My work has finally done something cool, and it's causing me a dilemma.
We merged with another company late last year (which unfortunately eliminated the usual open-bar Christmas party, but I'm not bitter. Wait, I'm totally bitter. Never mind). But as it turns out, the new partner we acquired in the merge really likes Halloween. It's one of his favorite holidays. So this year, for the first time, we're having a Halloween party. Which would be cool, except that it's during lunch and it's a potluck. (It's still somewhat nice, because I'm sure we'll all take a really long lunch without being docked for it, but this company tends to pay for lunch at the drop of a hat. Why not for this? And, of course, there won't be alcohol. Oops... still bitter.)
And, as it's Halloween, we're supposed to wear costumes. Now, my company isn't cruel, so costumes aren't mandatory. Some people just don't enjoy dressing up, and that's fine. Others will probably dress up in things that will make everyone else wish they hadn't, but that's a whole different blog. In fact, I think I've done it already. They announced the party via email a couple of weeks ago, and I was mildly pleased. It's an excuse to dress up, obviously. But then in today's meeting, things really got interesting.
It turns out that the party will feature a costume contest, and the top prize is $200. Two hundred dollars! For something that I love doing anyway. I mean, who else at my company spends their weekends sketching and sewing costumes? (It's possible there are others, but I've pretty much scoped out everybody for geek potential, and I haven't found much.) So, needless to say, I want to win that contest. I want to annihilate them. Plus, my birthday is three days after Halloween, so winning would be an early birthday present for me.
Therein lies the dilemma. Or, actually, dilemmas. First of all, three-quarters of my costumes are simply not work-appropriate. I'm sure that normal standards of dress don't exactly apply to Halloween costumes, but there are still limits. Costumes for which I wear boots but no pants, for example. Also, costumes held on by two straps and four safety pins. Next - the titular dilemma. (And no, that's not what it sounds like - I've already covered that one. Read the title of the post, gutter-brain.) I was really looking forward to wearing something I had made with my own two hands. But I'm still a beginner, and my most impressive costumes were made either professionally or by other people. And then, the last dilemma - obscurity. Lots of my best costumes, including the one that won the prize at my friend's party last year, are from less-than-mainstream sci-fi/fantasy/comic references, and no one at my work will know who I am. I'm pretty sure, for instance, that no one will recognize Buffy the vampire slayer unless I bring my three-foot replica Slayer scythe, and I'm also pretty sure that bringing realistic-looking weapons (even unsharpened weapons) to work is not a good idea.
I've also got a sneaking suspicion that with the contest being judged by the four male partners (two of whom have gorgeous, twenty-years-younger trophy wives), showing just the right amount of skin and/or cleavage could get me the win. But that's... well, cheating, demeaning to women, and worst of all, fiendishly difficult. What is exactly the right amount? And you have to err on the side of caution, lest everyone think you're dressed as a hooker, or, worse yet, figure out that you're trying to cheat.
I haven't come to any conclusions yet, but I'll report them as soon as I do. It's a fun problem to have, anyway, and vastly more interesting than my actual work.
Coming soon - more costume pics, possibly with people in them!
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
Wednesday, September 17, 2008
The Peter Principle in Practice
To incompetence... and beyond!
I try not to use this space to complain about my job. It's not the focus of this blog, it's not my job's fault that it's soul-shatteringly boring, and most crucially, I already spend seven and a half hours a day, five days a week, thinking about my job. Which is vastly more than it deserves. But sometimes it intrudes on the important parts of my life. Like this week.
Now, my job is (in my opinion) not that hard. It requires a lot of attention to detail, a great deal of organization, and some basic math and people skills. And, I have to admit, I don't do it all that well. I feel guilty about that, but the fact is I find the work so boring that I can't concentrate on it for more than an hour at a time, and I hate the basic point of what I do so much that if I examine it too closely I become consumed with anger and have to stop for a while. So I do not do my job well. I do it mediocrely. And I'm ashamed of that, but as I need a job, I continue to do this one.
But this week I learned that it is possible to be worse at my job, while at the same time trying harder. It's the Peter Principle (in a hierarchy, an individual will rise to the level of their incompetency) playing out in front of me. You see, my company fired someone last week who did the exact same job as me. They assigned me several of her clients. And despite the fact that she was constantly working, constantly doing something, everything I got from her is a mess.
So I don't know whether to be relieved or saddened. Clearly, I could be worse - much worse - at my job. But at the same time, doesn't this mean I could be doing something better, if people this incompetent can be doing my job? (Not that I want a promotion - more responsibility in the same field might drive me to postal-worker levels of rage.) And also, how did someone trying that hard let things get this bad? I'm a slacker, I admit it, but when I make a big mistake or forget something or can't figure something out, I throw myself on the mercy of my boss. Because in the end, I'm responsible for something, no matter how much I despise it.
I don't have any answers, and I apologize for this less-than-lighthearted break from the important business of geekdom. But this week the business of business is pervasive, and besides, I can't buy anymore supplies for my Halloween costumes until I get paid tomorrow.
I try not to use this space to complain about my job. It's not the focus of this blog, it's not my job's fault that it's soul-shatteringly boring, and most crucially, I already spend seven and a half hours a day, five days a week, thinking about my job. Which is vastly more than it deserves. But sometimes it intrudes on the important parts of my life. Like this week.
Now, my job is (in my opinion) not that hard. It requires a lot of attention to detail, a great deal of organization, and some basic math and people skills. And, I have to admit, I don't do it all that well. I feel guilty about that, but the fact is I find the work so boring that I can't concentrate on it for more than an hour at a time, and I hate the basic point of what I do so much that if I examine it too closely I become consumed with anger and have to stop for a while. So I do not do my job well. I do it mediocrely. And I'm ashamed of that, but as I need a job, I continue to do this one.
But this week I learned that it is possible to be worse at my job, while at the same time trying harder. It's the Peter Principle (in a hierarchy, an individual will rise to the level of their incompetency) playing out in front of me. You see, my company fired someone last week who did the exact same job as me. They assigned me several of her clients. And despite the fact that she was constantly working, constantly doing something, everything I got from her is a mess.
So I don't know whether to be relieved or saddened. Clearly, I could be worse - much worse - at my job. But at the same time, doesn't this mean I could be doing something better, if people this incompetent can be doing my job? (Not that I want a promotion - more responsibility in the same field might drive me to postal-worker levels of rage.) And also, how did someone trying that hard let things get this bad? I'm a slacker, I admit it, but when I make a big mistake or forget something or can't figure something out, I throw myself on the mercy of my boss. Because in the end, I'm responsible for something, no matter how much I despise it.
I don't have any answers, and I apologize for this less-than-lighthearted break from the important business of geekdom. But this week the business of business is pervasive, and besides, I can't buy anymore supplies for my Halloween costumes until I get paid tomorrow.
Sunday, September 14, 2008
Pictures!
That was embarrassingly easy, actually.
One Renaissance chemise. Or approximation thereof.
Here's the coat. It needs ironing. :)
Now I understand why the pictures on eBay always look so crappy.
And pockets. Did I mention pockets?
One Renaissance chemise. Or approximation thereof.
Note the elastic. Please - it was remarkably difficult.
And the sleeves. Let's not talk about sleeves.
Here's the coat. It needs ironing. :)
Now I understand why the pictures on eBay always look so crappy.
And pockets. Did I mention pockets?
I don't usually think about household appliances...
... until I need one, and we don't have it.
For instance, an iron. I know that not having an iron (and beyond that, not noticing its absence for, oh, just over two years now) probably says terrifying things about my housekeeping in general and the state of my clothes in particular, but let's face it, that's not really much of a surprise. My clothes do better than you'd think - while I wasn't aware that my apartment did not boast an iron, I was cognizant of the fact that I haven't used an iron in several years - so I bought clothes with that in mind. I've never ironed pants in my life, so that wasn't an issue, and on top I tend to favor sweaters and other slightly stretchy fabrics as opposed to crisp cotton button-downs. And even those come mostly unwrinkled if you hang them in the bathroom when you shower and then toss them in the dryer to fluff.
So I don't iron. In fact, the last time I remember doing it was in high school, when I threw a sixties-themed party and lit fifty or sixty candles in my parents' living room. Here's a tip: don't set a shallow candleholder on top of a hand-knit doily and let it burn for six hours. Here's another: after you've ignored that first tip, the only way to remove the wax from the doily will be to press the doily between two layers of paper (lunch bags work well; they're absorbent but not so much so that they stick, like paper towels) and use a warm iron to melt the wax out. Change the paper when it becomes saturated with wax. Ironing for ironing's sake - or, you know for the sake of professional polishedness - just seems like OCD to me.
But it is, for better or worse, a part of making costumes (or any clothes, really). You press seams so that they lay flat. You iron interfacing to fuse things to stiffness. You press collars so they look like collars and not lumpy misshapen... well, never mind that now. I've been faking it so far, but this weekend I really dove headfirst into the costume crafting. And it turns out, you really need an iron.
And, weirdly enough, sometimes you also need a skewer with a hole in the end of it. Now, I'm relatively certain that's not actually the proper technique for inserting elastic, but sometimes you just have to improvise. Actually, I'm completely certain - the pattern instructions said "after sewing on casing for elastic, insert elastic using a safety pin." Here endeth the lesson. Unfortunately, I have no idea what that means, or what you're supposed to use the safety pin for. I had just attached a half-inch wide strip of bias tape all around the inside of the neckline of the chemise I was sewing, and I needed to thread a length of quarter-inch wide elastic through all three feet of it. I tried just pushing it in, but about three inches in it balked, so I pulled it out. Then what? That's where the skewer came in. Tip the third (although if you have a better way, by all means, use it instead): Take a cooking skewer. Strip off any visible splinters. Poke a hole through the non-pointy end with a needle, and thread the skewer. Tie one end of the thread around the skewer securely. Sew the other end of the thread to the elastic. Push the skewer (carefully, especially if you happen to be working with paper-thin, extraordinarily cheap silk essence) through the tube you've made for the elastic. The elastic will be pulled along by the skewer. Now, before the trailing end of the elastic disappears into its tube, pin it to something. Anything. The fabric is a good place to start, but if not that, pin it to the couch, your knee, anything. Trust me. Because when the end of that elastic disappears into the casing, it will be lost forever. You will then have to curse, jump up and down, and maybe throw things. Then you get to pull the skewer all the way through and start over.
This is the weekend I learned about elastic. Also about lapels, the meaning of the word "facing" in sewing jargon, and that throwing your already-cut-out pattern pieces onto the rag pile is not a good idea. Ah, the progress continues to amaze me.
Actually, though, it sort of does. In two days I made a gambler's coat and a Renaissance chemise. They're costume quality, not clothing quality, but I'm still proud of them. And if the next thing I learn is how to post pictures on Blogger, you can see them too.
I wouldn't hold my breath, if I were you.
For instance, an iron. I know that not having an iron (and beyond that, not noticing its absence for, oh, just over two years now) probably says terrifying things about my housekeeping in general and the state of my clothes in particular, but let's face it, that's not really much of a surprise. My clothes do better than you'd think - while I wasn't aware that my apartment did not boast an iron, I was cognizant of the fact that I haven't used an iron in several years - so I bought clothes with that in mind. I've never ironed pants in my life, so that wasn't an issue, and on top I tend to favor sweaters and other slightly stretchy fabrics as opposed to crisp cotton button-downs. And even those come mostly unwrinkled if you hang them in the bathroom when you shower and then toss them in the dryer to fluff.
So I don't iron. In fact, the last time I remember doing it was in high school, when I threw a sixties-themed party and lit fifty or sixty candles in my parents' living room. Here's a tip: don't set a shallow candleholder on top of a hand-knit doily and let it burn for six hours. Here's another: after you've ignored that first tip, the only way to remove the wax from the doily will be to press the doily between two layers of paper (lunch bags work well; they're absorbent but not so much so that they stick, like paper towels) and use a warm iron to melt the wax out. Change the paper when it becomes saturated with wax. Ironing for ironing's sake - or, you know for the sake of professional polishedness - just seems like OCD to me.
But it is, for better or worse, a part of making costumes (or any clothes, really). You press seams so that they lay flat. You iron interfacing to fuse things to stiffness. You press collars so they look like collars and not lumpy misshapen... well, never mind that now. I've been faking it so far, but this weekend I really dove headfirst into the costume crafting. And it turns out, you really need an iron.
And, weirdly enough, sometimes you also need a skewer with a hole in the end of it. Now, I'm relatively certain that's not actually the proper technique for inserting elastic, but sometimes you just have to improvise. Actually, I'm completely certain - the pattern instructions said "after sewing on casing for elastic, insert elastic using a safety pin." Here endeth the lesson. Unfortunately, I have no idea what that means, or what you're supposed to use the safety pin for. I had just attached a half-inch wide strip of bias tape all around the inside of the neckline of the chemise I was sewing, and I needed to thread a length of quarter-inch wide elastic through all three feet of it. I tried just pushing it in, but about three inches in it balked, so I pulled it out. Then what? That's where the skewer came in. Tip the third (although if you have a better way, by all means, use it instead): Take a cooking skewer. Strip off any visible splinters. Poke a hole through the non-pointy end with a needle, and thread the skewer. Tie one end of the thread around the skewer securely. Sew the other end of the thread to the elastic. Push the skewer (carefully, especially if you happen to be working with paper-thin, extraordinarily cheap silk essence) through the tube you've made for the elastic. The elastic will be pulled along by the skewer. Now, before the trailing end of the elastic disappears into its tube, pin it to something. Anything. The fabric is a good place to start, but if not that, pin it to the couch, your knee, anything. Trust me. Because when the end of that elastic disappears into the casing, it will be lost forever. You will then have to curse, jump up and down, and maybe throw things. Then you get to pull the skewer all the way through and start over.
This is the weekend I learned about elastic. Also about lapels, the meaning of the word "facing" in sewing jargon, and that throwing your already-cut-out pattern pieces onto the rag pile is not a good idea. Ah, the progress continues to amaze me.
Actually, though, it sort of does. In two days I made a gambler's coat and a Renaissance chemise. They're costume quality, not clothing quality, but I'm still proud of them. And if the next thing I learn is how to post pictures on Blogger, you can see them too.
I wouldn't hold my breath, if I were you.
Tuesday, September 9, 2008
Geeks and Ghouls and Ghosts, Oh My!
Every year at about this time, Halloween sneaks up behind me and hits me over the head with a two by four. Or possibly a baseball bat (since it comes from behind, I never get a really good look at it, obviously). Labor Day passes, the summer is ending, I'm just starting to relax and look forward to a really boring month, and then something reminds me. Halloween.
More specifically, Halloween costumes. I like Halloween and all - ghosts and vampires and creepy crawlies - but it's not my favorite holiday. It is, however, the best excuse all year to dress up in a costume. For some sad, deprived people, it's the only excuse. Luckily, at least one of my friends throws an awesome Halloween party every year, so I have somewhere to go in my costume. (Without that, I might be forced to dress up and just go grocery shopping or something. Lack of venue wouldn't actually translate to lack of costume.)
But being costumically inclined also means that I usually end up in charge of several costumes besides my own. Last year I did four costumes from the ground up and consulted on three more. This year, since I can actually sew a little, I'm looking at five. Admittedly, my sewing skills are still limited, so some pieces from each costume will be bought, not made. My parents' costumes, for the annual 'Witches and Warlocks' party, probably won't take any sewing at all: I've already got the dress my mom will wear as Endora from Bewitched, and we'll just buy the robes my dad will wear as a Hogwarts professor. We'll add a couple of touches to make it clear exactly who they are, like last year when my mom was Minerva McGonagall - a wreath of thistles for her hat, a tartan wrap, Gryffindor ribbons on her broom. But they're basically done.
The other three, though, will be considerably more work. As usual, I'm doing mine and my boyfriend's, and I think this year I'll take over one of my friend's, though I haven't told her yet. Last year her costume was pretty last minute, and I have a great idea for her this year, so I'm thinking I'll just do hers. Especially because I'm not entirely sure what I'm doing for my own yet. I have a couple of ideas, but nothing really inspired me this year like Yvaine from Stardust did last year.
At least this year if I don't come up with anything, I have things to fall back on. My Comic-Con costumes, the Masquerade Ball outfit, or my outfit for the Edwardian Ball will all do in a pinch. The same is not true of my boyfriend. Our friends have seen all of his costumes before, and with the exception of Severus Snape (made by a costumer friend of his years ago), they weren't really made well enough for multiple wearings. (I made them, often without using a sewing machine... sometimes without patterns or measurements... it's fairly miraculous they stayed on.) But this year I'm confident in my ability to make things that actually qualify as clothes. Whether or not they look like what they're supposed to is an entirely different question.
I think this year I might go old school. A lot of things are up in the air right now, and I think next year won't be the same. (Which seems profound, but upon reflection is just obvious. Oh well.) So instead of trying to do something uber-sexy and up-to-the-moment, I think this year I might go with a costume that's been rattling around in my head for a couple of years. I've got the hair for it right now, and there's a great companion costume for my boyfriend. It'll involve some purchasing, some sewing, and possibly some foam molding and shellacking.
It will be fantastic. It will be time-consuming. It will be revealed... in a later post.
Next year, can someone remind me about Halloween in August?
More specifically, Halloween costumes. I like Halloween and all - ghosts and vampires and creepy crawlies - but it's not my favorite holiday. It is, however, the best excuse all year to dress up in a costume. For some sad, deprived people, it's the only excuse. Luckily, at least one of my friends throws an awesome Halloween party every year, so I have somewhere to go in my costume. (Without that, I might be forced to dress up and just go grocery shopping or something. Lack of venue wouldn't actually translate to lack of costume.)
But being costumically inclined also means that I usually end up in charge of several costumes besides my own. Last year I did four costumes from the ground up and consulted on three more. This year, since I can actually sew a little, I'm looking at five. Admittedly, my sewing skills are still limited, so some pieces from each costume will be bought, not made. My parents' costumes, for the annual 'Witches and Warlocks' party, probably won't take any sewing at all: I've already got the dress my mom will wear as Endora from Bewitched, and we'll just buy the robes my dad will wear as a Hogwarts professor. We'll add a couple of touches to make it clear exactly who they are, like last year when my mom was Minerva McGonagall - a wreath of thistles for her hat, a tartan wrap, Gryffindor ribbons on her broom. But they're basically done.
The other three, though, will be considerably more work. As usual, I'm doing mine and my boyfriend's, and I think this year I'll take over one of my friend's, though I haven't told her yet. Last year her costume was pretty last minute, and I have a great idea for her this year, so I'm thinking I'll just do hers. Especially because I'm not entirely sure what I'm doing for my own yet. I have a couple of ideas, but nothing really inspired me this year like Yvaine from Stardust did last year.
At least this year if I don't come up with anything, I have things to fall back on. My Comic-Con costumes, the Masquerade Ball outfit, or my outfit for the Edwardian Ball will all do in a pinch. The same is not true of my boyfriend. Our friends have seen all of his costumes before, and with the exception of Severus Snape (made by a costumer friend of his years ago), they weren't really made well enough for multiple wearings. (I made them, often without using a sewing machine... sometimes without patterns or measurements... it's fairly miraculous they stayed on.) But this year I'm confident in my ability to make things that actually qualify as clothes. Whether or not they look like what they're supposed to is an entirely different question.
I think this year I might go old school. A lot of things are up in the air right now, and I think next year won't be the same. (Which seems profound, but upon reflection is just obvious. Oh well.) So instead of trying to do something uber-sexy and up-to-the-moment, I think this year I might go with a costume that's been rattling around in my head for a couple of years. I've got the hair for it right now, and there's a great companion costume for my boyfriend. It'll involve some purchasing, some sewing, and possibly some foam molding and shellacking.
It will be fantastic. It will be time-consuming. It will be revealed... in a later post.
Next year, can someone remind me about Halloween in August?
Wednesday, September 3, 2008
Fall of twilight
It's not me, it's you. Really.
I read twilight on a four-hour layover in Atlanta this weekend, and I liked it. Period. I know I'm damning it with faint praise, but that's about all I can say for it. It's decently written and enjoyable and worth a read if you've got some time to kill. It is not, however, life-changing, profound, or in any way a rival to the Harry Potter series.
I'm sorry, Twilighters. I'm just not destined to become one of you. There are a number of reasons for this, and they're not necessarily the ones you'd expect. While I had admittedly already found the twilight fanbase overly rabid and annoying, and expressed some misgivings over the religious pedigree of the author, I was determined to go into it with an open mind, which I believe I managed for the most part. I was also at a slight disadvantage, having read spoiler-filled reviews of each of the books, which obviously diminished the suspense, but this wasn't a major handicap, as most authors are reluctant to kill their main characters anyway, so you already expect everyone to survive.
But it just didn't grab me by the throat, as it were. I honestly like Bella, the main character, and I want her to get what she wants. Which is, of course, Edward. Who is also likable enough, I suppose. He's very courtly, very protective, very beautiful, very rich... very everything. And that makes sense, given that he's had over a hundred years to become all of those things. But he's a little... boring. He has no humanizing flaws, no fascinating quirks. And again, that makes sense - he's not human. But I have to say I don't understand the appeal. Sure, if he's that beautiful I'm sure I'd stare at him too. Then what? He doesn't seem like the kind of guy you could watch The Simpsons with, or play Rock Band with, or have a tickle fight with. I know those are my own personal hobbies, but he doesn't really seem compatible with any casual pursuits. All he and Bella seem to do together is walk around and sit around, talking about how in love they are and how much danger she's in. Which is lovely and deeply romantic. For about five minutes. Then I'm bored. And then what do you do?
I do realize that the brooding, Byronic hero is just not my cup of tea. I wasn't all that captivated by the Buffy/Angel thing, either. But at least they had a shared mission - they could slay together. And while Buffy was definitely near-obsessed with Angel, she at least had other friends. She spent time with other people, did other things. Occasionally she even resented Angel for being a part of the supernatural part of her world, being part of what kept her from normal. She was torn between being a Slayer and being a teenager. None of this is true of Bella. I know she doesn't have the convenience of being a Slayer - a defined destiny, a duty - but she doesn't seem to have any wants or needs that are not fulfilled by Edward.
In fact, she doesn't really have anything that isn't somehow connected to Edward (except for her family, which she's willing to give up to be with him). She doesn't have likes, dislikes, hobbies, friends, anything. At the beginning of the book, she misses the sunny weather of Phoenix, but when she realizes why Edward and his family live in rainy Forks, Washington, she stops minding the grey days. As she and Edward start dating, he asks her endless questions about herself - but very few of the answers actually make it into the book, leaving her as much a cipher as she was before. Her only distinguishing trait is that she is extremely accident-prone. All this makes her easy to identify with, but hard to know. I could understand a teenage (or pre-teen) girl wanting to BE Bella, to live out her romantic story, but I can't imagine wanting to be LIKE her. How? The answer to the question "what would Bella do?" always references Edward. If you don't have an Edward, you don't have an answer.
Bella isn't a person, she's a reflection. A pale imitation of the real thing - just as Edward isn't so much a person as a marble statue come to life. They're very pretty, and they're very devoted, but their passion is a pallid thing compared to reality. Give me a guy who gets a little dirty, who sweats and laughs and trips over his own feet and misspells words like "cereal", and I can love him in the passionate messy silly way a real guy deserves. Give me Edward, and I can hang his picture on the wall.
Did I mention how bored I am in museums of art?
I read twilight on a four-hour layover in Atlanta this weekend, and I liked it. Period. I know I'm damning it with faint praise, but that's about all I can say for it. It's decently written and enjoyable and worth a read if you've got some time to kill. It is not, however, life-changing, profound, or in any way a rival to the Harry Potter series.
I'm sorry, Twilighters. I'm just not destined to become one of you. There are a number of reasons for this, and they're not necessarily the ones you'd expect. While I had admittedly already found the twilight fanbase overly rabid and annoying, and expressed some misgivings over the religious pedigree of the author, I was determined to go into it with an open mind, which I believe I managed for the most part. I was also at a slight disadvantage, having read spoiler-filled reviews of each of the books, which obviously diminished the suspense, but this wasn't a major handicap, as most authors are reluctant to kill their main characters anyway, so you already expect everyone to survive.
But it just didn't grab me by the throat, as it were. I honestly like Bella, the main character, and I want her to get what she wants. Which is, of course, Edward. Who is also likable enough, I suppose. He's very courtly, very protective, very beautiful, very rich... very everything. And that makes sense, given that he's had over a hundred years to become all of those things. But he's a little... boring. He has no humanizing flaws, no fascinating quirks. And again, that makes sense - he's not human. But I have to say I don't understand the appeal. Sure, if he's that beautiful I'm sure I'd stare at him too. Then what? He doesn't seem like the kind of guy you could watch The Simpsons with, or play Rock Band with, or have a tickle fight with. I know those are my own personal hobbies, but he doesn't really seem compatible with any casual pursuits. All he and Bella seem to do together is walk around and sit around, talking about how in love they are and how much danger she's in. Which is lovely and deeply romantic. For about five minutes. Then I'm bored. And then what do you do?
I do realize that the brooding, Byronic hero is just not my cup of tea. I wasn't all that captivated by the Buffy/Angel thing, either. But at least they had a shared mission - they could slay together. And while Buffy was definitely near-obsessed with Angel, she at least had other friends. She spent time with other people, did other things. Occasionally she even resented Angel for being a part of the supernatural part of her world, being part of what kept her from normal. She was torn between being a Slayer and being a teenager. None of this is true of Bella. I know she doesn't have the convenience of being a Slayer - a defined destiny, a duty - but she doesn't seem to have any wants or needs that are not fulfilled by Edward.
In fact, she doesn't really have anything that isn't somehow connected to Edward (except for her family, which she's willing to give up to be with him). She doesn't have likes, dislikes, hobbies, friends, anything. At the beginning of the book, she misses the sunny weather of Phoenix, but when she realizes why Edward and his family live in rainy Forks, Washington, she stops minding the grey days. As she and Edward start dating, he asks her endless questions about herself - but very few of the answers actually make it into the book, leaving her as much a cipher as she was before. Her only distinguishing trait is that she is extremely accident-prone. All this makes her easy to identify with, but hard to know. I could understand a teenage (or pre-teen) girl wanting to BE Bella, to live out her romantic story, but I can't imagine wanting to be LIKE her. How? The answer to the question "what would Bella do?" always references Edward. If you don't have an Edward, you don't have an answer.
Bella isn't a person, she's a reflection. A pale imitation of the real thing - just as Edward isn't so much a person as a marble statue come to life. They're very pretty, and they're very devoted, but their passion is a pallid thing compared to reality. Give me a guy who gets a little dirty, who sweats and laughs and trips over his own feet and misspells words like "cereal", and I can love him in the passionate messy silly way a real guy deserves. Give me Edward, and I can hang his picture on the wall.
Did I mention how bored I am in museums of art?
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