I was all comfy in my bed of pain last night, quilts up around my chin, dogs at my feet, watching a panoply of horror movies celebrating Halloween. They showed Bram Stoker's Dracula, a faithful version of the tale, starring Gary Oldman as the big guy himself. It was a resplendent picture, magnificent costumes and sets, great cast (Keenau Reeves as Jonathon Harker, Tom Waites as Renfield, very edgy). And I realized that, in his fancy duds and little blue smoked glasses, Dracula was looking pretty good. And it was all very sexy. And I wanted it to work out between him and Mina (Winona Ryder, very winsome). Not the first time I have noticed that propensity. I was rooting for the Phantom to get his gal, and for Tony Soprano to get his shrink, and Frankenfurter (best, best bad boy ever) to get Janet, too. Nothing makes me want to dive in more than telling me not to touch that. Forbidden fruit, I think it is called. I have gone for it a couple of times in my life, myself. It always ended badly, but for the first few moments, it was sublime. Well, Mina got Jonathon in the end, and, as a consolation prize, he didn't exactly suck. In fact, he didn't suck at all!
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