Just earlier today I was sitting in my bedroom wondering why the hell Drew Barrymore doesn’t hate me more than she already does.
After stepping behind the lens for Whip It!, a roller derby epic with characters sporting names like Smashley Simpson and Bliss Cavendar the sky is apparently the limit for the sweet-chinned multi-hyphenate.
In this case the sky is fast approaching night.
Eclipse is the third book in the Twilight saga, which is either tween gothic literature or this era’s Mein Kampf. I forget which. Drew Barrymore says she’d like to make that her next directorial effort, a gesture which ensures that I contort into Jacob’s Ladder positions for the next three or four years.
I’m sure the Twilight movies aren’t as much an affront to the soul as say… cancer, but I am unwilling to find out for myself. I fear it like a Jehovah’s Witness fears logic. Like a fisherman fears catching notfish.
It’s all speculation currently, as Barrymore is doing press for HBO’s Grey Gardens and needs to say inflammatory and interesting things like “I want to direct the third Twilight film” and “I’m dating the troll from Cat’s Eye.”.
Shoulda stuck with Justin Long, who is dreamy and whip-smart and great.