilight series. A thirtysomething dad was scrutinizing a copy of the fourth book – Breaking Bloodless NightRaven, or something like that. Whatever it’s called, it was halfway through that book when I finally couldn’t take any more of the series and stopped reading.
“Oh, I hate those books,” I say, before I could stop myself.
“Really? Why?” he asks.
“I mean, it’s not that they’re badly written or anything. Considering the quality of teen lit out there, this is probably one of the more well-written books you could give to a teenage girl.” (I do not think the series is well-written at all. I was not lying when I told this man what I thought. Take this as an insight into the overall quality of teen-girl-oriented novels currently in print.) “I just think it’s not very empowering, you know? It’s got a main character who absolutely fawns over this guy and sets everything else aside in favor of him, which is about as antifeminist as you can get.”
He looks at me as if he is all about the antifeminism, so long as it stops his little girl from having sex.
I am digging a hole for myself.
“Not that I’d rather have teen girls reading so-called “feminist” books with sex all over the place, I mean! But these books, I’m, um, saying… well, they’re also not a very good example, just in a totally opposite way.”
A woman on the other side of the display chimes in with, “They’re not all that realistic.”
“Unrealistic! That’s the word!”
He glares at me, probably convinced I’m an ultra-promiscuous feminazi out to convert innocent thirteen-year-olds to fellow godless heathens.
“I have to go,” I say, and shuffle into the Self-Help Section before I can do further damage.
My wordfilter – along with my eloquence – has significantly deteriorated since coming to college. I used to chide my friends for being completely tactless at the worst possible moments. I’ve been doing the same thing to my mom for even longer, as she is one of maybe three people in the world more outspoken than I am.
It looks like I am turning into my mother.
The prospect thereof may or may not terrify me.
I think I meant to wax nostalgic about my semester when I sat down to write this post, but clearly that’s not going to happen now – one of my grades still hasn’t been posted, so it doesn’t feel like this term is really over yet. Also, I don’t feel like it anymore.
Instead, here are some blurry pictures – insights into our lives, or some other fluffy phrase – of the illustrious residents of Senior Haus being upside down.
(Is that obscene? I don’t think so. Really, though. Is it?)
See you on the other side of the semester, when I’ll probably go ahead with the waxing nostalgic thing.
Or, you know, not.