I Need A Hero

Just a tiny note here on guys and movies, and this time the two will be related, I promise. On Saturday night I felt extremely lucky to have found a particularly good film on TV as usually there's nothing worth watching on the 90+ channels, which is outrageous, I think. So, there I was, watching Seven Years In Tibet (which I'd read a few weeks ago), and I couldn't help thinking oh, Brad Pitt, sweet. I mean the way he was in 1997, which is totally different from his present looks. And then tonight what we found on TV was New Moon, the sequel of Twilight, which was on a week ago. No plot, no characters, no dialogue, no whatever. And the two guys the girl is crazy about... well, who in her right mind would like to make love to either of them? All right, I know there's a whole lot of people out there with exactly this idea in their minds, but come on, what's happening to this world? Isn't there such a thing as taste any more? Grey-faced teenagers and guys with enormous biceps? Choosing them FOR EVER? I just can't imagine having my necks sucked at to become immortal and spend an eternity with these stupid, perhaps even scary guys. Or with Bella, for that matter.
I've read a thought-provoking article here. The idea is that the books you find on someone's shelves tell you whether the person is worth spending the rest of your life with, or rather just the rest of the night. I'm not saying that it's 100% accurate, but I liked it anyway. I especially agree with the last possibility they mention, which is someone not having books at all. Then I would run, I guess. I wouldn't like to have sex with a dumb zombie, let alone live with him. But, having only stupid books is almost as bad.
One of the books they mention on the list is the infamous E.L. James trilogy, which I considered reading to see what all the fuss is about, but after reading this post I decided against it for good. The article says that if someone has the first volume only, it might be explained as a present from someone else, but if you have the second or the third as well, there's nothing more to explain. You may guess how strange I felt when I found the first two volumes on the night table of my future mother-in-law. In a room full of Magda Szabó novels, artistic albums, history books, and all those things that I respect her for (besides her cuisine). Can we call it sheer curiosity? Or perhaps the two were presented to her together?