Staying Up With the Vampires[Insert exclamation mark here]

A few weeks ago, my parents drove up the coast on a little romantic, escape-the-house-full-of-progeny-and-dying-dog jaunt, just the two of them. They weren't sure exactly how far they would go, but after a few days they made it as far as the Olympic Peninsula up in Washington State. Last time they were up there was about 15 years ago, with all of us spawn, when we spent a few days camping or living in a cabin or something like that during the one dry and sunny week a year that part of the world gets. Which is probably why I have fond memories of Washington state, and am looking forward to my own upcoming trip.

(As an aside, it feels like the Pacific Northwest is the destination this year. Seriously, I know at least six or seven people from the Bay Area who have been there or are making the trip up there this year, not even including myself.)

At any rate, they were moseying along, driving through Podunk town after Podunk town, when they happen to enter this wee little village by the name of Forks. And my parents, unaware of the existence of such a place, much less the fact that it might have any significance to anyone beyond the people who lived there, were shocked when they suddenly came to a strip of stores that seemed ... out of place. My parents decided to stop and check it out, and it was probably when they walked into this store in particular that they (likely my mother) suddenly realized where the fuck they were.

I was at work when I got the phone call from them. "Guess where we are!" my mother proclaimed.

I did not guess correctly.

"What do you want from here?" This question put me at a loss. Now, admittedly, I've read three of the four books written by Ms. Stephenie Meyer. So I know where Forks is, what the hype is about. But I don't really want anything from there. I didn't even buy the books — my sister lent me her copies. Fuck, I still don't own a single Kelly Clarkson CD, and I like her a whole lot more (guilty, guilty pleasure) than I liked the Twilight Series.

My mother started listing the options, and I finally consented to two things:

1) a mug



(My co-worker was very concerned to see this mug on my desk. I'm expecting any day now to be inundated with the latest Sookie Stackhouse novel just to "cure" me of the sparkliness.)

and

2) a bag of Twilight-themed coffee. I finally had a chance to try some of the coffee this morning. It's actually not terrible. A bit on the bitter side for my taste, but that seems to be the way (to my inexperienced coffee-tasting tongue buds) they do that sort of thing in the Puget Sound area.

Now the real question: will I make a pilgrimage of my own out there while I'm up north? If I do, I will promise to make sure I do it with a camera. And a group of especially cynical friends.