Nora Ephron is my new hero.

 It's the verge of Valentine's and you know what that means, right?

No, it does not mean that I am writing romantic love notes to tuck under my sweetie's pillow nor does it mean I am hand-stamping 25 Valentines for Vivi's class or wrapping little Valentine's goodies to tuck in the kids' lunch bags tomorrow.  It also does not mean that I have just successfully helmed Vivi's Butterfly Birthday Bash for her 4th birthday but still have her family birthday on the actual day later this week to tend to.  And it certainly doesn't mean I'm focused on a huge volunteer event at Cooper's school that requires 2 months of preparation, coordination, and a mob of dedicated parents to pull off come the second week of March.

Oh, I'm doing all of those things, alright, but as Nora Ephron would say, "Those are just the facts.  What's the lead?"  Meaning, what's the point of all those facts?  What is germane to my diatribe, is that I am currently in my own, personal, writer's Pit of Despair.  You see, I seem to have a semi-annual schedule to my writing, or at least my serious writing.  I don't mean my usual journaling or my idea flashes that I jot down when they strike.  I mean my Writing, with a Capital W, when I spend 2 or more hours at the computer most days/nights (usually when 1 or all of my family is sleeping), and actually make some notable progress, not to mention post a blog here or there.  Unfortunately, I only seem to be able to manage that six months of the year.  From late September to mid-March, the real world, my non-writing world takes over starting with Halloween preparation, then both Rand's and my birthdays, and too many hours of Christmas projects to enumerate here, in addition to your usual, normal shopping/wrapping/decorating tasks.  Nipping at the heels of the holidays, is Will's birthday followed by his sister's, all the while, I temporarily become a permanent enough fixture at the school that occasionally I'm asked if I work there.  The insanity (maybe I should say my insanity given that some [much?] of it is technically self-induced) wraps up around mid-March when Cooper's birthday ties a neat little bow around this overstuffed bundle of events.

So, back to the Story Lead.  (If you don't know much about Nora Ephron, before writing movies like Silkwood and When Harry Met Sally and writing/directing movies like Sleepless in Seattle and Julie & Julia, she was a journalist; she wrote for the New York Post and Esquire Magazine just to name a couple.) My lead might sound something like this:  Over-committed Mother of three pines for the Spring and Summer, when she can dig out her Writer hat, rumpled and musty though it may be, air it out, fluff it up, and set it squarely on her head, pulled down snugly, hopefully to remain there despite the Texas heat, until at least September 15th.

Okay, so clearly I'm not a journalist.  Succinct is not in my vocabulary, I know.  But still, I'm hoping you get my point.  All you have to do is graph my blog postings to see the truth in this.  I have 9 postings in the Oct-March range versus 12 in April-September.  But really that should be 8-13 as the sole March post I have is last year's Oscar Countdown which is an anomaly.  Besides, that's a fast-and-furious-I-must-write-and-complete-this-now-in-order-to-maintain-any-sense-of-timeliness essay so I had to get that out.  And, of those remaining eight, not even one is a West Coast Trail blog which are by far my longest posts.  "I could explain it better but I'd need charts and graphs and an easel." (If you give up and don't know the movie this is quoted from I encourage you to [re]watch it.)  Maybe a simple word count comparison of my combined posts over the past 3+ years would illustrate my point better:

•  April-September: 32,422 words

•  October-March: 13,358 words

That's almost a 3:1 ration.  Just think if I could improve my Fall/Winter numbers!  Nora would probably just tell me to download and install Freedom on my computer, to restrict my access to the internet for a set period of time and keep me focused on my writing.  Unfortunately, Freedom doesn't deny my family access to me so at this point I may just have to sleep less, at least until my little Vivianna starts Kindergarten in a couple years.  Besides which, I find accessing the internet is usually integral to my final editing.  If I'm not double-checking the spelling of a word I really think I should know from memory [that would be "germane" today], I invariably need to cross-reference something, or in this instance, suddenly search for a word count tool.  And if I had a nickel for every time I have linked to imdb.com, I would quite possibly be a billionaire. Okay, well for sure a millionaire, then.

I guess I should talk about Nora a bit more if I don't want the BPTP (Blog Post Title Police) breathing down my neck.  The thing is, I actually am talking about her in my own painfully circuitous way.  I belong to the Austin Film Society which is how I heard about Nora Ephron coming to speak at Austin's historic Paramount Theater.  I knew instantly I wanted to attend but wasn't sure anyone else I knew (besides my sister, Janie, living 1500 miles away) would be interested in a writer's talk besides me which, of course, I now realize was silly.  You see, although I love her films, I had never read any of Nora's books.  (Yes, in the past 3 days I have since rectified that dreadful gap in my mental bookshelf.)  Anyway, I did my usual theme-immersion to get myself in the mood by watching a number of her films leading up to last Thursday night's event including Sleepless in Seattle, Hanging Up, and Julie & Julia.

In the end, I invited a friend that has Paramount contacts which turned out to be a major win as she hooked us up with "meet & greet" passes which allowed us access to a lovely little banquet room at Stephen F Austin Hotel around the corner from the theater immediately following the event.  There we were led to a swanky silver-service of coffee, tea, liquors, and tasty morsels laid out alongside a handful of small, round tables where we could chat and mingle with one another (we talked with an interesting pair of short-film-makers about what we thought of Nora's talk [Fabulous!] and why we were there [inspiration and entertainment mainly]) until Nora Ephron herself arrived soon after, flanked by a professional photographer and what I would call her Handler, whose job it was, apparently, to smoothly yet firmly encourage over-exuberant fans to move right along thank you very much.  I am pleased to inform you that we were not in that offending category.  We tried--or maybe it would be truer to say I tried--to be the cool fan, the one that isn't starry-eyed by the fame.  The one that isn't desperate to have you sign her book despite the previously announced "no autographs".  The one that puts her camera away when she hears Nora wants only professionally photographed photos with the fans.  The one that has something interesting and not simply gushing to say when it's her turn to shake Nora's hand.  I think I was successfully exuding a very convincing cool-fan vibe up until the point that I asked Nora (after the obvious and required "You were just wonderful, so inspiring to women!" introductory greeting) what she thought of the Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother that is causing such a brouhaha in the media, and coincidentally what we're reading for my Book Club right now.

[You see, Nora's topics that night included her experiences in journalism and film, writing, motherhood,  marriage and divorce, as well as her love of books and reading in general.  She joked (or maybe not) that she is extremely well-informed and well-read.  Ask her about anything; she's read it.]

So, I decided to test that assertion and ask her if she'd read the Tiger Mom book.  Which, of course, she had.  And she hated it.  Or at least she proceeded to expound at length about it in a very negative fashion, concerned I think, that we loved it.  (As yet I have no opinion since I have it on my Kindle but have not had time to read a word, being too preoccupied reading Nora's books.  Ask me in another week and I'll definitely have an opinion.)  By the end of her--dare I say rant?--my friend and I were wishing I'd said something else and feeling a tad guilty about holding Nora's attention for so long.  Not so guilty, however,  that I didn't ask if we could get a professional photo (which hopefully my friend can track down a copy of through those contacts of hers I mentioned.)

As expected, Nora was interesting and hilarious, but what took me by surprise was not that I was fascinated by her stories about her early writing career or anecdotes about working in the film industry which I was, utterly and completely. [In When Harry Met Sally, although Nora wrote the the famous orgasm scene very close to what it is in the film, it was Meg Ryan that suggested it be in a public setting and that she simulate having an orgasm.  Likewise, Billy Crystal came up with the "I'll have what she's having" line.  And to spread around the credit even more, it was the director, Rob Reiner, who cast the older woman who said the famous line:  his very own mother.]  No, the awe-inspiring part was that she seemed to be speaking directly to me, telling me what I needed to hear:   It's never too late.  Make it happen.  Reinvent yourself.  (and a whispering undercurrent of write, write, write.)  As it turned out, this sense of "now's your time" seemed to speak to most of the women in attendance.  She cited Julia Child, who not until age 50, published her famous Mastering the Art of French Cooking.  Chatting after we agreed that most women we know would have loved her talk as well, we thought.  Not to mention a few men. 


Nora's parents were well-known stage & screenwriters, having penned numerous screenplays including Carousel and one of my very favorites: Tracy & Hepburn's Desk Set.  Growing up in a writing-focused environment, Nora's mother was apparently very fond of the phrase "Everything is Copy".  Which is true but not what Nora wanted to hear when her boyfriend just broke up with her.  [Or in my case, when my kids got lice from school and I spent Christmas at my parent's house, vigilantly checking heads and laundry, utterly mortified at bringing the infestation into their home.] 

"Everything is Copy".  I've known this truth but in a nameless sense.  I'm delighted to now be able to succinctly - succinctly!!! - convey that point,  much like one of my movie quotes where someone else's words say it perfectly.  Wait a minute, aren't my words supposed to be sublime?  Clearly, I have a long way to go.

Favorite. Book. Ever.

What is your favorite book of all time? Remember, there can be only one. (that's from Highlander, of course.)

Let me be clear on what I mean here. I'm talking the trapped-on-a-desert-island-and-this-is-the-only-book-you-will-have-with-you-
for-the-rest-of-your-life Favorite Book. Your only possession. You are Count de Almasy and this is your Herodotus' Histories. (??---please. The English Patient.)

For me, the answer to that question is easy and has remained constant for at least 15 years: Shogun by James Clavell. Being a bibliophile, I have many loves and a short list of favorites which include:

Shogun (1152)
Pride and Prejudice (368 - the exception to the length rule)
Lord of the Rings (1086)
It (1138) This was my favorite book throughout my teens and has remained a favorite but, to be fair, I haven't read it in at least 5 years, so I'm probably overdue to see if it still qualifies. I'll get back to you.

There's no question, however, that my first love is Clavell's Shogun. If you don't know the story, it's about an English sailing navigator taken captive in Japan in the 1600's who is immersed in their world, learning about their culture first hand. It has all my necessary Great Book attributes: It's epic and extremely character-driven. It's real. (It feels real, that is. It's "the truth inside the lie" as Stephen King so perfectly put it.) Love. Life and death. Humor. Truth. Oh, and death poems! (The Japanese death poems or jisie are just a bonus, not a requirement.)

I have a beautiful, leather, hard-bound 2-book set, one red, one white, that my father found for me in some antique book shop. It is one of my most prized possessions. I've only read it once, when he first gave it to me years ago. Instead, I have an excessively-loved paperback copy that has a taped-on cover (and enough loose pages that I'm starting to wonder if I need to replace it) that I read every year or two. It's dangerous to even write about Shogun as it makes me want to go downstairs and extract my abused copy from the crammed book cases in our small-yet-expertly-packed library and flip through it this very moment. And much like the mouse given the cookie, if I read even one page of Shogun, it's not enough. I need more. And if I read more, I'll be completely sucked in.

Rand can always tell when I've started reading it again as I start referring to my karma and saying things like "kinjiru" [forbidden] to the boys when they want to watch a PG-13 movie and "isogi" [hurry] when they're too slow getting ready for school in the morning. And my favorite, "Shigata ga nai" [There's nothing that can be done.] when Rand laments the lack of rain or our exceedingly busy schedule. And when he invariably questions my knowledge of a give topic or situation? I scowl, saying "honto." [It's the truth.] At those moments, I wish I were samurai so I could brandish my sword to preserve my honor. Okay, well, maybe I'd just wave it around a bit.

A few of my other favorite phrases:

Ah so desu = Is that so? /agreeing
ima = now
Wakarimasu ka? = Do you understand?
gomen nasai = I'm sorry
Iye = no
hai = yes
mizu = water
ikaga desu ka = how are you?
yoi = good /taihenyoi = very good
nan ja = what did you say?

You could probably plot the precise years I've reread Shogun based on my login names for various websites and the dates I registered. Since Jennifer is such a common name (as are all it's permutations: Jen, Jenny, Jenny Penny, etc.), I have often used favorite book characters instead so for backcountry.com, for example, my user name might be Aviendha, Kahlan, or in this case Mariko. (Granted, I tend to do it more with fantasy books as they have unusual names. Trying to use Elizabeth from Pride and Prejudice isn't much better than sticking with my own Jennifer.) I even named my vehicle after one of Shogun's main characters: Toronaga. A Toyota Sienna; It's Japanese after all.

I still cry every time I get to the end of the book. (and I won't say why if you haven't read it because I want you to go and check it out from the library, buy it on half.com, beg, borrow, or steal it. And then I want you to read it reverently. All 1152 pages. Ima!) It's that good; pulls you in that completely.

Clavell's Japanese characters (even the antagonists) display a tangeable value for life, every minute of it. And they appreciate beauty in everything - how a garden is laid, the flight of a hawk, a warrior's skill, a spontaneous haiku reflecting on a given moment. To them, it is all the same. Art. They seem to live wide awake, fully experiencing everything, rather than sleepwalking through life as we tend to do, just going through the motions of our busy yet redundant days. I aspire to have that constant, active awareness for the richness of the world around me all the time.

I stumbled across an intriguing book I'm interested in reading: Learning from Shogun: Japanese History and Western Fantasy, by Henry D Smith. Being the optimist as well as the romantic, I imagine it reaffirming my love for Clavell's epic with only the occasional fantastical Western transgression. Rand the pessimist, however, expects it will be filled with essays slamming the novel. His council is to look no further. (Just because I listen to his counsel doesn't mean I always choose to follow it.)

I've wanted to choose Shogun for my book club month ever since I joined 4 years ago but I can't. Remember the 1152 pages? (I'm not slamming my fellow BC readers; it just isn't practical when you're reading a book every month and that's in addition to whatever books you read on your own plus living the rest of your day-to-day life. Ok, yes, I could choose it, but more than half the folks wouldn't finish it in time and if people haven't finished your book, you can't very well discuss it, which is the entire point of a book club, after all. (This is what happened when someone picked The Historian, the excellent vampire-pseudo-historical-fiction novel by Elizabeth Kostova. And it was a mere 642 pages. [Btw, I was one of the ones that finished it. Not that anyone is keeping track.])

Okay, so let's assume for a minute, you get past the 1152-page issue (we have, on occasion, either given extra notice beyond the normal one-month time frame or planned a longish -- Gomen nasai, I don't think 500 pages is a long book. -- book for a time when we've skipped the previous month due to busy summers or some such. You still have to deal with the discussion issue. I mean, this isn't The Jane Austen Book Club here, where there are six and only six, dedicated participants all pouring their hearts and souls into and out of and relating to each book in a very real, very personal way. (This, of course, is my dream book club. Yes, I realize it's a fantasy but I have a truly vibrant fantasy life. In it, I'm also a published author, and don't have this lovely furrow between my eyebrows from 37 years of wearing my emotions on my face. Oh, and I have a kick-ass soundtrack playing throughout.) Nan ja? Oh, yeah, Book Club... We average 10-12 attendees each month and very occasionally blitz with 20 or so (but let's be realistic here; you're not going to have 20 folks committed to reading 1152 pages no matter how life-affecting the book is.) Still, trying to talk together with 10-12 women in one discussion is tricky and usually breaks down into individual twos and threes talking as no one can hear more than 2 seats away.

To be completely honest, however, the real reason I can never choose Shogun for book club is simple. It will never live up to my exalted opinion. People won't adore it enough. They won't understand -let alone have- my near-obsessive feelings about it. It won't inspire them. And that would crush me. Wakarimasu ka?

So, instead, I'll just start asking everyone I know what their favorite book is. What's yours and I'll add it to my List.

I realize my trapped-on-a-desert-island qualifier sounds like a 12-year-old-girls'-slumber-party game but I'm hiking the West Coast Trail of Vancouver Island in 4 weeks and currently debating (with myself) what book to take. I, of course, really want to take Shogun but even my paperback copy weighs 17 ounces. My trekking poles weigh less! And trust me, the weight matters. I have to carry everything on my back for 9 days, including my tent, sleeping bag, clothes, mizu, etc. I'm aiming for 35 lbs not 60 here. The problem is, I can't come up with something else appropriate to bring.

(A small, radical part of me wants to rip my already-falling-apart paperback in half and take only one section but most of me is appalled that even a tiny part of me would consider defacing a book like that, let alone that book. The rest of me just worries that I'd end up needing the other half.)

This is a crucial decision. First, this will most likely be the only time I hike the West Coast Trail so I want it to be as perfect as possible. (There's my real problem, right there. That seven letter word. It's a theme I seem to return to regardless of topic, iye?) I don't want to just take the next book teetering at the top of my towering to-be-read stack. I want to take a book that fits the mood, the theme of my trip. It should be nature-related. And yet, I don't think I want to take a book of nature poetry. Shogun is an amazing, epic story and yet it's rooted in nature and the physical world around you. And it's speckled with nature-inspired poems so I'd still get the poetry. Score!

(Incidentally, I know the phrase Japanese Death Poem sounds morbid but they're really not. They're beautiful, usually haikus or small 4-line poems with a nature allusion, that reflect on some truth or realization the person has had looking back on his/her life. An example:

Like dew I was born
Like dew I vanish
Osaka Castle and all that I have ever done
Is but a dream
Within a dream

See? Beautiful, not morbid. Ah so desu?)


I tried trolling around Amazon for ideas but kept coming up with 'inspirational = religious'. That or collections of Wordsworth, Thoreau, Tennyson and Blake poems and quotes. And I've already got my handmade trip journal packed, which I filled with 30 nature-quotes by all those brilliant writers ready to inspire and motivate me. I'm looking for something different, comforting after an exhilarating yet grueling day of hiking on shifting sands and up vertical, slippery wooden ladders. [...take Shooooogun...]

Another small part of me (I think it's related to the radical book-ripping sliver.) questions whether I need the book at all. As I've said, I'll be taking my journal, plus my camera, plus my mother. We're sleeping in the same tent so will we really read all that much or will we just yak all the time? This is treasonous talk as well, however, as I'm one of those people who always has a book with me (and my journal, my water, my ipod...) so the idea of traveling out of the country, for nearly 2 weeks, without a book is insanity. Of course, regardless of what I decide, I won't actually be traveling without a book as I'll have my non-hike bag that will have a couple sets of real clothes, makeup, my carry-on stuff for the plane, etc. Decisions, decisions...

Shigata ga nai, neh?

The Twilight Premiere

Two days after Twilight premiered in LA (and the night before it was released in theaters), the Austin Film Society hosted a special Austin Premiere at the IMAX theater complete with Q & A afterwards with the director, Catherine Hardwicke, followed by the Twilight After Party at the D Berman Art Gallery. I attended this special engagement just a few weeks ago but the story actually starts over a year ago.

October 2007. Rand buys me the three Stephanie Meyer's young adult vampire novels (Twilight, New Moon, Eclipse) that he's heard such good buzz about. I read them all that weekend, thoroughly enjoying their angst-romance-focused plot and reveling in the inherently sexy nature of vampires while barely speaking to, let alone feeding, my family.

December 2007. I purchase the trio for my sister's birthday suspecting she will be equally enthused. She is. (After all, she did, --at least in my limited sphere of existence-- coin the term Angst Romance. We both agree that the quintessential modern Angst Romance is Mal & Inarra in Joss Whedon's Firefly [who, coincidentally, also created Buffy, speaking of vampires]. Still, Bella and Edward are right up there, or nearly.) This turns out to be such an excellent choice that she will later purchase them all for our mother.

July 2008. Someone in my book club is considering choosing Twilight for next month's book and is looking for feedback. (She has some alternate very BookClub [a la Kite Runner, Eat Pray Love] book as a more typical choice.) I'm the only person there who's read the books let alone heard of them so it falls to me to explain a little. I start off by saying I enjoyed them, that they are good and fun. But I try to be clear that they are fluff, perfect for end-of-summer light reading. [This is the point in the story where you start to suspect that this might not be your average straight-forward plot but it's still just a vague feeling. Nothing has quite happened yet to confirm this. Bits of dialog seem to have a dual meaning. You wait, unsure.]

Twilight is, to me, a guilty pleasure, which I know sounds like a back-handed compliment but hey, it still says 'pleasure' so clearly there's some enjoyment going on. And guilt is something that I'm good at-- I've been steeped in it since birth, practically, (which is not inherently bad as I see it, by the way.) so that's to be expected. But let's face facts: two of the last three books our group read were Uncle Tom's Cabin and The Boy in the Striped Pajamas-- Slavery and the Holocaust; not what I would call light fare. So reading a teen vampire romance novel seemed potentially juvenile to me. And the cardinal rule about guilty pleasures of any kind is you tend to keep them private. Until, that is, you find out that someone else has the same guilty pleasure. (Then, of course, you can confide all your embarrassingly obsessive thoughts to one another.) So, I don't want to rave about the Twilight books before knowing how the group will respond to them. I attempt to play it cool and we put it to a vote. Twilight wins out but not by much. Whew.

August 2008. Our book club has maybe 40 people on our yahoo group but a big chunk of those are primarily lurkers who never actually attend our monthly get-togethers. When it's your month to host, you pick the book as well as serve the meal at your home. In an average month there are usually about 8 of us. Occasionally, one of the selections will resonate with almost everyone and we'll have 20 women together, ready to tell how much they love or hate the book. Twilight is unexpectedly one of these. In fact, in the first week after announcing the pick, I hear from a number of gals, including more than one that wants to borrow the sequel. (And they are delighted to hear the final book, Breaking Dawn, has just been released.) Another call is from a sophisticated Mom who is essentially confiding in me that it's her guilty pleasure. [hold your breath now...this is the part where you discover the good guy is really the bad guy and your whole world is turned upside down.]

You see I, too, am somewhat of a book snob (My favorites include Clavell's Shogun, Austen, Tolkien, Asimov, George R. R. Martin) so I totally get her I-can't-believe-I-like-this-teenage-romance-vampire-novel-as-much-as-I-do feeling. (Although, given that I'm part of the Cult of Buffy and have been a vampire junkie since high school when I started reading Stephen King and Anne Rice , I have absolutely no problem with the vampire aspect. It's the Teen Romance moniker that gets me.) But as to the rest, it's sort of like being a cheese connoisseur and then discovering one day that you love individually-wrapped american cheese slices more than anything and you are horrified at yourself. But you can't help it. And when you are truly honest with yourself, lying in your bed in the dead of night thinking of Edward eating american cheese...oh wait..what was I talking about?

Our Twilight discussion ends up being very lively-- mostly because everyone loves it and is clearly surprised by this fact. (Obviously, few of them have ever read Vampire novels before.) But we do have a few people who just don't get into it and one new gal who is vehemently against it. She keeps going on about Edward's controlling relationship with Bella, and the inherent violence in a relationship where the man is struggling not to kill his girlfriend. (Clearly, she has never read a vampire novel either.) Seriously, though, it makes me wonder if she has a personal connection with a controlling or abusive relationship given her extreme reaction. But maybe not, as it would appear if you search on line you can find many folks ranting in addition to raving about Meyer's books. Oh please....[insert serious eye rolling here] it's just a fantasy, people. If you don't like fantasies, my advice is not to read books about vampires. Clearly, we need to set some Vampire Literature ground rules in the future.

November 2008. I receive one of my regular Austin Film Society member emails about upcoming events. Unexpectedly, it includes details about the Austin premiere of Twilight which I immediately register for and then proceed to forward to our book club mailing list as well as to my sister with an "if only you lived here" preface. She replies with, "Remind me again why don't I live in Austin?" and I begin to make arrangements with a friend to attend. Two days later I receive this email from my sister: "Is it too late to buy tickets?" I'm totally psyched! Meanwhile, not only is she flying in from D.C. to join us, but the friend I'm going with has a friend in Kansas who is going to drive down to make it a foursome. We may not be the Rob Pattinson-screaming, hysterical teen fans but I'm starting to suspect we, too, may have some obsessive tendencies.

Less than 2 weeks later, my sister arrives for the big event. To kick off her visit, after picking her up from the airport, Rand and I take her to a late night showing of a Swedish vampire movie entitled Let the Right One In at the Alamo Drafthouse. Think art house picture meets Nosferatu. It was awesome. And once again the Alamo succeeds in living up to it's Coolest Movie Theater Ever reputation. Thank you, yet again, Tim and Karrie League.

The Big Night is finally here and my sister and I have decided to dress up. Our motto has always been "it's better to be overdressed than underdressed" and once again we succeed. We listen to our self-made Twilight-inspired mixed cd on the drive, enjoying the enticing sounds of Muse, Linkin Park, The Cure, Depeche Mode. We have paid extra for VIP tickets which not only allow entrance to the After Party but also get us reserved seating for the film so we're annoyed when we still have to wait in the long line out in the cold to be let in 10 or so at a time to check in at the so-called Will Call Window. Besides the obvious it's-not-a-window aspect, the fact that everyone attending is waiting in the same line to check in at the same place to all get our tickets clearly calls into question the use of the term Will Call. I manage to refrain from making a scene although I do grumble loudly every time someone that appears to be more important than me is let in past security. (I am somewhat mollified once we get through the glass doors to see that the Entry Elite appear to be friends of Ain't It Cool News' Harry Knowles as I spot his large frame and ginger cloud of hair among a group off to the side. Not that I'm still not miffed.

I should really be a friend of Harry's. I mean, come on. Back in my UT days, when I could spend every third afternoon at the Lincoln Theater, he and I used to go to the movies together regularly. We both liked to get there early and we always sat up near the front-- rows 4, 5, 6ish. Oftentimes it would just be the two of us in the darkened theater. Okay, we weren't actually sitting together. But the rest is true. I swear. When I tell this story, Rand thinks I'm, well, not lying exactly, but remembering the past in a more cinematic way, as it were. But it's the truth! I can't prove it and since Harry wasn't his infamous AICN self back then, it's not like when you spot a famous person at a restaurant and recognize them. I didn't know who he was but I always felt an affinity for this guy, this kindred spirit who might be so much like me, someone who loves movies so much they seem a part of me. It wasn't until years and years later-- maybe ten-- that my subconscious put two and two together and came up with four. Hyperbole aside, I honestly believe it was Harry back then. And if it wasn't, Harry, please don't tell me.

On the walk from the parking garage to the Bub Bullock Museum/IMAX, we meet a reporter for the Austin American Statesman who's here to do a story on the film premiere. I'm not sure if it's our over-dressedness or our tendency to be fun (translation: loud & boisterous in public) but she asks if we're headed to the premiere and then interviews us about thoughts on the book and anticipation of the film. She chats with us for quite a while so I'm privately convinced we'll be the lead story in the paper over the weekend. (Still waiting...)

Despite the long, very un-VIP line-waiting, we end up with good seats in the Reserved section, sitting 2 rows behind Catherine Hardwicke herself. As the lights dim my sister and I brace for what can never live up to our expectations. The film starts off well with a look and feel that makes us both relax imperceptibly, still bracing for the worst. Meanwhile, our counterparts begin the first of many contented laughs as each anticipated plot point occurs. (My sister and I whisperedly (hurriedly + whisper) agree that we'll have the CHR (Completely Honest Review) once we are back home just the two of us. [Yes, the protagonist-turned-antagonist appears to be getting more antagonistic by the minute...and he might even have a twin brother.] As the credits roll, the theater as a whole cheers, but unlike the usual mass exodus that I try to ignore as I watch through to the final-film-company-logo-closing-shot, most people simply shift and start talking, obviously waiting for the Q & A with Hardwicke to follow.

As the lights come up, a man with longish brown hair, goatee, and glasses comes out with a microphone. Looks like our Q & A moderator is here. I'm embarrassed to say that I do not recognize him until he introduces himself. (Of course, I am in a giant, dimly lit IMAX theater and about 25 rows up from where he's standing so it's probably just the distance. Really.) It's Richard Linklater. From Austin. Director of Slacker, Dazed & Confused, A Scanner Darkly, School of Rock, Before Sunrise, Before Sunset. And, oh-by-the-way, Artistic Director of the Austin Film Society. It turns out Catherine Hardwicke's film start was as a production designer and she worked on several of Linklater's films. I'm in cinephilic heaven! (Catherine who?) Linklater does a good job of moderating and Hardwicke is quite a character in her responses, including a couple of good barbs at Linklater for never getting back to her when she was looking for advice about directing. There are a few good technical questions regarding film technique, editing, and shooting locations. (The studio wouldn't let them film in Forks, WA where the story takes place because it was cheaper to film in Oregon. Same reason there aren't a lot of films being made in Texas right now, or so says Catherine.) And then there's the usual gushing teen comments and questions: "Twilight is awesome! Does Rob have a girlfriend?" that make my sister and I roll our eyes in unison.

The After Party is filled with people eating hors d'oeuvres, drinking wine, and ignoring the paintings on the walls. I enjoy looking at the canvases as we circulate, chat, and try to look like we know what we're doing. Only one painting really stands out to me. It's a triptych of sorts and I have this thing about triptychs. We actually spy more intriguing multimedia sculpture in the off-limits back room. A photographer roams around but doesn't take our picture. Later, I realize our animated foursome conversation has morphed into the Jen & Sister Show, and as the designated event coordinator as well as chauffeur, I decide it's time to inquire about our ultimate departure. This is a tricky maneuver, however, if you don't want to give the impression that you want to leave, that is, unless your guests do. You see, we're still waiting for the VIPs to arrive. We're not even really sure if they're going to arrive. But my sister and I could easily kill another hour or more gabbing. So, my goal is to offer an exit strategy that allows for the option of an immediate departure without implying that that is my preference. I use my subtle powers of persuasion and we...depart.

Naturally, as we near the door, Catherine Hardwicke arrives. If this were a screenplay, this would be a major plot turning point. Something funny and unexpected would happen to delay our departure which might, but more likely, might not involve actually talking to Hardwicke. Maybe one of us trips. That would be me, I'm sure. But, alas, this is not a screenplay.

So, we still leave. I'm mostly okay with this. The thing is [and this is where you realize that there's no turning back for the would-be villian in this film.] if this were Peter Jackson, I would stay at the gallery til they kicked me out, hoping he would arrive so I could ask him a million questions. And I might very well follow him to his hotel in an effort to see if he brought the incomparable Richard Taylor, of Weta Workshop, with him. But this isn't Peter Jackson and it's not The Lord of the Rings. (Alas, nary a bigature in sight.) I love the book Twilight. And I think Hardwicke did an adequate job of making the film. But the book itself isn't a complicated story nor is it delving into deep philosophical topics which make me feel compelled to just talk and talk. My most interesting discussion points tend towards the critical so better to just smile and go. And say to ourselves, "We were at the After Party with the director" glossing over, in future retellings, that we shared the same air for barely 30 seconds.

We bail and try to go to Chez Zee for dessert. Dammit, it's Thursday night and they close by 10pm or something ridiculous and now we're too close to home for everyone to want to head back downtime for a more happenin' (read: Open!) dessert spot. So, we wrap our evening with a moderately bland "That was fun!" consensus as we drop off the gals at my friend's house. Then my sister and I proceed to go home and critique the film without self-censoring.

It was better than we expected but has far to go. The swooping camera moves were overdone. Some of the secondary casting was iffy. (Rosalie was supposed to be gorgeous, not just pissed off. Maybe it's just her fake blond hair as her photos in imdb are much better.) And what was up with the white powder makeup on all the Cullens? Fa-ake. (Huge exception: Alice was perfect.) Couldn't they have made the 5 minute Mtv-videoesque baseball game scene half the length and made time for more of the character moments between Bella and Edward? (The blood-typing scene, for instance.) And the screenplay...given that the book was mostly about two people falling in love, couldn't they have worked in more of that progression? My sister and I both agree we could have written a better screenplay. (I know, I know. I sound like Lady Catherine De Bourgh in Pride and Prejudice when she speaks of playing the piano, "If I had ever learnt I should have been a great proficient.")

And then we start talking about writing our own screenplay. This is one of those things that feels like we've talked about before but I'm not actually sure we've ever discussed. I've imagined doing one together for some time. I have, however, been telling her for years now, that if she and her family ever move to Austin, we're totally participating in one of Alamo's Filmmaking Frenzy competitions. She's the only other person I know that seems as obsessed with all aspects of film-making as I am. The only person, I think, that really gets it. I can't explain it. If you get it, you got it; if not, then the more I try to explain it, the wackier I sound. I'd prefer to maintain my usual level 5 wackiness, thank you.

So, did I enjoy Twilight? Emphatically, yes. Is it a great movie? No. But it continues my love affair with all things Vampiric and it makes for yet another little adventure-of-my-lifetime. And most importantly, it furthers my love of film-making and possibly in such a personal way as to motivate me to do something myself in my most beloved of genres. [Hopefully, as the credits roll, you are thinking that although this was not the movie you thought it was going to be, it was still interesting. On the other hand, maybe you just hate it.]


My only complaint regarding our near-perfect vampire weekend? We had to miss the Vampire Prom (courtesy of the Alamo Drafthouse.) There's always next year, Sis...