It's that terrible time that comes once every few years. The first week when "the next" Harry Potter book has been released.
Don't get me wrong (Note: "Don't get me wrong." is probably one of the most overused phrases of all time. Just like that old classic "No offense, but..." or "I'm not racist/sexist/fascist/communist/horny or anything, but..."), I enjoy a good ride on the old Potter Train just as much as the next gal, but it's just too damn stressful.
Living in a house of 3 people who all want to read the same book at the same time is hazardous unto itself. Fortunately, I'm usually able to smuggle the book off to some desolate corner and hoard the goodness all for my own. Because I bees a bitch like that.
And then there's the constant risk of spoilers... everywhere. The last book was ruined probably 4 times before I even made it halfway through, rendering the last couple hundred pages as stale and unfulfilling as bad sex on top of dry matza while listening to Kenny G (yes, really). I was just skimming the damn thing, begging to get it over with. That's why, this time, I'm not visiting any of my usual websites or leaving my house or talking to anyone that has read further than me. Right now, I'm living in this state of paranoid, hyper-awareness where I fear that everywhere I turn , someone is going to give something away. Pulling up Merriam-Webster.com just now made me cringe a little for fear that someone may have pasted a giveaway on the homepage. Because people are assholes like that. (Note: If someone were, however, to write a plot summary in blood on my bathroom mirror that would be kind of awesome.). I will not let the last Potter be ruined!
But mostly, I'm going to enjoy this read. 4-6 were mostly me rushing through in 2 days, desperately trying to get the thing read so I could say that I did it. But NO! I will not be rushed! I am going to savor this thing for all it's worth.
So with that said...
Harry is really pissing the hell out of me. (No spoilers or anything here). I didn't realize what a moody, pissant little bitch he is... until now. I always just thought it was J.K. Rowling trying to get across his selflessness and valor, but I'm really starting to think that she wants me to hate him. Which is confusing... and kind of awesome (from a character development standpoint).
And that is all. *Scurries back to dark corner and continues pouring over book*
(Note: I'm sorry if this post is annoying. But just because you don't want to read Harry Potter *cough* Oskar *cough* and possibly Bellami *cough* I'm not sure *cough* and maybe Lindsey too *cough* and be a mindless Potter drone like the rest of us, doesn't mean that I should alter my bloggings for you! I'm my own woman, dammit! I choose my addictions. They're my choice! *grabs IV* *pumps medley of illicit substances into self* mmmmmm... Pottttterr.)
Saturday, July 21, 2007
Monday, July 16, 2007
Saturday, July 14, 2007
"I got money in the bank, tell me what you thank 'bout that..."
That song has nothing do with this post.
Today is one of those days where there's just enough clouds and gloom outside to make you want to sit around all day, bra-less and curled up under a blanket, reading Carl Sagan's "Cosmos". And you keep telling yourself that when you finish this chapter you're going to put on a bra and get some exercise and stop being a fat piece of crap. But instead you just raid the refrigerator and return to your nook of warmth and safety and Sagan-ism.
Carl Sagan is one of those men who has that a strange medley of eloquence and savviness and dorkiness going for him. You would think the big teeth, 70's fashion, fact that he's been dead for 11 years would be a turn off... but it's not! It's not a sexual attraction... it's more of an "Old Man Attraction" where you admire from a distance, but any real interraction with them would probably be a huge turn off. Does any of this make sense? My point is that Sagan got class. Unlike Richard Dawkins who seems to be a substantially large douche bag.
In other parts of life that exist outside my repressed sexual fantasies for men 3 times my age, I've been volunteering for the past week. I did 3 days of the data entry job, which is boring as hell, but they give me free yogurt so I stay. Yesterday, I made and served lunch at a soup kitchen which was new and different and really fulfilling. I want to say that I got some kind of lesson out of it that I could put here, but I didn't. It's just a swarm of thoughts and emotions that are still kind of circling around my head. Sometimes it's hard to put things into nice neat little revelations... or even words for that matter. Oh well...
Today is one of those days where there's just enough clouds and gloom outside to make you want to sit around all day, bra-less and curled up under a blanket, reading Carl Sagan's "Cosmos". And you keep telling yourself that when you finish this chapter you're going to put on a bra and get some exercise and stop being a fat piece of crap. But instead you just raid the refrigerator and return to your nook of warmth and safety and Sagan-ism.
Carl Sagan is one of those men who has that a strange medley of eloquence and savviness and dorkiness going for him. You would think the big teeth, 70's fashion, fact that he's been dead for 11 years would be a turn off... but it's not! It's not a sexual attraction... it's more of an "Old Man Attraction" where you admire from a distance, but any real interraction with them would probably be a huge turn off. Does any of this make sense? My point is that Sagan got class. Unlike Richard Dawkins who seems to be a substantially large douche bag.
In other parts of life that exist outside my repressed sexual fantasies for men 3 times my age, I've been volunteering for the past week. I did 3 days of the data entry job, which is boring as hell, but they give me free yogurt so I stay. Yesterday, I made and served lunch at a soup kitchen which was new and different and really fulfilling. I want to say that I got some kind of lesson out of it that I could put here, but I didn't. It's just a swarm of thoughts and emotions that are still kind of circling around my head. Sometimes it's hard to put things into nice neat little revelations... or even words for that matter. Oh well...
Monday, July 09, 2007
I'm feeling chatty. And perky.
Yes, it's true. And also a little bitchy. Not in a "sincerely angry, running around the house throwing shit" way, but a light and playful form of pissed off. If the worst version of "Pissed Off Lisa" is a hail storm of fire balls and chipmunk feces, this pissed off is a light shower of lemonade. Yes, lemonade. Nothing else shall do.
Life Update: I'm still sitting at home. Reading and slowly giving into the television addiction that I've ignored for the past 9 months (so many things to see, so little time). I think I might actually have a job! Or a volunteering job, anyway, starting tomorrow. At which time, I will go to some random suite at some random office building and do data input for a study that was done on teenagers and drug consumption. It's sad that I'm excited for busy work, but at the same time, it gets me out of my depressingly empty house (located in the middle of nowhere). And for this, I am grateful.
I'm also reading "The Idiot" by Dostoyevsky. I started it in March and then let myself get distracted by other books until now! I have decided that I am going to actually finish a big fat book of Russian literature... just to say I did it. The hardest part about Russian novels is that everyone has 3-4 different names/titles... all of which are at least 12 letters long. Which leads me to ask the question (*cough* Meagan!*cough*) why the hell do they do that?!? WHY!
(End Life Update)
Life Update: I'm still sitting at home. Reading and slowly giving into the television addiction that I've ignored for the past 9 months (so many things to see, so little time). I think I might actually have a job! Or a volunteering job, anyway, starting tomorrow. At which time, I will go to some random suite at some random office building and do data input for a study that was done on teenagers and drug consumption. It's sad that I'm excited for busy work, but at the same time, it gets me out of my depressingly empty house (located in the middle of nowhere). And for this, I am grateful.
I'm also reading "The Idiot" by Dostoyevsky. I started it in March and then let myself get distracted by other books until now! I have decided that I am going to actually finish a big fat book of Russian literature... just to say I did it. The hardest part about Russian novels is that everyone has 3-4 different names/titles... all of which are at least 12 letters long. Which leads me to ask the question (*cough* Meagan!*cough*) why the hell do they do that?!? WHY!
(End Life Update)
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