A Very Potter Reflection

Yesterday I settled in front of my laptop with a mug of tea and donned a set of headphones to watch Team Starkid's A Very Potter Senior Year, the very last in the Harry Potter parody trilogy.  And I realized, it's the end of an era.

It's been a long time.  The Harry Potter craze.  But it felt like AVPSY was a salute to the end.  We're told that it's okay to let things go and move on.  And "okay" is definitely good enough.

Move on, eh?

Reflecting back on Harry Potter instead of moving on for the purposes of this post, I remember in maybe 4th grade, my elementary school librarian held up the book and gave us a concise summary while I thought to myself, "That looks weird..."  This coming from the only girl in her class who wore tights after the age of six.  It wasn't until one of my friends talked it up and lent me the first two books that I really got into it.  I remember reading Chamber of Secrets at night and shivering at the voice in the walls, and I remember asking for my own copies of the first three books for Christmas.  I didn't read the third one until I had my own copy.  I remember being at a birthday party when the fourth book came out and my dad and grandpa going at midnight to get me my copy.  Books 5 through 7 were delivered straight to my house through Amazon.  I never went to a release party, and looking back on it, I regret that.

But I think a big part of why I wanted to write when I was younger was because I was reading good books. I used to write about witches and magic all the time, and reading Harry Potter was fuel for that, I think.  At that time I wanted to write a book.  A novel.  Right now, I'm not so sure, the only thing I'm sure about is that I want to keep writing.

It's probably been said a ton, but I think the magic of Harry Potter is the effect it has on its readers.  That a series of young adult books could inspire a group of college kids to write a series of parody musicals, that a movement of poets and musicians are out there creating wizard rock, and that the Harry Potter Alliance is making love, not horcruxes.  It's amazing to me that I can look at all that a boy wizard and his friends have done for us and realize that Harry's part of the reason we knew "okay" was good enough.  So even though we're growing up and some of us are graduating college or adventuring off into the real world, we still carry Hogwarts with us.

I'm not really sure what I'm going to read next, and I'm not really sure that it'll have the same impact on me that Harry Potter did, but I'm kinda hoping that it does.  I'd hate to go through the rest of my life reading things that are any less than magical.

"I do not read for I have renounced life, I read because one life is just not enough for me."

- Abbas Al-Akkad

Dance, dance...

Q:  What is the last song you danced to?

A:  To be quite honest, I'm not sure.

Q:  What, do you dance a lot?  I thought you couldn't dance.

A:  I can't dance.  I do, however, dance in the car.

Q:  While you're driving?

A:  While I'm driving.  It's pretty much the best thing ever.

Q:  This exchange isn't going to make a very compelling blog post...

A:  Yeah, I know, that's why I'm going to tell you about a particular time that I danced that was fun.

Q:  You probably scandalized the masses.

A:  Oh, I did.

Okay, so when I was on my way home from the Disney College Program, my chauffeur and I went to Universal Studios.  Specifically, Islands of Adventure for the Wizarding World of Harry Potter.  Naturally.  By the end of the day, I had a wicked headache because I hadn't worn a hat and I didn't drink enough water.  So it was my own fault.

On our way out, we were walking through the Streets of Universal because that's the only way to get to the parking lots.  Over the loud speakers and drifting over the entire area was Carly Rae Jepsen's "Call Me Maybe."  (Don't lie, you know you have a secret love of this song.)  Right there on the Streets of Universal, I belted out "Call Me Maybe" and dance-walked all the way over to the parking lots.  I'm pretty sure I made a little bit of a scene, but that made it about eight billion times better.  It was a lot of fun trying to get my friend to dance with me, and just...good times.  I remember it like it was only yesterday....

"Those who dance are considered insane by those who cannot hear the music."

- George Carlin

Potter Noir

This morning, I dipped into my prompt box.  Once upon a very long time ago, I made myself a prompt box.  I think I needed time to forget what I had written on all the little strips of orange paper, because when I first attempted to use it, it didn't go so well because it seemed that I was looking for specific prompts.  I vetoed using "My saddest memory is..." for today though.  Mostly because I'm trying this new thing that involves my trying to be positive.  It's hard though, and I'm not even sure if I'm doing it right.

So today's prompt: Take a passage from a book, a favorite or a least favorite, and rewrite the passage in a different style such as noir, gothic romance, pulp fiction, or horror story.

I was so close to using Pride and Prejudice, but I think I've been watching too much of The Lizzie Bennet Diaries, and I don't want to be influenced by that.  So Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban it is!  We're going to give this a try with the scene where Snape catches Harry out of bed with the Marauder's Map and the Map commences to insult Snape.

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Professor Snape was a cold, hard-boiled man, his dark eyes flicking between shadows.  He knew Potter would turn up sooner or later, so he was just biding his time.  Leaning up against one of the cold stone walls, Snape tossed a silver Sickle into the air, catching the flipping coin as it descended.  He did all of this without looking because he had been practicing this routine in his bedroom since adolescence.

Sure enough, Potter slipped into the middle of the hallway, bold as brass.  With a lip curling sneer, Snape intercepted the teenaged Boy Who Lived.

"Caught red-handed.  Did you really think you would get away with it, Potter?" Snape asked.  His voice was barely a whisper, but since the portraits slumbered in their frames, Potter was certain to hear.

Potter shifted into a defiant posture, his spine loosening and his arms crossing over his chest.  He knew he was caught and there was no getting away from Snape this time.

"Gotta hand it to you, Potter, you really did give me the slip at the last Quidditch game, but the Dementors made sure you didn't get very far."

"What's it to you where I go?  You're not my mother," Potter sneered, clutching at the worn piece of parchment Snape had neglected to notice so far.  Or so it seemed.  But at the mention of Potter's mother, Snape's eyes glazed over momentarily.  Lily.  Snape shook himself out of the incoming flash of memory and grabbed onto Potter's arm.

"And what might that be?" he asked.

"Nothing.  Bit of parchment Ron got me from Hogsmeade," Potter said, nervously shifting in Snape's ironclad grip.

"Oh, and you're just so attached to it you carry it around when you're wandering the halls after hours?  I don't think so."

Snape flipped around and dragged Potter off to the dungeon.  His office.  The hallways were dark, in shades of gray and black, because that's how Snape saw the world.  Everything was in shades of gray.  Forty-nine.  Forty-nine shades of gray.  Once they reached Snape's office, he shoved Potter into a very uncomfortable chair on one side of his desk, tearing the scrap of parchment out of the boy's hands.

"Show yourself," Snape commanded the parchment, poking at it with his weapon.  Snape's weapon of choice was a wooden model, a stick of a wand as dark as his eyes.  The parchment lay on the desktop, doing nothing spectacular.  "That's an order, bub."  Nothing.  "Severus Snape, the law of this joint demands you give up your secrets."

The parchment remained motionless on the desktop, but words began to appear on its surface as if a typewriter were clicking out each letter.

Mr. Moony addresses his compliments to Severus Snape and expresses his complete bafflement that a goon like that could swindle Albus Dumbledore.

Mr. Padfoot concurs with Mr. Moony and would like to add that Snivellus Snape is an insufferable dog.

Mr. Prongs comments that Snape is a lowdown good-for-nothing greasepot that can't get a girlfriend.

Mr. Wormtail bids Mr. Snape good night and advises that he wash his hair, the slimeball.

Snape looked up at Harry Potter with murder in his eyes.

"As though an invisible hand were writing upon it, words appeared on the smooth surface of the map."

- J.K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban

Challenge Day 2

Well, I started this post on January 2nd.  And then I realized that I should procrastinate as much as possible to prove how spectacularly bad I am at sticking to things.

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Here we go, the second day of my daily creative writing challenge!  I'm really excited for this month, actually, despite my anxieties about keeping up with it, but you know what?  It'll be alright.  Day 2: Write a fan fiction.  What's great about this is actually that I loathe fan fiction.  I went through a phase a while ago, probably around middle school, when I read Harry Potter fan fiction, all stories about the Marauders, specifically romance between James and Lily.  Because even back then I was a major sap.  I even wrote a story or two that were fan fiction in nature, and they were wretched, I can tell you that right now.  So here we go, here's a look at some of the worst seat-of-my-pants fan fiction I could be prevailed upon to write for today's challenge!

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The library was a quiet place, which was to be expected considering the number of vulture-like librarians staring down their long and hooked noses over the circulation desk at the tables lined up between the bookshelves.  No one would dare make a sound under the eyes of those creatures.  A young girl with golden blonde hair sat at one of the tables, running her hands through her curls and tugging at the locks.  She sat staring at a blank notebook and a Bic crystal pen lying next to it, uncapped.

When the TARDIS landed, it landed with a groaning whooshing noise characteristic to the police box, materializing bit by bit in the midst of the library's bookshelves.  The door faced one of the bookshelves, and when the occupant of the police box opened the door, he realized his error and scurried back inside to disappear and reappear once again.

"There now, that's better," the Doctor said as he flung open the door to the police box.  "Hello, good people!"

The Doctor, in his brown tweed, elbow patches, and maroon bow tie, was met by a disapproving "SH!" from the circulation desk as a line of hooked-nosed librarians looked up from their computer screens and scowled at him.  None of them approved of his volume, and only one approved of his manner of dress.  And somehow, he could just tell.

"What, bow ties are cool," the Doctor muttered, straightening the accessory as he mentioned it.  Shaking off the disapproving looks of the library vultures, the Doctor took a stroll out into the center of the room, following the aisles up and down between the tables and finally settling on the girl who seemed to be pulling her hair out.  He sidled up to her and placed his elbows on the table in front of her, propping his head up and blinking.  "Why the long face?"

Considering his entrance, the girl shouldn't have been as shocked as she was to see a strange looking man propping his head up on the table in front of her, and his appearance itself shouldn't have surprised her as much as it did, but as it goes with stories like these: the girl was shocked, and jumped half a foot out of her chair.

"Who are you?" she asked, green eyes blinking behind purple rimmed glasses.

"The Doctor, just The Doctor, of course, here to fix problems, and I'm not really quite sure what," the Doctor rattled off, swaying side to side and regarding the girl thoughtfully.  "And you are?"

"Oh, I'm just Anna," she said with a shrug, her fingers finally releasing her hair.  The Doctor could practically hear her scalp sigh with relief.

"And what seems to be the problem, 'Just Anna'?"

"Just plain old ordinary writer's block, as usual," Anna grumbled.  This seemed to be a constant problem for her, the writing and the failing to write, and the wanting to write, and the having writer's block problem.  And writer's block was an affliction for which there was no cure but time or copious amounts of alcohol, neither of which Anna had very much of or inclination to abuse.

"Ah.  Well, let's see then," the Doctor said, reaching into his jacket and pulling out his sonic screwdriver.  To Anna it just looked like a strange tool, and when he aimed it at her head and it made a strange buzzing noise, she wasn't quite certain how to react.

"What are you do--"

"Sh."

Anna obeyed, and when the Doctor ceased the buzzing sound and regarded the screwdriver thoughtfully, he screwed up his face in thought.

"You have a bad case of the nargles," he said, finally.

"The what?"

"Nargles.  You've read Harry Potter, right?  Well, Luna Lovegood had it right, nargles get into your head and make your thoughts all fuzzy.  They actually feed on good ideas, and so it feels like you don't have any ideas at all.  Makes it really difficult to pick out your clothes in the morning," the Doctor explained, nodding as he did.  He replaced the sonic screwdriver in his inner jacket pocket and began digging around in his other pockets for something.

"So what do I do about them?" Anna asked, alarmed that something like a fictional creature could be munching on her very real ideas.

"Here, eat this," the Doctor said, shoving a Hershey's bar into her frozen fingers.  "The sugars will deter them and they'll just fly out to get away from them."

Anna followed instructions without really thinking about them, biting off a bit of chocolate and swallowing before she thought to ask, "Fly out where?"

The Doctor opened his mouth to reply, but at that moment, Anna let out an explosive sneeze that caused all the librarians to look up at her and scowl, holding their fingers to their lips, "SHHHH!"  She looked apologetically up at them, but then her eyes widened and she grabbed her pen and started writing immediately.

"Thank you so much," she said, grinning at the Doctor as he flounced back to the TARDIS and pushed the door open.

"Any time you need a muse...just give me a call," he said, giving her a wink and setting off for another adventure.

Cleaning Out Jacques

So Jacques (my laptop) has been a little grumpy, leading me to believe that things need to be deleted.  But in going through this process, I found some gems:

This unfinished bit about The Search for Hogwarts:


Once upon a time in a land just over the Atlantic Ocean from the United States, the sun was just peeking over the horizon, as if checking to see if it was safe to rise.  On a random streetcurb sat two girls.  They looked somewhat out of place, and definitely lost.  The blonde one was consulting a large map and muttering to herself while fiddling with her thick maroon and gold scarf while the dark (not black!) haired girl craned over her shoulder.
“Okay, so we were supposed to pass eight phone boxes and make a left on Princes Street.  We did that,” the blonde mumbled, massaging her temple with one hand.  “Let’s face it, Maggie, we’re lost.”
“We’re not lost, we’re right in front of a bookstore!” Maggie assured her lamenting companion.
“Which translates to our being lost.”
It was clear that the two had had this conversation before, and Maggie’s continued attempts to lift the blonde’s spirits had been so far unsuccessful.
“Look, Brianna, we can take a break from our search and go into the bookstore for a bit, and then you can keep freaking out,” Maggie bargained.  Two opposing forces battled across Brianna’s features, the one side wanting to forge ahead and reach their goal the most efficient way possible, and the other side with a soft spot for bookstores of all kinds.
“Alright, let’s go.”
The two girls stood and crossed the cobbled street, attracting a number of odd looks due to Maggie’s skirt and tie and Brianna’s scarf, but neither of them took any notice.
Inside the shop were shelves upon shelves of books.  Virtual mountains of books reaching the ceiling.  At the very sight of them, two American jaws hit the dusty floor.
“Oliver, this isn’t working, no one’s coming.”
The complaining voice came from the mouth of a very well dressed gentleman

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The Death of Creativity from a class I took once and how upset I was that my classmates were uncreative...

I feel that creativity doesn’t exist in this realm.  Creativity lies in the hallway with a pike rammed in it’s chest.  The life juices already run out.  Needles impale Creativity’s fingertips, pinning them to the ground.  Eyes open, watching the door.  It’s ears bleed.  Flesh separated from its legs, feet reaching towards the door.  Escape.  The room within welcomed not Creativity.  Spurned it.  Here was where Creativity came to die.

Outside the doorway, Creativity twitched.  Fettered to the thin wall, Creativity struggled against its bonds.  Somehow clinging to life after a mechanical pencil was rammed down its throat, Creativity rasped.

“I live,” it said.  “There’s Hope.”

But was there?  While Creativity slumped against the wall, did Hope live on as well?  In the corner of the classroom hung a dingy birdcage, the small snowy feathered Hope huddled toward the corner, its dark eyes peering between the bars.

And Creativity had flown out the window.  Looking out the window and down at the ground, you could tell it wasn’t the impact that killed it.  Creativity wore a blindfold, almost like blind Justice, an arrow buried in its chest.  Its feet and hands were bound with barbed wire and mud from the ground smeared its garments.  Hope’s dark brown eyes watched over Creativity’s unmoving form.

The horrid, hanging silence.  Creativity lying gagged beneath the desk.  It gazed out at the occupants of the classroom.

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The beginning of a film noir parody of a campus television show I was in during freshman year which I would paste here, but who knows who might be reading this...that and it's also unfinished.

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Soundtrack to the Movie of Your Life

So, here's how it works:

1. Open your library (iTunes, Winamp, Media Player, iPod, etc.).

2. Put it on shuffle.

3. Press play.

4. For every question, type the song that's playing.

5. When you go to a new question, press the next button.

6. Don't lie and try to pretend your cool...because none of us are

• Waking Up: Gimme a Chance -- Plain White T's

• First Day At School: 'Til Him -- The Producers

• Falling In Love: Big, Blonde, & Beautiful -- Hairspray

• Fight Song: Bet On It -- High School Musical 2

• Breaking Up: One Day I'll Fly Away -- Nicole Kidman (Moulin Rouge)

• Prom: Brown-Eyed Girl -- Van Morrison

• Life: Here Without You -- Three Doors Down

• Mental Breakdown: Singin' in the Rain -- Gene Kelly

• Driving: Thankful -- Jonny Lang

• Flashback: Amnesia -- Chumbawamba

• Wedding: Be Our Guest -- Beauty and the Beast

• Losing your virginity: Mischief Managed! -- John Williams (Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban)

• Birth Of Child: Jimmy -- Thoroughly Modern Millie

• Final Battle: When It All Falls Apart -- The Veronicas

• Death Scene: You Get Me -- Michelle Branch

• Funeral Song: What You Own -- RENT

• End Credits: Not Alone -- Darren Criss

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This from Baby Brianna, it's longer, but here's a snippet:

The whistle of the Hogwarts Express trilled and a small puff of smoke engulfed the waiting wizarding families.  Lily Evans bid her Muggle parents and her little sister Petunia farewell outside the barrier between platforms 9 and 10.

“Good-bye,” Lily’s voice wavered with tears welling up in her eyes.  Petunia shoved her older sister away as Lily attempted at giving her a hug, and rolled her eyes.

“Don’t get all emotional,” said Petunia.

Lily gave her parents one last hug and they started walking toward the family car.  When they looked back to wave good-bye, Lily had already disappeared onto platform 9 ¾.

Once Lily had stepped onto the hidden platform, she caught sight of the Hogwarts Express.  She wheeled her trolley away from the barrier and glanced around at the people standing on the platform.  She was hoping to find her loud, outgoing best friend Vivian DeWilde.  But she couldn’t find her blonde best friend; instead, someone else found her.

James Potter waved when Lily caught sight of him.  Lily rolled her eyes and thought, Of course, the person I had least wanted to run into.  I can hear it now, ‘Hey Evans!’  He’s in fifth year with me and yet he still acts so immature.

Once James had finally gotten to Lily, he waved again.

“Hey, Ev-Lily!” he said with a big grin on his face.

“Hello, Pot—I mean, James,” Lily replied.  She sounded like she was tasting the word “James” as if she had never said it before.  In her head she thought, I’m surprised he doesn’t have Remus, Sirius and Peter tagging along with him.

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This from quite a bit older Brianna, it's longer, but here's a bit:

The snow covered everything in a thick icing, reminiscent of gingerbread masterpieces of Christmases past.  Streetlamps cast a warm glow on the little neighborhood where families sat in the warmth of their sitting rooms, snuggled up with mugs of hot chocolate.

With a small pop, two figures appeared out of seemingly nowhere on that quiet little street.

“Sirius, you git, you Apparated us into the middle of a snowdrift!” came the whispered rebuke from the shorter of the two figures who pulled her cloak closer around her and leapt out of said snowdrift.

The taller of the two calmly stepped out of the snowdrift, trembling with contained laughter.  “It was a little difficult for me to concentrate with you at such close proximity, love.”

The young woman sent her midnight blue glare at Sirius Black, crossing her arms over her chest before turning her back on him.

“Vahn, love, it’s just snow,” Sirius pointed out, still fighting to control the laughter that threatened to burst from his throat at any second.

“You did it on purpose,” she growled under her breath, turning slowly around to face a Sirius who was significantly closer than he had been a full ten seconds ago.

“I did not,” he said solemnly, his grin the only part of his countenance that contradicted his statement.  With a roll of her eyes, Vivian DeWilde allowed herself to smile and relaxed her posture, standing on her tiptoes only to peck Sirius on the lips before turning and heading off down the street.  Sirius trotted the short distance to fall in to step with her, and by then her hand was in his and they were climbing up the steps of a little house and rapping on the door to gain admittance.

And oh, there's more...but I'll just stop there for now...

A Letter to My Bulletin Board

Dear Bulletin Board,

It's the beginning of March.  I'm going to have to change you.  Very soon.  Or live with "Cheering Charms: A How To."  Because I'm definitely going to be here to stare at it.  Yup.

Bulletin Board, you're a massive expanse of corkboard covered in newspaper, and I've learned to call you my friend.  Sure, you're a mammoth and it's a struggle to cover every inch of you in information, but it's been a welcome challenge.  This is March.  This is my eight billionth bulletin board of my career as an RA.

Because I'm trying very hard to make the theme of my hall "Harry Potter," this month's board has to be related to Harry Potter in some way.  And it is.  Because it's about Palmistry.  I'll bet you're excited to have a deformed looking hand stapled to you so people can look at the diagram and compare their life lines to the hastily drawn line on the diagram.  I'll bet you can't wait to have people holding up their hands in front of you and trying to figure out if they have a square palm and long fingers or a long palm and short fingers.

Bulletin Board, please don't hate my stapler.  The last couple times we met, you were all cranky and you made the staples bend in all sorts of ways that staples aren't supposed to bend.  So let's not do that this time.  Because that would be really upsetting.  Also, if you can, please make sure that the residents refrain from drawing strange and distorted images of appendages they wish they possessed on you.  You know what I'm talking about, I'm not going to say it because this is a classy blog.

That's pretty much all I have to say, thanks, Bulletin Board, let's be friends.  :^)

Cheers,
Brianna

This is the board I ended up making for March.  It's about palm reading because I wanted to learn about palm reading.  Yeah, that's a hand.  I drew it.  This is why I'm not an art major.  

"Our mission is facilitating enjoyable, sustainable, and inclusive communities that support and enhance students' academic achievement and personal development."

- ORL mission statement

Goblets of Fire

On another note, I made door decs for my RAs this semester.  In keeping with my Harry Potter theme, I made Goblets of Fire:

I made the goblets out of brown foam (because the book says that the goblet is made out of wood) and used gold glitter glue to make it look more goblet-like.  The blue flames are made of white, pale blue and dark blue tissue paper cut into flames.  I used Scotch tape to attach the layered flames to the back of the goblet.  The name is written in a font called Big Mister C because I wanted it to look like handwriting, but I didn't want to write them all out myself.  So there you have it!  Goblets of Fire to make all my RAs Triwizard Champions!

Window Eyes?

"Eyes are the windows to the soul."

I can't help but wonder about this.  First of all, there are a couple literal problems with that metaphor or saying, or whatever you call it.  Well, you can't see through eyes, whereas you can see through a window.  Because it's made of glass and clear.  Also, I wonder what you would see if you actually could see a person's soul through their eyes.  What does a soul look like, anyway?

I'm inclined to say that a soul looks like a flowy silvery type thing.  That is, if you're a good person.  If you're not, it would probably have some weight to it.  But because souls can fly, they definitely need to look not-too-solid.  In fact, it would probably make things in Harry Potter difficult if souls were inanimate objects.  Though that's interesting to think about, I'm not sure how I would feel if someone lost that object.  What if you could wear your soul on a necklace and it broke?  What then?

So eyes.  If they're the window to the soul, does that make our bodies houses?  Does the soul live with other things?  I can imagine the soul partying it up with some random white blood cells (which I really wanted to call "hemoglobin" right now, but I'm 99% certain that that would be wrong).  Or maybe the soul gets along better with "the mind."

Which brings up another interesting thought.  The mind is usually attributed to being stored in one's head, so why is it that the eyes are the windows to the soul?  [This is where I start making things up.]  This reminds me of the fact that back in the day (which is a precise moment in time, I know it) people used to believe that the soul was stored in a person's head and a person's mind was actually somewhere else.  Or maybe they believed that the soul and the mind were the same thing.  Which is something else entirely, but interesting nonetheless.

Eyes.  What's interesting about eyes is that if you look close enough, or let your eyes unfocus when you're looking at someone else's eyes, you can see the reflection of what they're seeing on the surface of their eyes.  I may be making that up too, but I know it works with sunglasses, so why not eyeballs too?  So that prompts the question (it doesn't beg the question because this website would get mad at me if I said that it did: http://begthequestion.info/  Yeah, I found that site on Google) that maybe what a person's soul looks like at any given moment is what they're seeing at that time.  Do the things around us reflect what's kept inside us?  I mean, I don't necessarily think that Jacques reflects my spleen, but maybe it has something (if only a little bit) to do with my soul or my mind.  I'm not really sure.

Plus, there are all these different literal and figurative and metaphorical meanings or definitions of the word "see," because what is it that we're actually seeing when we're looking at someone's eyes.  We're seeing color and an iris and some whites of the eyes.  But what we see is colored by our interpretation, so if we believe that we're looking into the other person's soul, then that's what we see.  But then does that mean that we define the souls of other people?  You know, when you see someone with really cold eyes and you say, "That person looks evil," does that mean that their soul is evil?  Or is it really just your subjective interpretation of what their eyes look like?  Besides, it doesn't seem right to judge someone based on their eye color, it's like judging someone based on their hair color.  Or the length of their toes.  And all of those are completely invalid except for the toe one because people with short toes are weird.

"Ordinary riches can be stolen, real riches cannot.  In your soul are infinitely precious things that cannot be taken from you."

- Oscar Wilde

Door Decs

So I feel like I should have promised to share my door decs with all of my adoring fans.  Because they're pretty much amazing.

All I did was take foam rectangles and cut out the shield outline.  With the scraps I could make the top bit where the house name goes and with the scrap from the other color, I could make the bit where the RA's name goes.  I used puffy/fabric paint to write the names of the houses and the RAs.  And I got the badger, eagle, lion, and snake heads from wallpapers that I found here: http://ibuki-san.deviantart.com/gallery/?offset=24.  I basically printed them out, laminated them, and glued them to the foam pieces that I had already duct taped together.

Simple as that!

This is me!  Hufflepuff for the win!

Gryffindor rawr!

Slytherin, hissssss!

Ravenclaw, CAW!

"You might belong in Gryffindor, where dwell the brave at heart..."

- The Sorting Hat

Literary Favorites

Q:  Who is your favorite literary character?

A:  With all things, I have a problem picking just one character.  So I have a list of favorites that I continuously add to.

Elizabeth Bennet (Pride and Prejudice)

The most recent movie adaptation that I literally JUST watched.

You have to love Elizabeth Bennet.  If you've ever read Pride and Prejudice, you know that Elizabeth is Jane Austen's most famous heroine, and with good reason.  She's opinionated but witty, beautiful, studious, and hell, she gets Mr. Darcy.  And who doesn't love Mr. Darcy?  I love Elizabeth because of her courage of conviction.  She's fiercely loyal to her friends and family (which I can relate) even though some of her relatives are completely ridiculous.

Mrs. Bennet (Pride and Prejudice)

Mrs. Bennet from the 2005 version of Pride and Prejudice

I LOVE Mrs. Bennet.  Maybe it's because I played her in my high school's production of Pride and Prejudice, but I loved the crazy old woman before that.  I love her because of how completely ridiculous she can be, and yet she really does mean well.  She can plot to have her eldest daughter set up with the dreamy Mr. Bingley, and though she very loudly declaims that it would be an advantageous marriage, I'm convinced that Mrs. Bennet can sense the love between the two.  So it's really not just the money.

Dustfinger (Inkheart)

Paul Bettany as Dustfinger in the movie adaptation of Inkheart

Being a fictional character stuck in the real world has to be difficult, but Dustfinger is by far the coolest character that could be stuck in the real world.  I love that he's so attached to his story and that he really wants to get back to his wife and children at any cost.  And even so, he manages to have a soft spot for Meggie and Farid, even when he tries not to.  Dustfinger's character has so many different facets, it's difficult to tell whose side he's truly on, but it's that mystery that draws me to the character.

Albus Dumbledore (Harry Potter)

Richard Harris as Albus Dumbledore in Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone

Who doesn't love Albus Dumbledore?  He's the ultimate good guy, and yet he has a sense of humor, and he really does get stuff done.  As we find out in Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Dumbledore isn't all sunshine and rainbows, but isn't part of growing up learning that our idols are really just human?  I love Dumbledore's affection for Harry, his humor and his genuine concern for the well-being of Hogwarts.  The school really couldn't ask for a better headmaster.

Arthur Dent (The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy)

Arthur Dent from the movie adaptation of the Guide

I love Arthur Dent.  Sure, sometimes he's a whiny git with an endless hankering for tea, but I love his sarcasm.  When I read Arthur on the page, I can hear his voice in my head.  So maybe it's the deadpan delivery that I give him that's so amusing, but I really love this character all-around.  He's so spectacularly ordinary yet he's thrown into extraordinary circumstances.  Following his adventures is endlessly entertaining for me, and I just love him.  All the time.

Rosalind (As You Like It)

Rosalind from Kenneth Branagh's adaptation of As You Like It

Rosalind is amazing.  I LOVE how amazingly clever she is.  I love her wordplay.  I love her cross-dressing madness.  And I love how she manipulates complicated situations to benefit her.  One of William Shakespeare's most verbose female characters, Rosalind is truly a spitfire and a force to be reckoned with.

Other favorites:
Voldemort (Harry Potter)
Artemis Fowl and Butler (Artemis Fowl)
Kiki Strike (Kiki Strike: Inside the Shadow City)
Thursday Next (The Eyre Affair)

House Pride

I'm a Hufflepuff.
The last couple times I told people I was a Hufflepuff, the response I got was "aw!"   And that's not a "oh how cute!" aw, it was a "aw, that's so sad," aw.  Because there are very few people who actually want to be a Hufflepuff.  And Second City acknowledges that in its own way:

When the Harry Potter books first came out, I classified myself as a Gryffindor.  Hell, everyone was a Gryffindor in those days.  When I grew older, I started identifying myself as a Ravenclaw.  Because I was smart, and I liked to read, but I wasn't as brave as the Gryffindor I thought I was.  Since the books have stopped coming out and I've stopped waiting on my doorstep for them to arrive, I've come to the conclusion that I'm a Hufflepuff.  After taking countless Sorting Hat quizzes it was time I came to terms with my Hufflepuff-ness.  I've found that this quiz: http://www.personalitylab.org/tests/ccq_hogwarts.htm is a lot more reliable than those quizzes where all you have to do is answer "What's your favorite color?  Red?  Green?  Yellow?  Blue?" or "What would you do?  Save them?  Kick them in the face?  Study with them?  Or do nothing?".  Mostly because this quiz gives a percentage of each house that you are.  Usually I'm 90% or higher on Hufflepuff.  So there's really no denying it anymore.

Team Starkid's A Very Potter Musical took a fun take on Hufflepuff, so by the time I had watched the entire musical, I was feel a bit better about it.  Especially since the "good guy bad guy" thing characterizes Gryffindor and Slytherin really well.  Well, stereotypes, but it's true...so is it still a stereotype?  I've taken to answering people with "Hufflepuffs are particularly good finders!" whenever I get the pity "aw," so it's only a matter of time until I find someone who will answer me correctly.

Okay.  But let's think about this.

You might belong in Hufflepuff,Where they are just and loyal,Those patient Hufflepuffs are true,And unafraid of toil.- The Sorting Hat (book 1)

Now tell me what's so bad about being hard working and loyal and just?  In the last Sorting Hat song that we witness in Order of the Phoenix, we learn that Helga Hufflepuff basically took in all the strays and taught the lot of them.  So is Hufflepuff the misfit house?  And is that really a bad thing?  Hufflepuffs can be finders, they can be helpers, they can be completely off the wall crazy, and they still fit into their house category.  One Ravenclaw slacks off on a test and the whole category goes to shit.  Hufflepuff seems to me to be the non-category category.  The miscellany house where they have a tendency to be "nice."  As opposed to the other houses that aren't?  It's really not true.  There's a whole community of Hufflepuffs in the Harry Potter Alliance, and you can find their discussion about Hufflepuff awesomeness HERE.

My most recent theory about the Hogwarts houses goes a little like this.  Ravenclaws and Slytherins are fairly similar, leading me to believe that Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors are as well.  My theory is that Slytherins (excluding the "bad guy evilness" assumption) are just applied Ravenclaws.  While Ravenclaws are studious, they're more of theory people and Slytherins are more of action people who put their plans into motion.  Ravenclaws might do the research, but Slytherins are the ones who get it done.  Same with Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs.  I get the feeling that because they both have "good" assumptions (even though Hufflepuffs are more "goody two shoes" and Gryffindors are "good guys but rebels"), but that Gryffindors are the extroverts and Hufflepuffs are the introverts.  Yeah, it's a broad theory and it might take a little stretching to fit, but that's where I'm at right now.  Though I can totally live with not being an introverted Gryffindor...I'm fine with just being a happy Hufflepuff!

Ministry of Magic suggests that Hufflepuffs want to have a good time and stick around with their friends, and I can live with that.  (I only know about this song because a friend of mine sent it to me after getting really excited about my being Hufflepuff because that meant she could rally enough people to sing this song!  Because it's totally awesome.)  And that doesn't merit a pity "aw."

This song that I found posted on another friend's Facebook wall (because I'm a class A Facebook stalker) pretty much sums it up.

So what I'm trying to say is that there's no shame in being a Hufflepuff.  We're not the outcasts and we're not the misfits, and even if we are, that just makes us ten times cooler than we already were.  We're friendly, kind, brave, loyal, witty, everything that makes a good friend.  So if you're a Hufflepuff, raise your wands and show some pride!

Nose to the Grindstone

So I have definitely been failing with the "post on your blog every day" resolution for the summer.  Which isn't really that surprising considering the allure the summer season holds for all of us.  Well, for me.  Mostly the allure of being able to spend as much quality time with Jacques (my laptop) as I want without feeling too guilty.  And also watching Buffy the Vampire Slayer: Season 6.  And spending WAY too much time on StumbleUpon looking up craft ideas (I've gotten to the point where I'm starting to see some of the same crafts over and over again) that I may never get around to doing because that would cut into my StumbleUpon time.

(This is "oh woe is me" time.  Just in case you weren't aware.)

Granted, I have been doing some productive things.  I made a hedgehog hoodie for my fairy tale show (although I still have to add the finishing touches and perhaps a set of ears) out of a cut up brown hoodie and painted straws.  I also made one of the Marauders Maps that I'm making for my staff at school.  Sure, it took a long time and I have to make six more...but they're going to look SO GOOD!  And I have the time.  Provided I sacrifice quality StumbleUpon time.

And I have read.  A little bit.  Not as much as I would like, but a little bit.  I'm still reading Jane Eyre, which I probably could have finished a while ago, but I also recently started Neil Gaiman's American Gods which is REALLY good.  I'm enjoying it so far.  Although it's leading me to the conclusion that I should study the mythologies of places other than ancient Greece because Zeus and Athena aren't really appearing in this novel right now.  But I love the way Gaiman does everything.  Which is really specific, I know, but it's just so good.

And I now have an assignment.  I'm supposed to write a story about a drunken unicorn because one of my friends said that I would do well with that prompt.  I've never written about a drunken anyone, so we'll see how "drunken unicorn" goes.  I'm supposed to share this story with two of my friends, so no pressure there.

So that inevitably leads to my solution to everything.  Write a "to do" list.  If only so I can get myself to do something.

The Day After

Q:  So how are you this morning?

A:  Just fine.  I may have slept until 10 AM, but it was delicious, I can tell you that right now.

Q:  What are your plans for today?

A:  Today I plan to make a prototype/draft/initial drawing of the Marauders Map that I'm going to be making for my staff.  Of course there's a slight possibility that members of my staff might read this blog, leading to spoiling the surprise and all of my fun, but that possibility is slight.  And even if it was true, I probably wouldn't want to know because I'd like to pretend that it'll be a surprise.  Anyway, this Marauders Map is going to be one of those signs where the RAs can move a little marker to let their residents know where they are at all times.  Oftentimes RAs forget to move the marker, but that's quite alright.  So I'm making this Marauders Map inspired sign thingy and the little markers are going to be footprints with a little banner that says the name of the RA!  I'm SO beyond excited, there aren't enough words to describe it.  I'm geeking out, I kid you not.  There will be pictures.

I'm also hosting rehearsal at my house for The Grimm Players, the fairy tale performing troupe that I'm directing.  It occurs to me that I should probably go out and look for costumes for that, but considering I had little to no luck finding costumes last time and I would have to fill the car up with gas...I'm disinclined to leave the house today.  Which makes me a hermit, and I'm okay with that.  For the most part.  Anyway, it's horribly difficult to find a brown zip up hoodie for dirt cheap (which is the only price I'm willing to pay for a hoodie that I'm going to destroy anyway).  You wouldn't think it'd be that big of a deal, but apparently it is.  Which is frustrating.

I should probably read as well so I can stop complaining about how I haven't been reading.  I finished How to Buy a Love of Reading, and to avoid spoiling the book...let's just say that the ending is a little surprising.  Okay, a lot surprising.  I enjoyed the book overall, especially the writer, Bree McEnroy who I could relate to.  According to her backstory, she believed in happy endings and wrote stories that always ended well.  She was whimsical and enjoyed the little things in life, but then her soul was eaten alive and she started writing really bad metafiction that got published despite the fact that it was horrible.  So basically, I have to avoid the soul eating, and I'll be golden.  That's what I've learned from this book: avoid soul eating situations.

Oh this post is going to be thrilling to read when I look back on it.  I'm just...gonna go...have a good Thursday!

"Some day you will be old enough to start reading fairy tales again."

- C.S. Lewis

Hopelessly Devoted to...

Q:  Name something you would like to devote more time to seeing or doing.  (This prompt comes from the prompt box that I made yesterday.  I kinda cheated because I wasn't in the mood to write fiction this morning.  Next time though...)

A:  Reading.  Simple as that.  There are times when the pull of the computer (of Facebook and StumbleUpon) is just too great and I can't help but sit down in front of it and devote hours of my time to it.  Once I've written a blog post though, that should be my allotted time at the computer, and I should give up trying to check the comments on a Facebook status that I thought was too clever for people to miss.  But then I start to wonder if Jacques (my computer) will get lonely if I don't spend hours watching reruns of television shows on Netflix for hours on end (this month it's Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Season 5).  And I wouldn't want an inanimate object to get lonely, now would I?

But I love to read.  I don't know why I don't start thinking that the novels sitting dusty on my bedroom floor are getting lonely.  They have each other, right, and Jacques is the lone piece of electronic beauty in the room.  No, bookmarks are not the only suitable companions for the literature I crave.  When at school all I want to do is read something fun, I finally get the chance over the summer and I do exactly what I do at school to procrastinate.  Play on the computer.  Isn't this in essence the very conflict that is making people "less likely to read" nowadays?

I want to devote more time to reading because I'm a writer.  If there aren't things out there that will keep my attention, then I need to be writing the things that I would like to keep my attention.  I need to be reading a variety of genres so I can feel comfortable in whatever genre choices I make for my own work.  I need to read poetry, short stories, novels, reference books....anything that I can carry so I can learn from the writers who have come before me.  And learn all the fantastic things that I never would have learned if I hadn't read that one reference book on _____________.  Unfortunately, I have yet to convince myself that non-fiction is worth my time.  I'm far too intimidated by its truth.  But then again, fiction has its own truth...so really why am I complaining?

I want to devote more time to reading because it doesn't give me a headache while staring at the computer for too long does (Sorry, Jacques.).  Because my eyes don't dry up after finishing a chapter of some fluff book (my current fluff book being How to Buy a Love of Reading).  Because when I mention that I "read something in a book about...", it sounds infinitely better than: "So I was on StumbleUpon and I found..."  I know this from experience.  Because it's still difficult to find a comfortable "curl up" position with Jacques on my lap, whereas I can curl into my tightest ball and still be able to read properly.  Because I'm an English major, and that's what I should be doing in my spare time in order to be useful to the English community.

It's not like I don't have things to read.  On my Goodreads account, I have well over 200 books on my "to read" list, and that's obviously not taking into account the books that I simply find in the library which tickle my fancy (my fancy is frequently tickled when I'm at the library, that's just the way things go).  And then there are the classics that "everyone should read" just because they're classics.  Though I complain that I don't understand why they're deemed "classic," (really, why is it that EVERYTHING Charles Dickens has ever written has been considered a classic?  Are we judging classic authors or classic books here?) there are still certain books that I've never read and probably should.  For instance, at the time of writing this blog post, I have never read a Charles Dickens book in my life.  So I should probably do that.  Plus how profound and literary would I look if I was just sitting somewhere in a park reading Great Expectations?  Some fellow bookworm might come up to me and ask me out for a drink while we discuss the intricacies of the symbolism found between the pages of our favorite book which just happens to be the same thing.  And then of course we'll discuss our guilty pleasure: Harry Potter.

And then of course there's writing.  Which I should also spend more time doing.  Considering I'm a writer, I spend a lot more time doing un-writerly things rather than writing.  Which might be considered bad.  Because I'll get out of practice, and then where will I be?  Nowhere, that's where.  On the bright side, this blog has definitely encouraged me to write something everyday, even if it's just incoherent ramblings about whatever's going on in my life at present or a snippet of fiction that I'll probably never revisit.  But I do have notebooks upon notebooks sitting untouched in my room.  Perhaps while I'm sitting on that park bench with Great Expectations, I can whip out my notebook and scribble down a description of the bookworm that seems to be approaching me.

In short, reading and writing.  What with it being summer and all, I have WAY too much time on my hands to complain about not having time.  So resolution.  Read.  And write.  Let's do this.

"Write to be understood, speak to be heard, read to grow..."

- Lawrence Clark Powell 

Gryffindors!

Thank you, Google and J.K. Rowling!

Q: Would you consider yourself brave?

A: No. Absolutely not. I am no Gryffindor.

Q: Why not?

A: Because I'm a Hufflepuff, that's why.

Q: You're deflecting. Why don't you consider yourself brave?

A: Because there are so many things that scare me. Just last night, as I was laying in bed with my glasses off, I could see the shadows playing tag on my ceiling, and that fuzzy motion reflected in my mirror, making me think that there was something moving in my room. Other than the shadows. So I very nearly slept with my Christmas lights on, the ones that border my entire room, illuminating it in a warm and inviting glow...the ones that you could practically read under. It really would have been akin to turning my overhead light on and sleeping like that.

The other day Melbourne wanted to give blood for the first time, so she asked me if I would go with her for moral support. Though her exact words were, "I'm giving blood, will you hold my hand?" So I did. I sat in the waiting area listening to a mutual friend talk about how giving blood really wasn't all that bad and you just have to make sure you don't do anything strenuous afterwards because you could pass out, and I'm just sitting there innocently trying to read The Girl Who Played with Fire, and one of the ladies taking blood told me it was good, so I was extra interested (and I just wrote a run-on sentence without sense, and that's okay!). Once it was time for Melbourne to get all her stuff checked out to confirm that she could indeed donate blood, I got to read my book in peace. Of course, the beginning of The Girl Who Played with Fire was a little creepy, so I was on edge. Melbourne took her place on the big stretcher-like chair, and I took a seat right next to her. She prompted me to tell her a story so I told her about that time in first grade when I wanted to bring home a story I wrote to show my dad, but because it was in my in-class journal, I wasn't allowed. And about that other time when I spelled "Thanksgiving" "T-H-Q" during a Spelling Bee. I'm babbling on while she's the one being brave and getting a needle stuck in her arm so she can feed the vampires. So in comparison, I'm not brave in the least. But then she fainted. I never really thought that when they describe in books that the "color drained from her face" that there was any real life basis to that, but that day I witnessed it. Melbourne went ashen, and her lips were white, I kid you not. And what did I do? Well, Melbourne had just said that she was feeling dizzy and couldn't see straight, so I relayed that message to the blood-taker lady. In my normal voice. No urgency, because I was hoping that everything was fine. But when Melbourne went backwards from Oz to Kansas, I was completely paralyzed, still holding her hand. So I was terrified. Everything was fine, the blood-taker lady helped Melbourne regain consciousness, and it turns out that they didn't have enough blood to use, but she would be fine. And through this entire rescue procedure, I'm sitting on that rickety old chair, probably just as white as Melbourne was and just as shaky.

The Oxford English Dictionary tells me that "brave" is defined as "Of persons and their attributes: Courageous, daring, intrepid, stout-hearted (as a good quality)." With that situation, there were a number of things that I could have done that would have been a good deal more "stout-hearted" or "daring." For instance: I could have stood up and pointed at the blood-taker lady and shouted, "She's feeling dizzy and needs your help NOW!" But maybe that would have caused a scene. Or I could have leapt (don't you tell me that word is spelled wrong, Chrome, it's a word and I spelled it right!) into action and yanked the needle out of Melbourne's arm and whisked her off to the snack area.

Or I could have done nothing at all. Or I could have run away, making Brave Sir Robin of Monty Python and the Holy Grail proud. And that wouldn't even have had the semblance of bravery.

I'm not brave because I avoid things that frighten me instead of facing them. I'm not brave because I fear too much, or losing too much. I'm not brave because I don't fight, I run. (And that's why I'm a Hufflepuff. The end!)

"A true knight is fuller of bravery in the midst, than in the beginning of danger."

- Sir Philip Sidney