[All photos by Bruce Weber from Vanity Fair]

Last night, I dreamt of Robert Pattinson. He wasn’t naked, or even shirtless, and we certainly weren’t having sex of any sort, so if that’s the story you’re looking for, seek elsewhere. In all honesty, he doesn’t do anything for me at all, and I never paid him much notice, so I was a bit flummoxed as to why he of all people would appear in my dreams.

Here is the scenario: We were in high school, and he was pretty popular because he was, well, Robert Pattinson. For some reason, he really liked me (in a strictly platonic fashion), but from my end I couldn’t be bothered. He kept trying to talk to me in the hallway, greeting me with a disheveled grin that matched his ill-fitted outfit, and I finally felt bad enough to talk back, though much like reality I’m afraid I was rather flippant, if not entirely dismissive. That didn’t matter to Robert Pattinson though, who returned to me again and again like a dog or a bad penny or a child that you realize you don’t really want anymore.

What is the point of all of this? That’s what I’m trying to figure out, because today there he was, staring out at me from the cover of Vanity Fair with smoldering eyes and some ridiculous come-hither posture. Robert Pattinson, what have you to do with me?

In the world outside of my dreams, I actually had a real-life run-in with Mr. Pattinson this past summer. Chris and I were bar-hopping in the East Village, and as I exited one establishment, I found myself standing right next to Robert Pattinson as he sat on the steps of another. I had my own moment of star-struck stupidity – of the “OMG! It’s Cedric Diggory from Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire!!” variety. I toyed with the idea of going over to him and introducing myself, but the fact is I hadn’t seen him in ‘Twilight’ or anything else, and I couldn’t bring myself to say, “Hey Robert, I loved your work in Harry Potter” because that would have sounded strange coming from a grown man. I opted to simply stand beside him and hope that Chris came out from the bar soon enough to see it.

When he did emerge, Robert was a few steps away, but Chris had no idea who it was, and continued on his way thoroughly unimpressed. After calling a few of my friends, it turned out that none of them knew him. This was in July of the past year – long after the initial ‘Twilight’ frenzy and long after the world had been introduced to Robert Pattinson – Reluctant Star – yet my own friends had gone so far astray from the pop culture landscape that they had no idea who he was. Being that they are the same age as me, it made me feel rather old. In so many ways, I’m still a teenage girl at heart, and that’s the part of me that felt that instant thrill when in the presence of a hyped-up heart-throb. But my excitement was more for the envy that I thought it would inspire, and less for any sort of genuine affection I felt towards Mr. Pattinson.

As I said, I have seen none of the ‘Twilight’ movies, nor can I figure out the fuss over Pattinson’s popularity and supposed charm. He’s attractive enough, in a dirty, greasy, smelly sort of way, and he seems like an affable fellow (who probably would have grinned and accepted my awkward compliment had I found the balls to tell him), but he still doesn’t do anything for me.

That didn’t stop me from picking up Vanity Fair. The accompanying photographs, by Bruce Weber no less (no stranger to gay eye candy) were all right, but nothing bowled me over. If there were shirtless photos of Pattinson, (there weren’t) they would not inspire me to work out. (That’s my test for whether something really excites me – another incongruent element to this odd story – take it as you will.)

So why the dream? And why Robert Pattinson? I know he’s been back on the pop map because of the new ‘Twilight’ movie, but I have mostly ignored the reports of screaming fans and red-carpet mayhem as I do with most reality shows and political reports. I scoured the pages of Vanity Fair looking for some clue as to why Mr. Pattinson made his dream appearance. The main gist of the article seemed to want to paint Pattinson as “Byronic”, but mercifully omitted any attempts he may have made at poetry. It also delved into his relationship with co-star Kristen Stewart (who I would decidedly not recognize, even if I was standing next to her and looking her straight in the face). Apparently they share some sort of tortured relationship, in the movie and perhaps in real-life. Zzz…..

In the entire cover story, I could find nothing to which I might gravitate or relate. It was rather weak, which is the problem with most cover stories dealing with the hot Hollywood ‘It’ person of the moment – they seem to rest on the laurels of that momentary white-hotness. That’s fine. It’s what sells, and I usually buy into it, as I did this time. Hell, I’ve already devoted almost 1000 words to a guy about whom I could not care less, and I don’t feel any nearer to figuring out why he stole into my dream. It’s a sad but apt metaphor for so many men in my life…

[Post Script for those wondering: What may be strangest of all is that there was no crowd of gapers or on-lookers surrounding Pattinson when I saw him in the East Village. He was with two or three other low-key people, and a rather obviously slutty woman – which totally would have been me if I had been born a woman, so no judgment. He was simply hanging out, which seems completely at odds with the stories that he can’t get out of his hotel room without being mobbed. Maybe he tricked us all. The night was clear but black, and the shadows of the Village surrounded him as he disappeared into the darkness.]