Transylvania Mania!

My roommates and I have an insatiable thirst for vampires lately.

Feels like the rest of society has a similar appetite, too, since pop culture is currently smeared with images of pale, hunky vampires (quite an eerie twist on the "strong, silent type"). Our cultural fascination has shifted from superheroes to the supernatural, as tales of the sexy undead and the female ingenues who fall for them have replaced those about superhumans fighting evil.

The vampire craze at our house began with a gift. Catherine received "Twilight" - the first installment of a four-part series about a lonely vampire who cannot resist the aromatic blood of Bella, the "plain Jane," new girl in town - for Christmas.

Catherine devoured the book in 3 days over the holidays. Emily, also my roommate, borrowed the book from Catherine and 3 days later "Twilight" secured a new fan.

"Twilight" wasn't the only catalyst to the Transylvania mania at 7A, though. One night in early January, Dave and I were hanging out at my house with plans to watch a DVD. Since we had already watched all the movies in my collection that weren't totally girlie, we thought we'd try the one that was still wrapped in its clear packaging. It was a promotional video with a single episode: "True Blood, episode one." We had never heard of it, but we were intrigued.

"Is this painful or amazing?" I wondered aloud, after stomaching inter-species intercourse, violent beatings and a vampire licking a girl's bloody wounds. We both agreed that while it was explicitly over-the-top and unapologetically gratuituous, it was pretty damn awesome.

We shared the news of our latest guilty pleasure with Catherine and Emily. The next day, they watched the episode and I began reading "Twilight." The girls were hooked on "True Blood" and its surly vampire, Bill, right off the bat and made it their mission to watch the other episodes.

When Catherine and Emily put their minds to something, they can acheive amazing results. A friend had the remaining episodes burned on her external harddrive and leant it Emily. A solid start, but not nearly the end.

I returned from dinner with my mom one night and heard wild excitement emanating from the living room.

"Kate!" Catherine exclaimed. "You're just in time! We're starting the second episode of 'True Blood.'"

I was thrilled, naturally, but nothing could have prepared me for what the girls had set up. The living room was filled with a pale blue light, as if I was entering a Cineplex theatre. Confused, I turned to the empty space above our TV and saw the opening sequence of "True Blood" playing across the wall. I didn't know which was more unbelievable: vampire romances or the fact that the girls rigged up a projector to create a home movie theatre.

Unfortunately, I fell behind in my "True Blood" viewings, but, after receiving the second book in the Twilight series for my birthday, I am one step ahead in the reading genre. While it's not a literary masterpiece, it's definitely a cultural phenomenon that I can (pun alert) really sink my teeth into.

Catherine and Emily, however, continued their "True Blood" odyssey and last Wednesday marked the screening of the season finale. It was bittersweet, knowing the excitement was coming to an end, but that doesn't mean they didn't celebrate this monumental occassion. Catherine and Emily threw a fang-tastic exit party, complete with "I <3 Vampires" t-shirts and Pomegranate juice disguised as "V" (the nickname for vampire blood, which some of the townspeople use to get a freaky buzz in the show). Now, they wait with hopeful hearts for their immortal beloved to return when the series resumes with its second season in the summer.

It's interesting that in both stories, the vampires are men. There are female vampires, of course, but the central love stories feature a male vampire and a female human. Sookie and Bella are outcasts, much like the vampires they fall in love with. The girls feel that they are misunderstood by the humans in their worlds and are seduced by the possibility of connection with their vampire suitors. It is the age-old desire, I guess, for someone to "get" you, even if everyone else thinks you're a total freak. Sure, the guy's not human, but finally, for Bella and Sookie, there is that feeling of connection and recognition that we all crave. Just so happens that these dudes also have an ancient craving for the girls' blood (insert mischevious Count Dracula laugh). Except, in both cases, we're dealing with "good" vampires who are "mainstreaming" and trying their darndest to resist their blood lust for a chance at true love.

Here comes the sun

After an extended hiatus, here is last week at a glance (a la Jonathan Goldstein).

Tuesday. It is Inauguration Day and I feel celebratory. There is also excitement over Mrs. Obama's outfit. Will she go haute and show up in Narciso Rodriguez again? Or will she consider our bleak economic landscape and opt for something modest, like the $99 black-and-white Donna Ricco dress she wore on "The View" last summer? The anticipation is overwhelming.

Michelle Obama's lemongrass sheath dress and overcoat (from designer Isabel Toledo) was as bright as the crisp Winter day in Washington and as optimistic as her husband's presidential campaign. She was glowing, sophisticated, stylish. Overall, she was a smashing hit.

Oh yeah, and her hubby's speech was pretty kick-ass.

Wednesday. Dave and I are at his parents' farmhouse in the country. We are each wearing three layers of winter clothing to shield us from the frigid winds that whip across the open filed behind his house. We are cross-country skiing, something I haven't done since grade eleven gym class. I like gliding across the snow and pumping my arms to make the poles push me along. I like the fresh air and the Christmas tree farm at the back of the property. It reminds us of the forest that Buddy the Elf travels through on his way from the North Pole to NYC. We stop for photo opps and I'm sure this will not be the last time I'm on skis this winter.

After an hour of looping around the property, we are sufficiently spent and ready for lunch. The sun bursts through the gray clouds as we head in.

Thursday. I blow out 27 candles and resist eating cake for breakfast. I spend most of the day working at the Writing Centre and then meet up with friends and family members for beer and spicy wings in the evening. For some reason, I get to thinking about what I want to do with my life, professionally speaking.

Then I remember that, as an imaginative 12-year-old, my favourite game was to dress up as Julia Roberts from the movie "I Love Trouble," in which she was a reporter and in love with Nick Nolte. I had a vintage purse that I bought at our church's Rummage Sale that I slung over my left shoulder; I kept my pen and notepad in the pocket of my (mom's) trench coat for easy access. I chased the thrilling stories that unraveled in my house and the surrounding area and conducted intense, often frustrating, interviews with people that didn't actually exist. I always reported breaking stories into the large mirror that hung in our front hallway - a poor stand-in for a camera man - with a smile.

I order another pint and decide that I'll try to land a gig as an actress in a movie about a young reporter on the brink of breaking a mega story who tries to convince herself that she's not in love with her boss, a middle-aged curmudgeon with a salt-and-pepper toupe and a razor sharp intellect. And this character, she will only wear the colour lemongrass to reflect her optimism and sunny disposition.

Goop? Please explain.

I kind of love Gwyneth Paltrow, mostly because of her depiction of the beautifully broken Margot in one of my favourite movies, "The Royal Tenenbaums."

There's plenty about Gwyneth that I get: why she dated Brad Pitt and Ben Affleck back in the nineties; why she wore all those mini dresses during the promotional tour for "Iron Man" last fall (and why, for that matter, she loves her new trainer, Tracy Anderson); and why she fell for the charms of Coldplay guy Chris Martin.

However, in many ways, Gwyneth Paltrow is like a Rubik's Cube in Christian Louboutins. Things I don't get about her include, but are not limited to: why she broke up with Brad and/or Ben; why she did "Shallow Hal"; why she road-tripped across Spain with creepy chef Mario Batali for that cooking show; and, finally, and this is probably the most mind-boggling, why she named her recently launched lifestyle website "GOOP."

Goop? Who names a website "Goop"? But, then, you could also ask who names a child "Apple"? That's easy: Gwyneth Paltrow does.

I'm not the only one who finds the naming of this website perplexing. But, from what I've read on the Internet, it doesn't seem that anyone has discovered the true meaning (if there even is any) behind this almost grotesque name.

Maybe it's her initials? Gwyneth Ophelia Olywn Paltrow. Or, Gwyneth Olympia Oprah Paltrow. Who knows.

Could be what she uses in her hair to make it so shiny.

Maybe it's what she says when she's really, really mad.

Anyway, I guess I'm over it now. It's just hard to take something called GOOP seriously. But maybe that's the point - it's an escape to total frivolity in a world with too much bombing and too many bankruptcies. I'll chock it up to one of the universe's great, unkownable mysteries. But there's still part of me that wants to know, "Why? Why, Gwyneth, why?"

I got to thinking about all of this after I visited the website a few days ago (it launched in October and I've been a few times since). The site invites you to "nourish the inner aspect" and is divided into sections: "Make, Go, Get, Do, Be, See." Every week, Gwyneth (or an employee posing as Gwyneth) publishes a newsletter under one of the six categories. When I went to goop.com the other day, I watched a workout video with hardcore butt and leg exercises from Gwyneth's trainer, Tracy, in a newsletter called "Sticktoitiveness" (filed under "Do"). I felt inspired, wrote down the sequence and gave the moves a whirl. Three days later, my whole lower body still aches.

I can blame Gwyneth Paltrow for confusing me with a nonsense website name, but there's no one but myself to blame for the fact that I put so much time and energy into actually caring about it - and then writing about it.

I'm also the only person to blame for the fact that I'm apparently a total weakling since my muscles haven't yet recovered.

Which way to Wychwood?

Last Saturday, my roommate Catherine and I woke up early to check out the farmers' market at the newly-renovated Artscape Wychwood Barns at St. Clair and Christie. The former streetcar repair barns got an eco-friendly makeover that still maintains the original feel of the place (high ceilings, exposed brick, plenty of natural light). The barns now house a daycare, a greenhouse, artists' studios and, on Saturday mornings from 9-12, the "covered street" barn hosts a farmers' market with lots of yummy, locally-grown fare. A dog park, a skating rink and a jungle gym surround the exterior and presumably provide endless hours of outdoor glee. Checking out the market was something that Catherine and I said we wanted to do since the barns opened at the end of November and now, after weeks of lip service, we were finally making the trek.

The market was bustling and smelled like breakfast, which is exactly how Saturday mornings should smell. We bought a cup of organic, fair-trade coffee for a buck fifty, tasted a chatty vendor's all-natural honey (Catherine bought a jar), sampled gluten-free blueberry scones and ogled the overprized cupcakes at the "healthy junkfood" stand (I prefer my junkfood junky). On our way out, beautiful blooms of oyster mushrooms caught our attention. We approached the vendor and inquired about his goods. "I'm the 'fun guy,'" he said and we laughed politely, quite enjoying his culinary pun.

The market is one of my new favourite things - a great neighbourhood gem that isn't a total zoo (this ain't no St. Lawrence Market of the north). The goods are pricey, but all of the items that we bought (organic lettuce, two loaves of bread and that honey I mentioned) were delicious. I'd say it's worth a peek, even just to check out the cool new renovations.

Allow me to introduce myself

Topping my list of things to do today: Create blog. Check.

This isn't my first blog. I had to create a blog for what I thougtht would be a dreadful class that I took during my first year of a masters degree at Ryerson - Design for Interactive Media. We ended up covering some pretty cool topics and I started to embrace the courses's blogging component as an interesting way to engage with the material and share thoughts/ideas with classmates and my professor. The blog was pretty much defunct, though, once the class was over and my summer holidays began.

Last summer, I took another stab at blogging. This blog included musings on the joys and agonies of unemployment, how the scorching, mid-afternoon sun made breathing impossible in my non-air conditioned apartment and highlights from a New York Times article about an insightful priest with advice for choosing Mr. Right. I didn't tell anyone that I created it, though, so no one knew that it existed. Go figure.

So now I'm taking the plunge: I'm creating a blog and actually telling people about it!

Now that I can scratch this off my list, I am moving on to the second item of the day: Seek strategies for overcoming severe addiction to Diet Coke.

I kinda fell of the wagon again and started drinking too much low-calorie, caffeinated soda (like, 3 cans a day sometimes). Much like Oprah, I find myself screaming: "How did I let this happen again?"!