…the agony of internet forums, all in one post on Oh No They Didn’t.

I will say this: in the midst of all my issues with Twilight, the thing that actually interests me is the human-shaped hilarity that is Robert Pattinson. He’s awesome, you guys. He rejected the “media training” the studio tried to give him, and has given some of the best sound bytes ever about the movie (including talking about how the book is clearly just Stephenie Meyer’s own sexual fantasies written down, and how Edward is a manic-depressive stalker who hates himself and must have series issues since he’s a 108-year-old-virgin). You have to love a guy who ignores all promo advice and chooses instead to be hilariously, sociopathically honest:

You couldn’t get a date [before this film]?

When I was in London, it was like, not at all. I don’t know why. That’s all I talked about the whole of last year—that I need to get a girlfriend. I need to get a girlfriend and then this year, I could have any 12-year-old I wanted (laughter).

You just know after hearing this, some publicist jumped out a window. Twice.

And then the world’s saddest thing, from the same post. I laughed (it’s impossible not to), but after listening to the girls in line being so absolutely absorbed in this idea of the ideal protective-yet-caring, handsome, super-rich, and sneakily-abusive boyfriend, I read this comment with a sinking stomach.

Honey, just…leave that dude you’re with, okay? Team College, seriously.

I am still working on two things for Twilight: a We Need to Talk with screencaps and everything, and the big article about opening night with quotes from the girls in line, which I can’t seem to finish because it involves looking at my notes and seeing that out of the nine people I spoke to, all nine people thought Edward never crossed any sort of “abusive or controlling” line with Bella. Seven of those nine thought this behavior was okay in the real world, and said they would put up with it if a boyfriend treated them that way. I’ll finish the article sometime this weekend, hopefully, but the picture painted by these answers depresses the shit out of me, I’m not going to lie.

ETA: Hannah has some thinky thoughts about how it will probably be okay, despite my crushing despair.

So I wrote Fantasy’s Guide to Holiday Fashion as a spoof of all those horrible “Here are the best dresses for the party scene!” articles you see everywhere at the end of the year. Hint: I don’t go to parties. I don’t want dresses for imaginary parties. Show me pleats or keep it moving!

Entertainment Weekly, in an attempt to fill a slideshow quota, put up Five Movie Costumes That Could Hit The Costume Hall of Fame, which I am pretty sure does not actually exist. Also, they chose end-of-year party-type dresses that really makes this piece a “How to Dress for the Holidays” without really saying so. Also, I have some notes.

Their #1: Nicole Kidman’s cheongsam in Australia.

O RLY?
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Well, at least it’s the biggest opening ever for a female director?

$70.6 million dollars since Friday.

Good news: Women are a box-office force again, apparently? It’s like when Clinton hit the primaries and everyone remembered that women could vote.

Bad news: Apparently women all want to see movies about relationship abuse! (Ladies, ladies, we already HAVE Lifetime, and they air “Mother, May I Sleep with Danger?” at LEAST once a week. Come on, now.)

Sure, the line was bad. Sure, the movie was worse.

But this guy was on the lobby poster, and it might be the worst.

A version of this picture that’s not going through heroin withdrawal: here.

That dude is wearing a brocade waistcoat and a ruffly jabot that is inexplicably not attached to any sort of shirt. That makes this a full-contact No Chemise Foul, people. That shit ain’t right.

Yes, I went. Yes, I liveblogged.

No, my nose did not get broken. People were uniformly pacifist, which was greatly upsetting, but if you could get past the politeness and orderly behavior, there was a lot to love. And some girl might have a broken nose, actually. You’ll see.

Fun fact: the Regal Union Square is a black hole of internet connectivity. I took notes for as long as I could bear it, and typed them up today, blearily. It’s a blast from the past! SCIENCE.

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