Dear Abby: Can't They Just Stay Dead?

So far, Dear Abby has waded us into some deep waters: the Mommy Wars and the decision of when to have children. 

Grab your life vest, because this week, we're going deeper.

This week, we're helping a reader take a swing at an existential curveball.  As he put it to me, "what's with all the zombie and vampire stuff?"

To be clear, he was not asking me about the flesh-eating zombies in Florida.  He was asking about all the blood-sucking and staggering and crazy eyes you see every time you turn on the television or go to the movies or try to buy a book.

My answer?  I have no earthly idea.  But as with all things for which I have no answer, I blame Tom Cruise.

Every craze has its roots somewhere.  'N Sync is to Boys II Men as CrossFit is to jazzercise as Michelle is to Jackie.  And back in 1994, Tom Cruise finished absorbing Jack Nicholson's version of the truth, let his fangs grow, and contained his urges to brush Brad Pitt's golden locks on the set all day.  Instead Tom just sucked Brad's blood, the two lived in creepy vampire non-bliss, and Interview with A Vampire went on to make almost $225 million.

Somewhere that same year, Stephanie Meyer celebrated her 21st birthday by remembering she was a Mormon and baking some cookies.  Ten years later, she had a dream about some blood-suckers and wrote Twilight.  Five years later, humans everywhere divided themselves up according to Team Edward or Team Jacob and fought a war of global proportions until God killed everyone for being so stupid.

Not so much as to that last sentence.  Pretty much pure fact as to the others.

In any event, Stephanie Meyer clearly had it bad for Tom Cruise and had it out for the rest of us.  Because the Twilight phenomenon took our cultural zeitgeist (take that Scripps National Spelling Bee) by the throat and didn't let go until it, too, had been drained of all mortal blood.  Every citizen of the world under the age of 7 is either named Bella or lives in a house made of the Twilight series books or movie posters.

Hollywood likes nothing better than a solid bandwagon, so within years there was True Blood on HBO and The Vampire Diaries on the CW and Grimm on NBC.  Tim Burton and Johnny Depp threw Dark Shadows into the cinematic mix, nipping at the heels of such gems as the Underworld movies and the Blade movies.  There's even a remake of Dracula in the works.  And "vampire fiction" is a legitimate new genre of Young Adult fiction.

Kinda makes a girl miss the days when Buffy was just paving the way for Angel and then everyone cried when Sex And The City ended.

I haven't read a single one of the Twilight books.  I half-watched half of the first installment in the movie series and had to stop because it felt like my blood actually was leaving my body.  I am Johnny Depp's long-lost wife and even that relationship isn't enough to guilt me into going to see Dark Shadows.  The vampire phenomenon is an enigma to me.  (Seriously, Scripps, are you feeling any remorse yet at turning my Bee Application down?)

Someone, please explain the allure to me.  I will cite you when I funnel that information to my similarly-puzzled reader who opened this can of coffin worms in the first place.  What is attractive about extra-long, extra-pointy teeth?  How is having your neck aggressively drilled an appealing way to not die?  If you're going to have some sort of eternal existence, wouldn't it be cooler if it could take place in the sunlight and in comfortable clothes and with friends?  Why is the corner of the entertainment world dominated by the likes of this heavy breather and Anna Extra-Space Paquin any fun at all to buy tickets to?

And for goodness sake, what's the difference between a vampire and a zombie, if any?  (The way they're spelled is not an acceptable answer.)

Long story short, I wish vampires would go back to whatever six feet of dirt they crawled out of.  I wish the Stephanie Meyers of the world would keep their trippy dreams to themselves.  I wish I didn't live in a world where Anna P. had a platform to discuss her bisexuality or her baby-making with co-vampire Stephen Moyer.   

I know it's not nice to disrespect the dead, but can't this vampire trend just finish dying already?


Submit your idea or suggestion for a "Dear Abby" post by emailing me at abbysblog@rocketmail.com. All the other intricate details of this something-for-everyone are explained here.

The Night A Television Show Cheated on Me

Last night turned out to be a busy one for me.  Mostly because I had to spend so much time on the phone to try to correct a grievous injustice.  Given the supreme importance of those phone calls, I've decided to transcribe them here for you, in their entirety.

As you read through these transcripts, you are going to be wondering how I have certain phone numbers.  Don't worry about it.  Let's just say I know people.  People whose relationship status on Facebook is "stalker."

9:01pm EST

In the background, sounds of Jessica Sanchez texting and Phillip Phillips doubled over in pain, grunting "But Dave Matthews doesn't have kidney issues!"

RYAN SEACREST: Seacrest is in the house and on the phone! 

Abby: Hi Ryan.  It's Abby.  How could you do this to me?  Seriously.  How?

SEACREST:  Julianne?  I thought we used protection!?!

Abby: I said ABBY, Ryan!  A-B-B-Y!  That sounds nothing like Julianne. 

SEACREST: Oh, sorry Adam.  What can I help you with?  Are you a Kardashian who wants a spin-off?

Abby:  No, Ryan.  I don't want a spin-off.  I want to know what genius at Fox greenlighted the idea to schedule the final Idol performances for a Tuesday night.  Everyone knows that performance night is WEDNESDAY night, Ryan.  There's no confusing a Tuesday with a Wednesday.  Tuesday is the day you do two of everything, and Wednesday is the day you look at and wonder who's the jerk that thought a "d" can and should be silent.  Come to think of it, I bet that jerk was someone at Fox.

SEACREST:  Be cool, my baby.  We used a fancy algorithm and cross-populated test audiences to determine that we needed to jazz up this finale.  What better way to jazz it up than to pull the ultimate switch-a-roo?  Get everyone all comfortable with a mid-week treat and then WAH-BAM.  Get all up in their calendar with a one-hour extravaganza ONE. DAY. EARLY.  Do you see the brilliance?

Abby:  Again, I'm coming at you with a respectful no here, Ryan.  I don't see the brilliance.  In the Groundhog's Day that is my life, the only variety I get revolves around television programming.  Before you judge me, let me assure you that fact is not depressing, it's enlightened.  Let me also remind you that the girl you thought you'd impregnated still can't rent a car on her own.  Point is, Wednesday night is Idol performance night in my house and households across the country.  Parents everywhere race their children to bed by 8PM so that they can tune in, and tweens nationwide amass their storage shed of cell phones so that they can register the one vote that counts anymore in this place we call the United States of America.  And Fox dares to disrespect that devotional planning by springing a change-up at the 11th hour?  How do you think Kate would feel if Will did a hard right just before reaching the end of the aisle and pushed Harry into the chaste hand-holding position before the Queen Mother and the dude with the decorated dunce cap?  The answer is she wouldn't be as heart-broken as I was last night, Ryan.

Ryan?

SEACREST:  Huh?  I'm Googling "impregnated."  Can you hang on a second?  Also, I have Selena Gomez on the other line.

Abby:  You're useless to me, Seacrest.  I'm moving up the chain.

9:11pm EST

RANDY JACKSON:  Yo yo yo yo yo yo DAWG!  Yo yo yo yoooooooooooo?  Dawg!  Dawg? Yo!  Yo! Yo!  Yo?  Dawg!  Dawg dawg yo dawg.

Abby:  Ummmm...Mr. Jackson?  I'm calling for some answers about the scheduling change for the live performance show?  I've been a devoted audience member for months now and I feel very cheated on.  I feel like I just found out my husband had an affair.  Only it wasn't my husband.  It was you.  You cheated on me for a Tuesday night.  That sounds like something only TGIFriday's should be able to pull off with Ruby of Ruby Tuesday's.  How could you?

RANDY:  We are in it to win it, yo Dawg!  We gotta have it!  Yo!  Dawg?

Abby:  Do you speak English?

RANDY: I am wearing a pin!

Abby:  Okay.  You speak English.  But you don't appear capable of rational conversation.  I will let you go, ummm...look at your pin. 

RANDY:  Pins are pinny!

Abby:  I am hanging up now, Randy. 

9:13pm EST

JENNIFER LOPEZ:  I wanna dance, and love, and dance...again.  I wanna dance, and love, and dance...again!

Abby: You answer your phone singing your new single?

JLO: I love working subtle promotional tricks into everything I do.  It gives me goosies to think about all the multi-tasking I'm able to get done.

Abby:  I am sorry to bother you, but I just was wondering why in the world you'd put a dagger through my heart and sign off on switching the performance night from Wednesday to Tuesday?

JLO:  Casper!  Here Casper!  Come on Casper!  That's a good boy.  Casper!  Now sit, Casper.  Mommy's got a treat.  Sit.  Siiiittttt.  Good boy Casper!

Abby:  You named your dog after your boyfriend?

JLO:  You so silly!  I don't have a dog!  I'm talking TO my boyfriend.  Aren't I, Casper?  Yes, I am!  Yes, I am!  Who's the best Casper in the world?  That's right, you are!  You're my little Casper wasper!

Abby:  Did you hear my question?  Not the one about your boyfriend dog.  The one before that.

JLO:  Can Casper roll over tonight?  Roll over, Casper!  Come on!  Show mommy how you can roll over!  Good....good....good!  Good roll Casper!  Casper gets a treat!

Abby:  WILL YOU MARRY ME?

JLO:  I'm sorry -- what was that you were saying?  How can I help you?

Abby:  I knew that'd get your attention.  Tell me, JLO -- why the switch from Wednesday to Tuesday?  Why?

JLO:  You don't want to marry me?  Casper!  You get back here right now!  You know you can't go in that room!

Abby:  You're clearly busy.  I'll let you go.  Good luck with your training -- I mean, have fun on date night.  By the way - you looked awesome tonight.  I want dewy skin like....

JLO: CASPER!  What do I see behind that curtain???

9:20pm EST:

STEVEN TYLER:  Rarrrrrooowwwweeeeeeayyyayayyyayyyyyyyyy!

Abby:  Mr. Tyler.  This is a real honor.  I have so many things I want to ask you about.  Those lips.  That hair.  Those accessories.  But before we get to how you humanized Heath Ledger's look as the Joker, I was just wondering if I could trouble you with a question.  Why the switch from Wednesday night performances to a Tuesday night finale performance?

TYLER:  What in the hell is a TUESday?

Abby:  What?  Huh?  Wh---?  HUH?!?

TYLER:  It's a beautiful thing.  You nailed it.

Abby:  Okay....I gotta go.  My armpit's on fire.  So sorry.  Call back later....

9:21pm EST

NIGEL LYTHGOE:  Cheerio tip top of the evenin' to you!

Abby:  Mr. Lythgoe!  Finally!  I've been trying all night to get a simple answer and I think you're the only man can who can help me.

LYTHGOE:  Blimey!  Sounds like you're in quite a pickle.  How can I help you?

Abby: Please, tell me: as the producer of Idol, why in the world would you pull a fast one on your dwindling audience?  You now know that you can't take your ratings on faith.  You've got to find new ways to reach new people, sure.  But what about the people you already have in the palm of your hand?  Shouldn't you treat them with a little respect?  And isn't a baseline of respect giving them something they can depend on?  Like Wednesdays being performance night?  I'm no titan of industry, but I think that's the least you can do, not to mention the smartest thing you can do.  How many millions of people, like me, didn't check their Twitter feed until it was too late?  Until history had already been made?  Until Nielsen had already tallied your ratings?  I don't mean to overstep my bounds, but come ON, Nigel!

LYTHGOE:  Don't get your knickers all in a twist!  Watch the results show tomorrow.  Google the performances you missed tonight and enjoy them over your slow connection speed and on a tiny screen.  I mean, seriously, darling.  This is no tempest in a teapot.

Abby:  How can you be so cavalier about all this?  It's like you don't even care.  Like you WANT the show's ratings to keep declining.

Is that...?

Wait, did I just hear....?

Nigel!  I would recognize the sounds of that black t-shirt anywhere!  You're with Simon!!!

SIMON COWELL:  Mwahhhhaaahaaahhaaaa!!!  If I can't get viewers with over-worked production numbers and beaten-down has-beens the likes of Britney, then I will just kill the competition from the inside out.  My work here is DONE.  Back to the French Riviera for me!

Paula?  Get your purse!

And get mine too, while you're at it!

This is all true, people.  And very sad.  Thank you.