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Today on my drive into work, I was thinking about the peculiar allergy that surfaced in me last Spring, and wondering if it could have anything to do with my having read too many trashy vampire novels. It started with all those Anne Rice novels I read in high school and college and has cumulated in my recently devouring the Twilight novels and the Sookie Stackhouse books by Charlaine Harris. My fiction with fangs additions is compounded by my consumption of screen vamps: from watching The Lost Boys as a teen to my obsession with the TV programs Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Angel.
My repeated exposure to the literary and Hollywood undead has seemingly had a really nasty, undesired effect on me: I'm now allergic to sunlight.
Really.
( At least I can still eat garlic, and holy water doesn't seem to burn me. Not very much, at least. )
.
.
Today on my drive into work, I was thinking about the peculiar allergy that surfaced in me last Spring, and wondering if it could have anything to do with my having read too many trashy vampire novels. It started with all those Anne Rice novels I read in high school and college and has cumulated in my recently devouring the Twilight novels and the Sookie Stackhouse books by Charlaine Harris. My fiction with fangs additions is compounded by my consumption of screen vamps: from watching The Lost Boys as a teen to my obsession with the TV programs Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Angel.
My repeated exposure to the literary and Hollywood undead has seemingly had a really nasty, undesired effect on me: I'm now allergic to sunlight.
Really.
( At least I can still eat garlic, and holy water doesn't seem to burn me. Not very much, at least. )
