On my way in to the office this morning, NPR had a piece on the upcoming movie based on Stephenie Meyers’ Twilight and its effects on an unfortunate small town in Washington.  It seems Forks has been transformed from a bucolic near-paradise deep in the beauty of the northwest into a shrine for a swarm of derelictious delinquents who sing hymns (or dirges, as the case may be) to vampirism (which, when you consider it, is about as sick a teenage idolatry as you can imagine; vampires are, at their essence, merely cannibalistic serial killers.  How’s that for a hero for your young son or daughter?).

If I sound a little jaded, well, I am.  During the early nineties, I took a break from school and lived in Denver during the height of the Vampire Lestat fad.  I took a job waiting tables at the Perkins on Colfax Avenue – third shift.  After my first week, I was about ready to drive a coffee spoon through the heart of the next pasty kid with makeup, false fangs and a penchant for dirty black clothes who answered “What can I get for you?” by hissing at me.

Anyhow I really feel for the poor waiters and waitresses of Forks, Washington, and hope at least that teenage vampire table manners have improved over the past 15 years, if not their taste.