I thought it was about time to do an update. So here are my impressions of Kansas after living here for a year and a half.

6. Booze Laws Still Irritate and Confuse Me

"I'll get you beer baron!" "...No you woonnn't..."

As I mentioned previously, it was quite the shock to find out that hard liquor isn’t sold in grocery stores or gas stations, only liquor stores. It was also surprising to learn only 3.2% beer is sold in grocery stores. Also, liquor stores are only open until 11 p.m. Monday through Saturday and 7:30 p.m. on Sunday.

Living in Chicagoland for most of my life, I can confidently say there would be riots if they tried to pull that crap in Illinois.

It’s strange that there are all these restrictions in a state with a large population of ranchers, farmers, cowboys and good ole’ boys—guys that might like to buy a sixer Sunday night or grab a bottle of Jack at Wal-Mart—because some people in the state are still stuck in a prohibition-era mindset.

Also, Kansas liquor laws have managed to ruin one of the best things about being of age—HyVee’s liquor store. If you haven’t been, it’s like an amusement park, an amusement park full of alcohol.

It’s what Willy Wonka would have created if he had a drinking problem and wasn’t busy gallivanting in glass elevators with children and also enslaving an indigenous race of chocolate-loving dwarfs.

It’s inconvenient is what I’m saying.

5. Sunsets

Taken on my way home from a road trip.

Sunsets in the suburbs occasionally can be beautiful, but even if they are, they’re usually ruined by soccer moms yelling at entitled, bratty children and strip malls.

But in the Flint Hills there’s none of that—just brilliant hues and unspoilt land.

4. I Still Hate Driving in This State

My ire can be distilled down to two issues: construction and awful drivers.

During the summer, there is always roadwork. ALWAYS. Last summer, construction on I-70 turned an hour-and-a-half drive to the airport into a three-hour drive, which subsequently turned into missed flight and nerve-wracking standby seat lottery.

What I picture while driving in Kansas.

If that’s not enough to be pissed about, on the overpasses, the Kansas Department of Transportation posts signs with terrible poems apologizing about the construction and delays. Really!? It’s not bad enough that you’ve caused me to yell stuff at complete strangers that would make prison inmates blush? Now I have to be angry about delays and terrible writing?

Ahem…moving on.

I know it’s lame, but one of the best parts about visiting my parents’ house recently was driving with other people who act like they actually have places to be and things to do. I don’t know when the convention for “Kansans Who Drive Like Jerks” decided everyone has to drive exactly at or, preferably, less than the speed limit.

Also, you know you people can move into the intersection if you’re in the left-turn lane and you have a green light? That’s a thing they teach in driver’s ed here, right?

3. People are Unwaveringly Nice

Obviously, this excludes the yahoos in the Westboro Baptist Church. People here look you in the eyes and smile and are almost always chatty.

Even people who I disagree with politically (in my personal life, obviously not in my professional life because I’m objective) are usually very nice. It makes for an odd situation.

I simultaneously like them, but hate every regurgitated talking point that comes out of their mouths.

2. Even in Kansas, There Are Hipsters

You can play it in Kansas!

I know I live in a university town, but I was not expecting so many hipsters when I moved to Kansas. Yes, there are beards, plaid, black thick-framed glasses, skinny jeans and a faux sense of intellectualism even in Kansas.

Because of this, I’m convinced that one can find hipsters literally anywhere.

1. You Can Have Fun in Kansas

Kansas often gets a bad rap for being boring (and also for those Westboro ding dongs I mentioned earlier), but imagine my surprise when I realized I was actually having some fun here.

I guess it goes to show you can find good friends anywhere.

This year, I actually had vacation time to burn when Christmas rolled around, so I took a trip home. Home was great, but my flight to and from Chicago was just weird and awesome. It would be a crime not to share.

The Surprising:

For once, I had no travel problems on my way to the airport.

When I visited my brother for the Fourth of July last year, my drive to the airport, which normally takes an hour and a half (two hours on a bad day), took more than three hours due to construction.

When I got to the economy parking lot at Kansas City International Airport, it took another 15 minutes for the shuttle to pick me up. I know that doesn’t seem like a big deal, but it turned out to be the difference between me missing and making my flight. I missed my check in by five minutes.

I had to wait another two hours just for a chance to fly standby and ended up being the second to last person to get a seat.

But this time there was hardly any traffic, and the shuttle showed up right after I parked my car. It was unprecedented.

The Strange and Hilarious:

Since I overcalculated how much time I would need to get to the airport after previous travel disasters, I had plenty of time to grab some $8 airport beers.

Now there's a man of the cloth who can drink.

I sat down at the bar of some generic, sports-themed restaurant and ordered the best Budweiser I’ve ever had. It wasn’t really the best Budweiser I’ve ever had, but considering what I paid for it, I’m forcing myself to believe it was.

A few minutes later a priest in full regalia, collar, black Snuggie, rosary beads and everything, sat down next to me.

Now, what would you expect a Catholic priest to order? Red wine? Whiskey?

Well, if you guessed wine or whiskey, you would be wrong. If you guessed margarita, you would be correct.

It was strange for me to see a priest order my middle-aged mother’s drink of choice, but he wasn’t messing around. He absolutely slammed that thing. I was halfway done with my beer when I looked over to see him draining the last bits of liquid from his glass.

Then, as if he were trying his hardest to look more out of place at the bar, he ordered a Manhattan. At that point, I had to leave before I laughed in his face; I didn’t need that sort of bad juju before a flight.

The Not-So Surprising

Going through security at the airport universally sucks. Asking people in a rush to put all  their belongings  into plastic buckets, while insisting they move quickly through the line without belts and shoes isn’t an efficient way to do anything.

Asking them to choose between the super x-ray cancer machine and getting to second base with a burly TSA agent named Phyllis doesn’t help matters.

 But for all that hassle, the TSA agents didn’t even enforce what I thought was supposed to be one of the most important procedures.

You’re supposed to put all your liquids and gels (up to 3 oz.) in a transparent 1-quart bag. I did that. But you’re also supposed to take that bag out of your suitcase at the security checkpoint. I did not do that–at either airport.

So good job TSA!

The Annoying:

"We'd have better luck playing pick up sticks with our butt cheeks."

I had a window seat for the flight, and for a while, I didn’t think anyone would be joining me. As soon as I thought that, a flustered, middle-aged woman took the aisle seat.

Immediately, she began what I can only describe as nesting. First, she pulled out what seemed to be the entire contents of her giant backpack, including sandwich baggies full of snacks. She then proceeded to pop what I hope was anti-anxiety pill. After that, she took her shoes off and shifted into every conceivable position her seat would allow.

I thought she was done after that, but I was mistaken. She took out a journal, which she scribbled in furiously for the entire flight.

I get that you want to be comfortable, but come on lady. This is not a Honda Odyssey on a three-state roadtrip with your family. It’s a plane filled with strangers.

The Adorable and Hilarious:

Despite having to deal with Del Griffith in the seat next to me (100 points if you get that reference), there was one highlight of the flight.

A little girl and her mother sat a few rows behind me, and every time the plane moved on the tarmac, the little girl shouted “BLAST OFF!”

Her mother was clearly embarrassed, but I was thoroughly entertained.

The You’re Trying Too Hard Bro:

A nice Middle Eastern or South Asian (not sure which because I’m not great at deciphering accents over the roar of plane engines) couple sat a few rows ahead of me on the flight.

Now, that might raise a red flag…if you’re an ignorant racist.

I think the guy might have had the same thought, seeing as we were traveling in the Midwest, which I’m sorry to admit is home to a lot of boorish people. In what I assume was an attempt to blend in with us ‘MURICANS by bastardizing Christmas, he wore a Santa hat the entire flight.

Come on bro, you’re better than that.

The Bush League:

The return flight from Chicago to Kansas City was less eventful. However, I failed to notice it was on United’s regional shuttle service instead of a its regular air service.

"Call the stewardess, Vaughn. I need one of those bags." "There aren't any stewardesses." "I wonder if there are any pilots?"

Once inside the terminal, I found out I would actually be boarding the plane from the tarmac instead of a jetway. It’s not exactly a welcome surprise. I felt like I was in Major League when Rachel Phelps took away the Indians regular jet for roadtrips.

Also, apparently, “regional jet” is airline speak for sardine can with wings. It was the smallest commercial jet I’ve ever seen.  Thankfully, it was a smooth flight because any kind of significant turbulence would have ripped that thing apart like a tennis ball in a lawn mower.

 Now I’m back to boring ole’ Kansas and the new year…

Here’s an excerpt:

The concert hall at the Syndey Opera House holds 2,700 people. This blog was viewed about 35,000 times in 2011. If it were a concert at Sydney Opera House, it would take about 13 sold-out performances for that many people to see it.

Click here to see the complete report.

*Once again, kudos if you get the reference in the title.

As a native Chicagoan, it’s probably fair to say I’m more acclimated to winter, and everything that comes with it, than most people. That’s why I was shocked, offended even, to learn that many of my co-workers and neighbors have little to no interest in hockey and even worse, legitimate fears of ice skating.

Apparently, this is terrifying.

The sports staff at the Mercury has made its indifference to hockey known on several occasions, so I won’t bother with those poor, lost individuals. However, I was more surprised to find that ice skating brings about anxiety in several Mercury staff members.

During the weekly meeting, our editor Bill Felber suggested an ice-skating story to reporter Paul Harris. Harris was open to the idea but made it known that he and ice skating don’t mix. He noted that the ice is hard and when he inevitably falls, he must also worry about a hand being sliced by and errant skate.

It was a little dramatic.

News editor Javier Gonzalez and reporter Bryan Richardson, two Houstonians, also admitted wariness toward ice skating. Richardson bragged that, at the very least, he could avoid falling (so long as he goes no faster than a snail’s pace around the rink), while Gonzalez seemed to want nothing to do with frozen sheets of water.

I have no idea what he's doing, but I'm certain he got beat up afterward.

This was all strange to me having grown up in the suburbs of Chicago where high schools have hockey teams and every other town has an ice rink, including my high school and my home town. I learned to skate at a very early age, such an early age that I had to call my mother to get an approximation.

She couldn’t recall exactly when she put my brother and I in skating lessons at the Crystal Ice House, our local rink, and I imagine the name of an awful local beer someplace in Canada. We concluded that it was when I was in first or second grade because she remembers our skates being about a size four. I’m not great at math, but I think it means I was around eight.

Pictured: My brother.

It was an ordinary thing to do in my town, and I remember being excited to learn to skate because that meant it was only a short time before a hockey stick was in my hands. My mom recalled that I took to skating naturally, saying I was pretty quick skater. She also recalls that it took my brother a bit longer to get the hang of things, describing his initial efforts “like Bambi on ice skates.”

He must have taken after her.

She learned to skate at an early age, too, growing up near a city park in Chicago. She learned in a pair of too-big, used skates with newspaper stuffed in the toes. She said on a few occasions, she wound up in the middle of a hockey game, struggling on all fours to get to the snow bank while simultaneously trying to avoid the puck.

But she didn’t remember the class being split in to two groups. I, on the other hand, can’t forget.

There were two instructors, a guy, a hockey player, and a girl, a figure skater. The hockey player instructed most of the boys who signed up for lessons, including my brother. Note that I said “most of the boys.” I was instructed by the figure skater, who also instructed most of the girls.

I wasn’t pleased with the arrangement. I remember looking longingly at the other end of the ice where the rest of the boys were, wishing I could join them. At that age, cooties were a very real concern, and I wasn’t positive the rink was cold enough to eradicate them. In retrospect, it was nice learning to skate without worrying about being pushed or fake checked into the boards.

After I served my time in my female ice prison, my parents enrolled us in a program which taught youngsters the basics of hockey. We also took part in some (heavily) supervised scrimmages.

Obviously, we loved it. A little movie called “The Mighty Ducks,” which introduced hockey to kids nationwide, had just premiered. The Chicago Blackhawks had just played in the Stanley Cup Finals, too. They lost to the Pittsburgh Penguins, but I won’t go into that.

As my mom noted, I was quick skater, but I wasn’t great at stopping. I also had a good wrist shot. However, my dreams of playing for the Blackhawks (or the Mighty Ducks) were dashed when my mom informed us it was too expensive to play club hockey. All was not lost, though. There were plenty of pond hockey games and trips to the ice rink open skates in the years to come.

I guess what I’m really saying is I’m glad that I grew up in the North, so I don’t have to be afraid of a little frozen water.

However, if you spend a significant amount of time on the Internet (which you probably do because why else would you be reading my site), you’re probably also aware that people love to hate Deschanel.

And I don’t get it.

Now, this is not some sad Internet love letter to a celebrity crush. She’s not even at the top of that list; that spot goes to Alison Brie. This is an examination of a phenomenon that has no discernible cause.

People who know me know that I’m no stranger to snark and generally hating things. I just checked Billboard’s Hot 100, and I hate nine of the top 10 artists (Adele being the exception to my ire). There are also a number of TV shows and movies that you could not pay me to watch.

Hating on Deschanel should be right up my alley, but I don’t like those other things for a reason–because they’re all terrible. I just can’t see how Deschanel is worse than any other actress working today.

Let me give you two examples to illustrate what I’m talking about.

Last month, Deschanel and her husband, Ben Gibbard of Death Cab for Cutie, separated. I posted a link to the story and simply said “Here’s your chance nerds” (because I like to be informative and insulting). Two people commented to let me know: Deschanel is not that attractive, I could do better than Deschanel and she’s become a parody of herself. They went out of their way to point out those things even though I didn’t even comment on her appearance or my feelings about her.

Secondly, Deschanel sang the national anthem before game four of the World Series. I swear I was the only one in the country that didn’t hate her performance. Twitter exploded with Zooey D bashing.

Part of the issue is certainly her recent ubiquity, and the new words such as “adorkable” that came with it. Admittedly, that’s just an awful, awful word. The way she’s been marketed might have something to with it, too. At some point, the country just decided she would be the physical embodiment of the manic pixie dream girl character archetype.

Everyone, and by everyone I mean men, would like to believe she’s like the girl next door, which is to say approachable and simultaneously attainable, except that she’s objectively attractive, you know, like a movie star. I think that dynamic rubs some people the wrong way (I guess except for the people who let me know that Deschanel is like a 6).

Pictured: A 6/10.

The one argument that I think is possibly valid is that she’s one-dimensional, playing the same character in everything.

But I would contend that most actors working today are one-dimensional. Michael Cera unfairly takes the brunt of that sentiment, but Vince Vaughn has played Vince Vaughn in almost every movie he’s been in since Swingers. And no one seems to care that Denzel Washington usually plays the same serious, headstrong character in his movies.

That being said, let me try to express why I like her.

With New Girl, Deschanel is doing something that frankly Hollywood needs more of–she’s daring to be funny and a woman.

Honestly, I didn’t expect to like the show but it’s actually pretty good. Is it Community or 30 Rock? No, but it’s an offbeat show with some legitimately funny scenes and likeable, relatable characters. I’ll admit  that sometimes it passes quirkiness off as comedy, but it’s a hell of a lot better than a hackneyed sitcom like Two and a Half Men.

Schmidt Rules.

Previously, Hollywood tried to trick us into believing  Jennifer Aniston, Cameron Diaz and Sarah Jessica Parker are comedic actresses, but they aren’t really. Their “comedic” roles were mostly in derivative romantic comedies that were somehow insulting to both sexes and hokey sitcoms. It’s clear that Deschanel intends move past those roles and not be just another pretty face. It’s the same reason I also like Brie and Lizzy Caplan.

I'm just so clumsy and bad at love, lol!

Additionally, Deschanel, along with Sophia Rossi and Molly McAleer, started Hello Giggles, a female-centric entertainment website to circumvent the “standard boys club content” many entertainment sites offer. It’s something you would think feminists would find admirable, but in my experiences even feminists love to hate her.

On top of that, she’s also a musician. She & Him have put out three albums thus far and toured the U.S., and I still believe her performance at the World Series was good. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with a more understated version of the “Star Spangled Banner.”

In fact, I wish more singers would take that route instead of the performing the equivalent of vocal gymnastics to prove how much range they have. I mean, Christina Aguilera took less flak, and she forgot the goddamn words.

I also think Deschanel seems intelligent based on the few interviews I’ve seen.

I’ll sum it up like this: she has substance. I think it’s a rare attribute in an industry that puts such an emphasis on style. It’s something I wish I saw more of, too.

So is it so wrong that men (I’m only using men because this piece is from my perspective, and I’ve never been a woman ) would be attracted to a multi-talented, articulate woman who has more hobbies than looking pretty and shopping? I don’t think so. If you prefer, we can all channel the ’90s and go back to drooling over superficial, surgically-enhanced fake blondes like Pam Anderson and Jenny McCarthy.

You know, or we could continue to focus our collective infatuation on smart, funny women like Deschanel, Kristen Wiig, Tina Fey, Amy Poehler, Rashida Jones and Aubrey Plaza.

I like the Goo Goo Dolls.

No, really, I’ll wait for you to stop laughing.

I know what you’re thinking: “But…but…why?” Actually, that’s a comparatively reasonable reaction. Recently, I told someone I like the Goo Goo Dolls, and she basically laughed in my face.

I don’t think that experience is uncommon. I would contend that everyone enjoys a band that he/she would not readily admit to liking in front of a group of peers.  For me, it happens to be the Goo Goo Dolls. But it’s difficult to explain my position when my friends are unnecessarily speculating on my sexual orientation while the rest are doubled over with laughter.

This picture only applies tangentially, but it's too awesome not to use.

However, before I continue, I want to be clear that this is not an endorsement for a free pass on liking objectively terrible music. No, I’m talking about bands with which many people might not be familiar or bands that have dramatically changed artistic directions over the years.

For example, I was friends with a guy in my college dorm who legitimately loved the Gin Blossoms. At first, I thought that was odd even though I had virtually no knowledge of the band. To me, the Gin Blossoms were shorthand for generic ‘90s rock.

Being curious about his preference, I listened to some songs that weren’t “Hey Jealousy.” And you know what? They were pretty good. The Gin Blossoms weren’t going to become my new favorite band, but I saw why someone would reasonably like that band.

The Goo Goo Dolls fits the latter, though: a band that dramatically changed artistic directions. When I say I like the Goo Goo Dolls, people, on the whole, think of one thing and one thing only, “Iris.” That damn song, which was written for the awful Nic Cage-Meg Ryan vehicle City of Angels, was the beginning of the end.

Some how one of the least offensive movies Nic Cage has done.

The band arguably earned some popularity before “Iris” with “Name” of its fifth album A Boy Named Goo, but it was “Iris” (and its music video) off of 1998’s Dizzy Up the Girl that launched the band you probably know today—the one that performs with Taylor Swift (*shudder*).

Unfortunately, headlining arenas and new fans went hand in hand with not playing any old material ever again. That nearly five-minute acoustic ballad erased the potential for the band to carry on the Replacements legacy. Instead, people currently think of the band as a bunch of nancy-boys with manlights who play soft rock your mom likes.

But things used to be very different.

There was a time when the band played frenetic punk rock and college and alternative radio stations heavily rotated Goo songs.

The Goo Goo Dolls formed in Buffalo, N.Y., during the mid ‘80s, composed of Johnny Rzeznik (guitar), Robby Takac (bass) and George Tutuska (drums). Everyone knows Rzeznik as the band’s frontman today, but initially Takac was the band’s lead singer because of Rzeznik’s shyness. Later on, Takac and Rzeznik would kick Tutuska out of the band, replacing him with Mike Malinin.

Takac and Tuska were long-time friends who met Rzeznik while he was doing gigs with other bands in the Buffalo area. The trio started out as a cover band but started writing its own material.

The band’s original name was “ the Sex Maggots,” (think about that next time you’re nostalgically listening to “Iris” or “Slide”) but clubs wouldn’t bill the trio under that name. They needed a name for a gig and took it from an ad for a toy called a “Goo Goo Doll” in a True Detective that was on hand.

The band released its first album, Goo Goo Dolls, in 1987 on Metal Blade Records. The record earned the trio opening gigs for punk bands such as SNFU and Dag Nasty—and rightly so. Goo Goo Dolls is loud, fast and hard—unlike any of the band’s recent work. Don’t believe me? Listen to this track.

I bet if I asked you blindly to guess the band based on that song, the Goo Goo Dolls would have been roughly your 376^th guess.

1989’s Jed followed the debut, and the next year the band released my favorite Goo album, Hold Me Up.  Those three albums, and to a lesser extent the noticeably more polished Superstar Car Wash, are the Goo Goo Dolls that I love—not the current watered down, acoustic, quasi-romantic B.S.

Those first four albums are full of energy. They effectively blend pop punk and hard rock and, yes, they are a little rough (with the exception of Superstar Car Wash), but it’s just a reflection of the band itself.

The sound is evocative of two Minneapolis bands, the Replacements and Husker Du. I imagine it has something to do with coming from two cities with notoriously harsh winters, sitting, waiting through the dark and the cold while a collective vigor builds. The songs on the first three albums are fast and simple, while the songs on the fourth album show more complexity and incorporation of pop rock.

In a sense, the Goo Goo Dolls’ sound on those albums also reminds me of fellow New Engladers Dinosaur Jr. Like Dinosaur Jr., the Goo Goo Dolls managed to create an incredibly full sound with only three members. That has changed, though. Now they sound like that band that insists on playing at the local coffee shop, while you’re trying to study.

But the Goo Goo Dolls’ bratty, take-no-crap attitude from that era also struck a chord with me (puns!). The band’s musical direction and attitude were perfectly married and evident in songs such as “Up Yours.” The vocals reinforced the band’s attitude, too; Takac and Rzeznik basically shouted the lyrics. Unfortunately, Rzeznik started opting for the loud-whisper singing that, for reasons beyond me, took a foothold in late ‘90s rock music.

Clearly by now, some of you are thinking this is a case of “They sold out, man! Now I’m too good to listen to them!”

Well, not exactly.

I don’t have a problem with bands making more money and reaching more people. I do have a problem when they completely forsake their roots to do so. I know that’s a subjective standard, but I think my assessment of the Goo Goo Dolls’ artistic shift is more than fair.

When Green Day and Blink 182 (two of the most obvious examples of the sellout debate) signed to major labels, they essentially kept doing what they were doing. Later on both bands experimented more, but pop punk was always at their core of what they were doing.

But with Dizzy Up the Girl, the Goo Goo Dolls completely changed what they were doing. The trio got into the business of turning out mainstream, acoustic power ballads and started erasing their pasts with makeovers and set lists devoid of any songs prior to A Boy Named Goo.

The iTunes Store album review of Dizzy Up the Girl admits as much:

“‘Name’ changed the game for the Goo Goo Dolls. Prior to that unexpected hit ballad, the Buffalo trio was pretty much content to turn out amiably sloppy rock and roll in the style of the Replacements. Like the latter-day ‘Mats, they weren’t adverse to cleaning up their sound a little bit, but once they had a hit, they were happy to jump head first into the mainstream, cleaning up their rockers until they shone and embracing acoustic power ballads instead of shunning them.”

Then there’s this from the same review, which is patently absurd:

“The funny thing is, where most college rock bands of the Bush era sounded awkward as mainstream rockers, the Goo Goo Dolls sound better as a mainstream band, partially because they were hardly underground in the first place.”

The iTunes Store comments for Goo Goo Dolls are worse; especially considering most commenters seemed to think it was a new release.

“Is this a Joke? Did the Dolls return to their punk roots? Where is John? I hear Robby, and he did front the band at one time. I don’t want a rerun. I want them to SLIDE on HOME as they are now.”

“What happened u guys were amazing please don’t be like this u were my favorite band.”

“I know commercial suicide when I hear it!”

“Please John…get back…and stop this…we want ur original music…we wanna songs like Slide & Iris…we’re not in the 80’s anymore to hear this…”

You could say I’m a little bitter, but actually I’m just disappointed. I’m disappointed that there are guys like me, who have a healthy interest in rock music who will never hear a great song like “Hey” because no let them know the Goo Goo Dolls used to rock.

So, yes, “Please John…get back…and stop this…we want ur original music.”

Here’s a sneak preview of what’s running Sunday:

Friday morning, fans across the country flocked to their local cinemas to see the latest installment of the Twilight series, Breaking Dawn: Part 1. Two Mercury staff writers, Paul Harris and Burk Krohe, sacrificed their Thursday evenings and Friday mornings to document their first experiences with the franchise.

The reporters have neither read any of the books nor seen any of the movies in the vampire themed fantasy series. These are their impressions of Breaking Dawn as complete newcomers to the world of Twilight.

Paul Harris

Needless to say, I’m a little disappointed in my first Twilight experience. I was expecting to see a long line of Twi-fans with their Edward and Jacob t-shirts, or Bella t-shirts for the guys. I did see a couple of fans walk in with a blanket in preparation of standing outside for the fourth installment of the Twilight film series: Breaking Dawn: Part 1, though.

The movie theater did an admirable job of shuffling people in to the theater as quickly as possible. Thus eliminating a mad dash to each screen. But it also eliminated the midnight premiere experience. Many of the fans that I saw were on a girls’ night out. Those fans realized the cheesiness of the script and the plot and they were not dressed up in anything other than sweatpants and a sweatshirt.

Anyways, the film was every bit of a soapy teenage drama. The lines were awkward and over-the-top. For example, Taylor Lautner’s character Jacob tells Robert Pattinson’s character, Edward, that he hopes Bella dies because it will kill Edward.

Things like that are just so bad that I had no recourse but to laugh. I was one of a handful that found the entire move overly serious. For the most part, people were caught up in love story of Bella and Edward. Or maybe they were so used to the mediocre acting and poor plot that it did little to faze them.

Pictured: Acting!

Now, there was a lot more blood than I anticipated. In fact, the birth scene might have been one of the most disturbing film scenes I have ever seen. Honestly, I only witnessed about one-quarter of it. There was plenty of ripping and gushing sounds to complement the blood as well.

Basically mix blood, shirtless dudes and longing glances and you have “Breaking Dawn: Part 1,” but it was not the worst film I have watched. I would not pay to see it in a theater, but it might be worth your watch on a slow Sunday afternoon when it eventually hits cable TV.

All in all, my first Twilight experience was a bit underwhelming So Manhattan Twi-fans get out in full force next year. After watching the fourth one, there is no way I am going to watch the fifth one.

Burk Krohe

Like Harris, I was a bit disappointed as well. I was also expecting to see long lines of Twilight fans, perhaps even a brawl between “Team Edward” and “Team Jacob.” Maybe I’m old fashioned, but is a sign or homemade shirt too much to ask for?

That being said, the movie certainly was an experience. As Breaking Dawn: Part 1 is the fourth installment in the series, Harris and I were plunged right into the middle of the story. It’s like saying you want to learn to surf and immediately paddling out to the Banzai Pipeline.

Or wherever the hell you surf in Washington.

Friends told me to expect plenty of shrieking and screaming, but there wasn’t much in our theater. But an audible ripple did pass through the crowd when—all of one minute into the movie—Lautner popped off his shirt to change into a werewolf.

I’m still unclear on what happens to his pants, though.

Pictured: Acting!

The movie was entertaining to me, but probably not in the way the creators intended. Most audience members were absorbed in the wedding and honey moon scenes, which they had been waiting patiently to see on the big screen.

However, I was highly entertained by the exaggerated dialogue, unnecessary cuts and special effects. They made what were presumably serious scenes stilted and goofy. My favorite over-the-top line was when Jacob sees Kristen Stewart’s character Bella Swan pregnant and shouts “You did this!” at Edward.

Well, duh.

To be fair, the beginning of the movie, including the wedding scene, has some legitimately funny one liners. Billy Burke, who plays Charlie, Bella’s father, has the best of the bunch, and I’m always a fan of Anna Kendrick, who plays Jessica, Bella’s friend.

But the most unbelievable thing about “Breaking Dawn” isn’t werewolves or vampires. It’s the chemistry between the male and female leads. At best, it seems like Edward and Bella tolerate each other, but mostly it seems like they dislike each other.

I’m sure there’s more back story to their relationship, which is why I don’t get it.  That was just my first impression.

Ladies and gentlemen, if you go to this movie, you will be entertained. It might be for very different reasons, though.