I like vampires, but I’m not a Twilight fan, as evidenced by the fact that it was only yesterday when I learned that instead of burning in the sun and dying like real vampires, Twilight vamps just . . . sparkle in the sunlight. Nonsense. And isn’t the idea of a dude who’s over 100 years old hanging out with a high school student pretty creepy and weird?
That in turn got me thinking about the aging process. Across various fictions, why don’t vampires exhibit more cranky old man characteristics? I’m only 28 and already I feel myself periodically overtaken by a desire to tell the young people all about How It Was Back in the Day. I’ll bore people with tedious stories about the old Monroe Street Giant in Columbia Heights before the fancy new stores opened, or about how there used to not be all this stuff on U Street but The Kingpin was the best bar in DC. Just yesterday, I think, a colleague and I were explaining to the rest of the ThinkProgress team that if the new progressive infrastructure and its blogosphere last for a thousand years, men will stay say the Social Security privatization fight of 2005 was their finest hour. If I ever attain immortality, I fully intend to harangue the young people of the future with nonsense about Voltron and how people think of Harvey Danger as a one-hit wonder but really that whole album’s underrated and had other good songs.
That and, you know, murder people in order to feast on their blood.