Vampires and Sex Dolls - Embarrassing Myself for the Sake of Art

I was recently dining with some friends on a Saturday night and the conversation inevitably turned to books. "What are you reading?", my friend Linda asked me innocuously. We share the same brain when it comes to books and movies so this question arises during nearly every conversation between us. She noticed my hesitation immediately. "Please tell me it's not an Oprah selection." Them's fightin' words with she and I. In addition to sharing the same taste in media, we share the same disdain (which I freely admit is borne out of jealousy on my part) for any book touched by the Great O's magic wand.

"Nooooooo," I replied not meeting her eyes. "I've just finished "Twilight" and I started "New Moon" last night. Linda's eyes narrowed and she folded her arms across her chest. "I don't know these books," she said in her 'I hear you but I don't entirely believe you' voice, as she scoured my face for any telltale sign that I had succumbed to Ms. Winfrey's influence. "They're not Oprah books," I insisted. "It's a series of books about vampires." Linda's face relaxed a bit. Just a bit. "Vampires, as in Ann Rice-type vampires?" she asked, still not quite believing that vampires alone would have caused my initial hesitation. "Not exactly," I replied somewhat lamely. "More like Stephenie Meyer-type vampires. Ann Rice doesn't write vampires anymore, by the way. She's found Jesus." Linda ignores my attempt to change the subject to Jesus. "I don't know this Stephenie Meyer," she said, her arms still crossed. And so I spilled it.

Linda sat in silence as I layed out the plotline: Teenage girl of above-average intelligence moves to a small town in Washington (where the sun hides more than it shines) to live with her father, the town sheriff, after her mother remarries and decides to follow her new husband, who is a minor league ballplayer, to Florida. Said teenage girl loves the sun, hates the rain, but finds her place rather quickly in her new surroundings. She becomes fascinated with a group of beautiful outcasts at her high school and falls in love with one of them despite learning that he and his gorgeous posse are vampires. Linda's silence continued as I went on to gush over the book's cleverness in managing to dispell Hollywood's vampire myths - not being able to go into the sun, not showing up in photographs or mirrors, etc. All the while I'm talking, I feel embarassed. Sheepish. I'm blathering on about the brilliance of a book about teenage vampires. I leave out that the books were written for teenagers. When I met Linda's gaze again, she was looking a me the way you look at someone with an unfortunate new haircut.

This was just the latest example of my discovering something that I thought was different and clever and while trying to share my find with someone I suddenly hear myself describing it and realize that it's like trying to explain how good a steak tastes to a person who has never had one. I'm humiliating myself to people who hold me in high esteem for something in which I have no vested interest.

I saw the movie, "Lars and the Real Girl" earlier this year. It was one of favorite films of the year. I recommended it to a friend and when he asked me what it was about I told him: An introvert (Lars) in a small town, who goes to extreme lengths not to get close to anyone - including and maybe especially his family - buys a sex doll online and introduces her to his family as his new girlfriend, Bianca, from South America. When the town doctor/psychiatrist tells his family that it's a delusion brought on by an emotional trauma and that they have to go along with it, they, (and the entire town) play along to help their beloved Lars. He has created a whole backstory for Bianca - she can't walk and needs a wheelchair because she's paralyzed and she is embarassed because her english isn't very good (remember, she's from South America) so she only speaks into Lars' ears. The movie is smart, funny and sweet, and the premise sounds utterly ridiculous when spoken aloud (or written about in this blog). My friend teased me mercilessly about it until he watched it for himself and now has the distinct pleasure of humiliating himself while telling his friends about it. I've talked to dozens of people who have read the description of the film on Netflix and have passed it by. They don't know what they're missing.

Now, Alan Ball, who delivered the HBO series 'Six Feet Under' into my living room and heart every Sunday night for years, has a new series called "True Blood". It's about - you guessed it - vampires. I'm two episodes in and I already can't wait for next Sunday night. It's only a matter of time before I'm clearing a room at a cocktail party by waxing poetic about a clairvoyant waitress from Louisiana who is in love with a vampire. Perfect.