I have loved tales of vampires ever since I read Salem’s Lot by Stephen King.  Barlow was one bad-assed vampire that didn’t want to romance you with witty sexual innuendo. He wanted to eat you because humans were food. And he also wanted to psychologically damage you before he ate you almost like the proverbial cat playing with a mouse until it gets bored.

Dracula had a bit of romance going on but the bottom line is he was hungry.

Vampires changed in the 60s, of course with Barnabas Collins (although I never thought he was especially hot), and then they went mainstream in the 70s with Frank Langella. Now don’t get me wrong, there were more, but I do remember that Langella made my hair even sweat when I was 11-years-old.

And now to the part after the jump that might give my blog an R-rating.

I watched Buffy and have moved into True Blood and gave The Vampire Diaries a shot, which after a bit of rooting around the Internet, I found out came around first. Each of these shows are different, of course, but they do have two common things going for them.

If you were to live for centuries, could you live with yourself? And vampirism, my friends, is about doing the horizontal monkey.

Barlow didn’t care back in the early days of Stephen King but the vampire genre is different now. He was almost like a vampire shark. He would eat and move on. Humans were cattle. Barlow was a traditionalist when it came to being a bloodsucker.

In Buffy, Angel and Spike sought redemption but they both “enjoyed” The Buffster, the human emotions of true love from a teenage perspective were tied into the whole thing. Angel, after spending a night with Buffy, turned into the world’s worst boyfriend. The metaphor after they had carnal knowledge of each other, Angel became the guy that never calls, never writes and treats you pretty much like a whore. The comparison to real teenage themes was prevalent. Lots of young woman have had nightmares of this and to the character of Buffy, it happened. With Spike, he became the stalkery boyfriend that had to learn a lesson and temporarily gave his life to protect the girl he did, indeed, love. Let’s also remember that the Spike and Buffy was unhealthy. WAY unhealthy.

Because, and let’s get this out of the way, most of the time blood-sucking means sex in certain terms. The anime Vampire Knight describes this pretty eloquently. When Yuki let’s Zero suck her blood, let’s just say vampire boyfriend Kaname wasn’t very happy about it, because Zero got their first. But the manga/anime was upfront about it and there was no getting around it. And, in any shoujo manga/anime, what you have is a glorified soap opera for women.

And campers, we don’t really have that many soaps anymore so there has been, for lack of a better word, adjustments made.

I’m not going to get into Twilight. That’s some soap gone mad happening there and it amused me with its shiny vampires. But the one thing about the Stephanie Meyer novels that caught the attention of book/movie buyers is that there was a market for vampires and it reinstated what horror fans have known for years. There was, and is, a place for paranormal romance and money can be made. Especially cuddly, shiny vampires who have made an entire generation a bit crazy. Vampires and angst wrapped up in a teenage coming of age ongoing saga that made lots and lots of dough-re-mi.

Come on, campers, Romeo and Juliet is on every remaining soap there is. Fighting against differences and contrasting lifestyles was invented by Shakes. And it continues to grab attention, except some folks want happy endings, and writers out there are filling the void.

True Blood is a different beast indeed. It shows us all the things that went through our brains when thinking about the “forbidden” love of a vampire, which a bunch of uninhibited crazy thrown in for good measure. The books, although somewhat different than the television show, are from Sookie’s perspective. The show is trashy, there is no doubt, although I think it would be intriguing to see my home of Hoots go a little nuts the way Bon Tempe has recently. And, as Aunt B. wrote at Feministe, the character of Eric is popcorn goodness and sexy personified because it’s like he’s in on the joke with us.  And he cried blood when his maker died all the while giving our spunky Southern protagonist dreams about him that was such a guilty pleasure that even now it sort of makes me smile. True Blood is like eating M&Ms while you’re on a diet. You do it one hard shelled peanut at a time and although you know each bite is not good for you, you do it anyway. Alexander Skarsgard is the best actor on that show because he’s evil fun. And we can watch him without any guilt whatsoever. The dude wears wifebeaters, for crying out loud, but we can sit at home and think, you know, he’s just delicious. He knows it. We know it. Everyone is happy. Alexander Skarsgard plays Eric with an aggressive and playful eroticism that also makes my hair sweat and laugh because it’s over the top, but it works.

I’ll end this Teal Deer by saying I think The Vampire Diaries just might have promise. It seems darker than Twilight (there is a difference between dark and angst) and the set up seems pretty decent thus far. The protagonist, Elena, seems to have a bit of sense about her (which, I’m sorry Twilight fans, I don’t see with Bella) and the brothers Grimm, as I’m calling the vampire siblings) seem to be a little bit dangerous. So I’ll give it another shot.

And I return to that vampires are about fantasy. Immortality and unconstrained sexuality where choices must be made and pleasure without guilt.

Vampires are fantasies. Except Barlow, he still freaks me out and is a nightmare. He just wants you for lunch.

I noticed the gray. I like the gray in my hair quite actually. It’s at the temples. My hair is as ash-blonde though (or was) so now there are white streaks slowly moving in. I stared at it contemplatively as what does one do. I stared into the mirror, squinting because I’m now in trifocals, and grimaced.
I realized I’m in my mid-40s and it totally knocked my cranium about.
And then I had to have a conversation with my inside voice. Shut up. You know you have these too.

Me: Arrgghhhaaaa!
Inside Voice: Get over it. So you have some gray hair. I think it’s kinda sexy.
Me: Arrrgghhhaaa!!
IV: You could be dead, you know. Lord knows I don’t how you made it this long.
Me: (calming down) I’m … I still wear Chuck Taylors. I can’t be getting old.
IV: Consider yourself seasoned.
Me: What about the sleep deficit thing? What about that? It’s like that Stephen King book “Insomnia.” Am I going to start seeing little doctors cutting the life ribbons on people? Am I?! DAMMIT!! AM I??!!
IV: Quit being so melodramatic.
Me: My staff didn’t even get my joke last summer about my car being Steve Austin! The joke doesn’t work it they don’t even know who he is.
IV: It was funny.
Me: I thought so too.
IV: You are going to be all right.
Me: I’m not dyeing my hair.
IV: Good for you.
Me: Seriously, people always are telling me to dye my hair. Hell, I’m getting a Mohawk. Where’s my Sex Pistols Album. (I started singing “Bodies” as loud as I could in the middle of the night.)
IV: Not a good look for you I’m afraid. And you will scare the dogs if you do it.
Me: And I’m not buying a flat iron. Why does everyone want me to buy a flat iron? Most people get perms for crying out loud.
IV: You’ve never had any fashion sense. These things are beyond you. Just own it.
Me: Bite me.

This conversation went on for two hours. My inner voice told me many things but the most prevalent ideas where that A.) I’m vainer than I knew and B.) I possibly need a live-in life coach.
If you haven’t hit 40 yet, this might not make any sense to you. If you have, I have a feeling you know what I’m talking about.
And I’ve lost my love for PopTarts.
What the hell is that all about?

Yeah, I’m either observant or whiny depending on what you read in today’s horoscope for Libras. (It’s what it said. I’m not making this up.)

But, with that said, all is well in Comaland.

But I’m not getting this. Not at all. Could someone explain?

And I hadn’t heard this either recently, but then again, I’ve heard it for a few years as well usually in juke joints in west Tennessee where there is Pabst Blue Ribbon available for a buck. I still think Bill Richardson is in the running for VP, but one never knows.

KAG asks a good question. Why would Wal-Mart sell used merchandise as new? Pondering, pondering.

Oh, yeah, Stephen King is right. Again.

Finally, my new favorite word is douchenozzle.

He said this:

Britney Spears and Lindsay Lohan symbolize the media’s growing obsession with issues of personality over substance. People care more about the details of Spears’ child-custody case than they do about where the billions the U.S. government has poured into Iraq have gone. It’s time for a discussion about whether the news media have chucked their responsibilities and run off to Tabloid Disneyland.

Of course, Squirrel Queen said it was her as I began writing this post.

My vote is for Dick Cheney’s cardiologist. How he ever found a heart underneath all that is an act not of a doctor, but a miracle worker.

Just saying with a bit of snark on this fine Tuesday morning.

He especially doesn’t like it when cute kid, Gage, asks for folks to come out and “play with him.”

This clip is not for the squeamish of friends of Herman Munster.

[youtube=[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-WPa8efza3s&rel=1]

Arrrrrghgggghhhhhhh.

[youtube=[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aG5X8xvL2_k&rel=1]

Forever.

Spine-chilling. And then Danny getting reassurance from his finger.

Weirdness.

Kubrick liked to mess with us, didn’t he?

[youtube=[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_D64bt_ZzU4&rel=1]

Kat, sorry, but it is scary.

“Oh, yes Georgie, they float.”

Yikes.