Twilight continues to utterly blindside me.

Back in 2006, when New-Moon-the-book first slithered its way out of Stephanie Meyer’s head, I had more important things to care about. Like getting divorced, finding a new job, helping a friend weather her own, much-worse  divorce through the ego-boosting medium of casual sex, and do it all while working to maintain an emotionally fulfilling relationship with an intelligent, independent-minded woman who refuses to take shit from you, me, God, or anyone. The key word there being working.

I bring this up, not to brag,  but to illustrate the emotional paucity of Twilight‘s Saga in particular, and the dominant culture’s representations of romance in general. Tonight’s entry serves as a convenient whipping boy, which seems only fair, considering New Moon damn-near whipped me. {More}