Part 3.

Isn't it crazy how much I'm posting? All on the same thing! I haven't even told you about my cat!



Katherine was right to assure me! Turns out I have an ordinary (though sizable) chunk of whatnot floating around in my vitreous humor. Nothing is torn or sagging or broken or otherwise in danger of blinding me. So for the next several months I can just expect a little extra bling in my visual field. Optical razzle dazzle, if you will.

In other eyeball news, I mentioned that I was concerned that my vision has seemed less sharp in the past few years, since all the thyroid stuff. The doctor was very nice, but he glared at me through his spectacles with an "i hate you die" vibe that I have gotten lots of times in the past (and which, actually, I'll probably be getting from you in a moment!), before telling me that my vision is 20/15. Yay!! (Sorry.)

Then he got up in my grill about my scleral show. Not saying that there was anything of concern, just that it was weird. And man, whatever. Haters gonna hate.

Sometimes, I'm kind of a dick.

1. I just used ablative absolute in an official correspondence. Heeeeeee!!!

2. Also I ate all your cookies. Sorry. It somehow escaped my attention that people really like cookies, and will want them when you offer them. On the other hand, though, it turns out I still need to work on my ratio of flours, so.

I'm sorry.

I'm sure this will pass tomorrow. ... Sunday the latest. But right now? I love my new fandom more than I love all of you.

I'm sorry.

Addendum.

To my previous post.

I feel that it is necessary to clarify my position on the band Death Cab For Cutie. I do not dislike Death Cab For Cutie. I figured the fact that they appear not once, but twice, on the list of songs I listen to most often would have made that evident. Apparently not, though, guys! I like them and I listen to them often!

However.

On the whole, Death Cab For Cutie is rather ... morose and maudlin. If you've listened to them, you know, so don't even say anything. (I was using "emo" as a shorthand reference for this. I appreciate Stephanie's point that labels tend to impede your listening enjoyment. This is true. I wasn't really trying, though, to debate the merits, or lack thereof, of emo.) I felt that their over-representation on the list acted as an intensifier to the idea that my listening habits of late have been morose and maudlin. This is what my dismay was all about! It was not a commentary on the quality of the music. I was actually equally as upset that the only Decemberists song on the list was "The Engine Driver" - for the same reasons. And you know how much I like the Decemberists! And that song is great, but still. Still. Of course, the Decemberists are usually a bit more upbeat, so my reaction in that case was more, "Oh, this song." instead of "Oh, this band."

In conclusion, I like Death Cab For Cutie, and listen to them often. Sorry about any misunderstandings.

Guys, guys. Guess what this post is about!

This post is about Harry Potter. I know! It's been a couple months.

Also, I feel like I should mention (and, uh, apologize to the P@) that I won't be doing that thing where you summarize your life in six words. I just ... no. Sorry.

NOW LET'S TALK ABOUT HARRY POTTER.*

As I've mentioned a few times, I listen to Harry Potter podcasts. Specifically, I listen to PotterCast and MuggleCast. Caz knows what I'm talking about. Anyway, I decided recently that I'm going to stop listening to MuggleCast. I just can't take it anymore. The last episode I listened to (which may or may not be the last one they put out) the hosts mispronounced (because they were clearly completely unfamiliar with) no fewer than four words, and not terribly complex ones at that. For example, "truant." You've been to fucking high school, don't even give me that. (I mean, except for the one girl on the show, who was homeschooled, and who therefore never has any trouble with pronunciation or comprehension.) Also, they debated why the Weasley twins would use the code name "Rodent" for that thing they do. (Are there still spoilers?) Is it because they're ratting people out or something? The Weasley twins, people. That, plus the way they massacre Latin every other episode just really pushed me over the edge. And! They all seem to enjoy Twilight, unironically, and I just don't even know what to do with that.

Not that PotterCast doesn't have its moments of stupidity. And then there's Sue Upton and her whole obsession with Hufflepuff, which, when I'm paying attention, makes me want to stab myself in the eye. Just the one eye, though. However, even with some lapses, I find myself pretty consistently entertained by PotterCast. So I'm going to keep listening to that one. They really need to cut out the segment with all the chicks who can't read off a page, though. Cut it, or give them a few speech lessons or something. I can't even pay attention to what they're saying half the time; it's painful.

Um. What's my point here? One of the dangers of listening to podcasts is that it's like reading a message board where you're not registered and can't reply to anything. It's very frustrating sometimes when you've got the answer down and they're floundering all over the place trying come up with something. And then you yell and curse at the air in front of you. It's awkward. It's why I listen to podcasts in my room.

There are two things that I'd like to discuss today that I've been thinking about because of podcasts. Well, actually, I'd been thinking about them before podcasts, but the podcasts gave me the desire to talk about it because apparently I'm the only one who understands. And, naturally, my blog is the only place where I have that kind of platform. But that's okay, you guys like Harry Potter. Right? You guys still like Harry Potter? Guys?

Okay, Issue 1. This is the general issue, and it has to do with Sorting, and how people are sorted. There seems to be this ... fundamental misunderstanding about Sorting. A widespread fundamental misunderstanding, that leads to unnecessary consternation about things like, why is Hermione in Gryffindor if she's so smart? Should Snape have been sorted into Gryffindor if he did brave things? Is Luna really smart enough to be in Ravenclaw?

Here's the thing. On casual inspection, Sorting seems like it's one thing. If you're smart, you go in Ravenclaw. If you're brave, or a jerk, you go in Gryffindor. If you're evil, you go in Slytherin, and if you're D. none of the above, you go in Hufflepuff. But see, you have to wonder. JK Rowling makes this big deal about how it's not our abilities that define us, but our choices. It's a theme. So, it's weird, then, for her to have this system in place where people are labeled, separated, and therefore defined, according solely to their abilities.

A-ha! Here's the crux: people are not sorted based on their abilities. They're sorted based on their values. Loyalty, bravery, intelligence, ambition: which one do you place higher than the rest? That's what Sorting is. Yes, Hermione is smart, but she would be a Gryffindor no matter how smart she was because, as she explains in the very first book: there are more important things [than book smarts]. Snape would never be a Gryffindor, no matter how many brave things he did, because he didn't give a shit about bravery.

This also explains why families tend to wind up in the same house. Look at the Weasleys. All of them wound up in Gryffindor, despite the fact that they're all very very different people with different talents and goals. Why? Because their parents instilled them with the same values growing up. I mean, at least until the time they were eleven. Neville (I want to punch in the face everyone who says Neville should have been a Hufflepuff) was raised to believe that his parents were the ultimate standard, his parents who were very brave. He was never going to be anything other than a Gryffindor. Sirius wound up in a house where none of the rest of his family had ever been placed because his values went against theirs.

I mean, I'm right, aren't I? You see the logic in this, don't you? So why does no one else seem to get this? (I don't mean you people. I mean the Harry Potter people.) Why are they still trying to figure out what houses people would be in based on what they do?


Which brings us up to Issue 2. And this is no where near as long. A couple weeks ago PotterCast had a discussion on what house Dolores Umbridge would be in. And they gave arguments for three options. Which was hilarious to me because the house that they didn't even consider is the house that I always assumed she would be in: Umbridge is totally a Hufflepuff. Think about it. I mean, I'll explain further if anybody wants, but ... think about it.


*Oh, snap, looks like I did it anyway.

I lied! There's four!

I've been without steady internet for a while: I'm glutting. I just made four posts. Scroll down. Collect them all!

I've been thinking about adding a sidebar to by blog. Somewhere. Now that I'm not in 800x600 anymore, there's a lot of blank space on here, and that seems imprudent. The last post should totally go in a sidebar post. As should this.

Sidebars are basically Testing for blogs.

Speaking of which, it seems today is the board's and my 8-year anniversary. I'm not going to tell it this time, though.

42.

Today is my sister Karen's birthday. She would have been forty-two.



This is one of my favorite pictures of her. I'm sorry I couldn't get it any clearer. Please note the shirt.

Also, I'm sorry, Pat.

I have the Beta.

I don't know what happened! They just said I could have it! So I said okay! I don't even know why it's so special! I'm completely unworthy of this honor!

Let's neologize!

Thanks to the ever hinglostic Mr. P. Shift Two, I am reminded that I haven't been making enough stuff up lately.

That gets amended today. Today I will tell you about some words that you didn't realize were missing from your life. You didn't realize because I just made them up last night before I went to bed. But they are necessary. You'll see.

We should have a collective neologizing time period. Like, Month. Or a Week. A month is probably better, since everyone has babies and things now. Two and a half months? Variable Period of Time.

There are many acceptable ways to go about making up new vocabulary words. For starters, you could smash together components of another language. Latin is always good for this. It's like instant legitimacy!! Or, you could pull something out of the air. Whatever you think sounds nice or evocative. Just be mindful that this has the pitfall of your new word potentially winding up meaning "cat barf" in Yiddish or something. Every day is an adventure.

Likewise, you can come up with the word first, and then search for its definition, or you could come up with a concept that really needs to be pared down into one word, and make that word for it.

I do both.

escaberel. (n) 1. an item or activity of little function or merit that nevertheless provides a benign fascination.

For example, an escaberel can be an online quiz, writing haikus, or some novelty item that blinks that you can't stop giggling at. So shiny! It's not quite a hobby, not quite an addiction, not quite something you only do when you're supposed to be doing something else. Not to be confused with something that enthralls and is harmful, like, say, The Drugs.


redisenective attraction (n) 1. the condition of being attracted to a younger incarnation (as in a photograph) of someone your own age or older. 2. an infatuation carried over from youth of a person who has since aged.

In other words, redisenective attractive is the reason you still think Wesley Crusher is hot even though you are now in your twenties. Or the reason you have a crush on Cary Grant even though in reality he's older than your grandfather. And dead. Or the reason you can flip through your middle school yearbook and still find that one 8th grader totally dreamy, even though from your current standpoint that would be a felony. Because they're really older than you are, really. So it's weird.


My goal is that eventually my blog will be only the twelfth entry on Google.

El Diablo wants me to watch Spanglish .

And I will not do it. This entry really has no point, other than that I don't ever want to watch the film Spanglish . And my reasons have nothing to do with its content or how good or bad it might be. I don't care how good or bad it might be (though I suspect, Cloris Leachman aside, it's probably something I would not enjoy). I just don't want to watch it, because some unseen force has been trying to make me watch it for months.

When I went out to California, this film was shown on just about every single freaking flight I took on the whole trip (four). Some guy was watching it on his laptop on one of my train trips. This movie has been shoved at me, while I've been a captive audience, an unrememborable amount of times. And it's a movie that I never had any intention of seeing. So now it's a thing. A vow.

Last night, Spanglish was premiering on HBO. I was going to be out of the house eating food with my mother, but the lines were too long so we came home and ordered Chinese. And I was confronted with Spanglish once again.

Instead of watching this movie, I opted to watch Dances With Wolves instead. Dances. With freaking Wolves. Now, some of you may know my history with this film. I was dragged along by my parents to see it in theaters when I was 6 or 7 or however old I was when it came out. I remembered nothing of the film except that there was a line to get in, I fell asleep, and the only thing I remember of the story was that at one point a man holds a gun to his head, says, "God Save the King" and shoots himself. And this I only remember because it was at this point that my mother covered my eyes with her hand. And I like to point out that if she had not drawn attention to this, I never would have remembered it, yet because she did, it is now burned permanently into my brain.

Well, now I know what happens in the movie, and my beloved anecdote is ruined. In addition, I spent three hours looking at Kevin Costner's hideous face . All this I did, so that I would not have to watch Spanglish . Were there other options? Probably. But I wasn't thinking clearly.


I know I used a lot of extra-slanty italics in this post, and for that I apologize. I'll have to work on changing the layout of my blog, because it could just be so much more optimal.

God, my eyes!

I just rejected some people. Ouch!

In unrelated news, let me know if this is crazy. When my mother comes home, if the day is "nice" she opens the front door and the back door. And then *locks* the screen door.

Now, only, like, two people reading this have been to my house, but I think my neighborhood is pretty nice. Even though it is in New Jersey. But, honestly. She's sitting right there! No one is breaking in the goddamn house! And if someone was going to do that, I don't think the screen door would be a deterent, because obviously that person would be batshit insane.

So, one of these days when I spent all day in the city and then came home, she was already home. And I couldn't get in the back, because the screen door was locked. And I couldn't get in the front, because the screen door was locked. Like, thank you, mother, for locking me out of the house.

Furthmore, once I managed to get inside, I went up to my room to discover the door wide open, and the window wide open. Now, see, the door I keep closed so that small furry creatures don't come in it. Because I love my cats, but I cannot breathe in hair and dander when I sleep. I'm fine when I'm up and awake, but at night, my allergies go crazy. The window I keep closed for the same reason. The "fresh air" that my mother so thinks I should have is replete with pollen. There is plant matter all around my house. This entire weekend, I could barely see, because my eyes are half glued-shut and bleary. My voice is rough. I feel like crap. AND I'm taking Allegra.

What makes this even more entertaining is that I have told my mother, repeatedly, not to open my window for ... oh... probably the last decade or so. Every single day that she has opened my window for the past ten years, I close it, and I tell her not to open my window. I explain to her why. I have done this over and over and over and over and over. I mean, Jesus Christ! Does she want me to die?

My mother said to me one time, "Why are you allergic to nuts, again?"

BECAUSE I FELT LIKE IT.

God. My eyes are all bloodshot and gross. And I feel so freaking tired. And I think, maybe, you know, I need some energy? For my upcoming things?

Blah.