Christmas, Part Two: The Dog

Hey, people everywhere! Christmas has certainly struck, hasn't it? Well, everywhere except here. Still no sign of snow (though all signs at my house point to allergies- hooray). But who cares? This has been one of the best weeks I've had in a long time. I spent most of today making snowflakes out of coffee filters, which are now hanging on my bedroom ceiling- if the weather won't appease my wishes, at least I can make it snow inside. :)

Oh yeah, and.... I HAVE A NEW DOG!!

We found him at the animal shelter this weekend when we dropped off some donations. He's a shaggy little mutt, but so cute. He's part terrior, part Shih Tzu, has a nasty ear infection that we've been treating, and is blind in one eye. But who cares? He's MINE, even if he has to crash at my Grandma's next weekend when we visit Mom's family in Arkansas.

We named him Bulka- Mom picked it. Originally, I wanted to name him Shaggy, or Rags, or something lame like that. But we decided on Bulka, which is the name of a toy dog in a play my sister's going to be in called The Velveteen Rabbit. I doubt it will be much like the book, since in there they don't have names. My sister's best friend is playing Bulka, who is excitable and prone to fainting- the character, not the friend. My sister will be playing a wind-up toy mouse, creatively named: Mouse. Hooray.

Having a new dog is kind of hard, however cute and sweet and wonderful he is- although that makes up for it. I have to take him on a walk every day, but it's harder with two dogs at once, because the get tangled up and try to race each other and stuff. Oh, and then there's my other dog, Mocha, the one I've had since middle school. She's feeling a little betrayed at the moment.

See, Mocha is a great dog. She absolutely adores people of all kinds. But she's terrified of most animals- particularly of her own species. Every time we watch a relative's when they go out of town, it's always an adjustment for her, and she usually spends the whole time in my closet or behind the couch.

Now, that's all well and good, but this is different. Bulka is a permanent guest, and he's sleeping in Mocha's usual hide-out: My Room. So, when she found out she had no safe house, she wilted. I put her on the couch before turning to the bathroom to assist my father in scrubbing Bulka clean. Her eyes watched me soulfully as if to say, "Et tu, Brute?"

Ah, well. At least she has Dad.

Bulka, I have discovered, has excellent taste in literature. We're working on A Christmas Carol in honor of the season, and then we're going to start him on the Bunnicula series. Incidentally, I tried him out on passages from different books. I get the vibe that he likes Sherlock Holmes and Agatha Christie's stuff best. He likes Dickens too, but the Tolstoy made him sleepy. He sneezed politely for Tolkien. I haven't tried him on anything else, though. I was thinking Alice in Wonderland or Peter Pan. Who knows? Maybe we'll even be brave and break out Le Morte D'Arthur.

So, that's my Christmas thus far. Much Much More on Sunday when we get back from Christmas in Arkansas- Stay tuned, boys and girls!

~Sarah

                                          This is Bulka! Cute, right?

Christmas, Part One: Dad's Family

Christmas. Wonderful, beautiful, glorious Christmas, around which the entire kid-year revolves! For a choir nerd like me, Christmas started in September. I've had my room decorated since the day after my birthday, and I've been looking forward to this since August. It's my favorite time of year! It's everyone's favorite, really. People who say their favorite holiday is the Fourth of July or Thanksgiving are totally kidding themselves, because as soon Macy's Santa Clause rolls onto Thirty-Fourth Street, everybody automatically goes through a metamorphosis that makes you a ten-year-old kid with a Red Ryder at the top of his list. If you don't believe me, go to the mall and just sit there, staring at people.

This weekend marks the true beginning of the season for me. Because, no matter how much we like Christmas, there's always one aspect that we can't get away from.

Relatives.

Now, when you're a kid, this isn't really considered a drawback. My sister still technically qualifies as a younger kid, something that she loathes more than anything. But on the other hand, letting people pinch your cheeks and sitting in a room full of bratty babies with runny noses and Cheerios in their hair is a small price to pay for the annual bag of loot.

Me, on the other hand- well, let's just say that I'm good at faking.

Saturday wasn't so bad. On Saturdays, we have a smaller get together at my aunt and uncle's house in town. They have two boys, three and four. Add Grandma and a couple of other cousins, and we get a real bash, with early Christmas presents from grandparents and Build-Your-Own sandwiches. Not exactly a raw deal.

When I came marching up to the door, carrying our contribution to dinner (Mom's superb Magic Cookie Bars) the first thing I noticed was that my Texas cousins were conspicuously absent. According to Grandma, they had croup. Ouch.

 In their place, three weary travelers, relatives from Nebraska, sat sulking in a row on the sofa. It was the saddest thing I've ever seen in my life. My great-uncle and two nameless female cousins, turning the pages of their various magazines in unison like robots. I tried to make contact, but they were completely unresponsive.

After the general greeting, followed by much inhaling of sandwiches and Magic Cookie Bars, my sister, the boys, and I sat staring at the tree while the grown-ups fussed for their cameras. Last year, I had kept well away from the tree, feeling that this whole presents thing was simply for the little kids. I didn't want to look greedy. Well, to heck with it this year. I had been waiting for this all year, for crying out loud.

Every year since I was eleven has been exactly the same. I always get at least one article of clothing, a book, and a couple of DVDs from Grandma, and an iTunes giftcard from my aunt and uncle. This year, I got a GAP hoodie that I have been wearing since last night (mega-soft), a hardback copy of Inkdeath, and two movies from Grandma, and an iTunes giftcard from my aunt and uncle, which I promptly went home and spent on Micheal Buble's Christmas album.

This morning, in good spirits, I was ready to face the larger mass of relatives. Every year, the day after our gift exchange with close(r) relatives, we meet up at another cousin's house for pot luck and a good old-fashioned game of Dirty Santa.

I guess I should explain my Extended Family Policy at this point. My parents have big families on both sides. They both have four siblings each, and then with my Dad there's Grandma's six brothers and sisters, their kids, and other various posterity running about the place. And with all that, while I have an ample brain capacity, it simply cannot hold the sheer number of names. I find it simplest to call everyone "Hey." Oh, like you haven't done it before. "Hey, how's it going?" "Hey, come sit by me!" "Hey, gimme that!"

I got by on my usual "Hey, (insert food/beverage/other inanimate object here)" and then got sucked into the Kid Craft. Last year, it was reindeer food. We mixed Quaker oats with glitter. Hurray. This year, it was taking a long piece of red string and stringing Cheerios on it to decorate your Christmas tree. Hurray.

When I finished becoming thoroughly disgusted with all types of breakfast cereals- not just Cheerios, anything under General Mills- it was time for Dirty Santa.

No, you perves, it isn't "sick" or "wrong" or anything remotely akin to Rocky and Dr. Frank-en-Furter. Dirty Santa is quite simple. You make all the participants by a cheap-o gift that isn't really all that useful. If you're like most of the family, you forget to buy one and just pull something ugly out of the closet that you got from your in-laws. Then everybody takes turns picking a gift. If you actually want any of the stuff that was brought, you can take it from the person who has it. But, once the thing has been stolen three times, it's "frozen" which means that it can't be stolen anymore.

I got a HUGE pillow, Mom got a crappy Christmas DVD, and Dad got a jigsaw puzzle of rams.

Ah, well. If you think about it, Christmas isn't really about getting gifts or eating mashed potatoes. It's about family: putting up with the overcrowded tables, the sticky cousins, and the millions of people who seem to know you even though you can't remember their faces, let alone their names. And when you think about it, if you're in good company, the names don't really matter much. You just enjoy the moment with that person, and laugh with them, and stuff yourself with Magic Cookie Bars, because you can remember moments even if you can't remember names.

Phase One Complete.

New Shiny Settings and YouTube Science

Hello, everyone (meaning the only four followers that I have, whom I seriously doubt are reading this because they are productive adults that have better things to do). As I'm sure you've noticed, I tweaked the settings. I had altogether too much fun with this over the weekend, and I think it shows. :) I just felt it was necessary to point out the newness. SO, who wants to go on a tour? Well, suck it up, because we're doing it anyway!

You will notice on your left that I have a new gadget thingy for polls. Not poles, like the giant metal things that your tongue will get stuck to if Flick triple dog dares you to like it. I mean polls, like surveys. I will do a new one every week, and most of them will be random.

Now, over on your left, you see the "Quote of the Moment." It's not "Quote of the Day," or "Quote of the Week," or anything like that. The reason is, I might change the quote more or less frequently than a day, week, or month. So, this way I don't get any e-mails saying, "Why didn't you change the quote!?" Although they would be fun to answer....

And finally, on the bottom left, links! I was ridiculously proud of myself for figuring out how to make links, since I am incredibly technologically challenged. They're mostly links to sites I am a part of, but there is also a link to my sister's YouTube channel, which you should subscribe to, because she is brilliant and it will boost her morale. And the other YouTube link is to Charlie McDonnell's channel, more commonly known as charlieissocoollike.

Notice how I didn't link to my channel. That's because I don't use it. I had a video camera in middle school, and after about a week I got bored with it. Hee hee....

Charlie McDonnell is a Brit, and you should watch his videos. I'm serious. I learned more from that guy than I have in science class this whole year.

Maybe it's because his information is actually semi-useful. Or at least entertaining.

Okay, okay, so I pay attention in class to know that half of our classes would be more interesting with somebody who actually knows how to teach. But all of are classes are just notes, notes, notes. YUCK.

Especially chemistry. We haven't even made anything blow up yet!

Hmm... maybe that's part of the final.

SO, anyway, I'm going to close this with a link to Charlie McDonnell mocking Twilight, which is the most refreshing thing I have seen on YouTube in ages.

Charlie Reads Twilight

Toodles!

I'm Still Alive, I Pinky Swear

I haven't written anything since August. I'm sorry for being a Horrible Person, which I clearly am. I knew I wouldn't be consistent, but I was thinking I would make this a monthly thing.

In my defense, I recently switched schools, and now my workload has increased by about Infinity percent. So I don't have much spare time.

I swore when I started this thing that I wouldn't be one of those people who just creates a blog to rant about their lives (i.e., hunt for Mr. Right, pictures of funny shapes in their morning coffee, the weird thing their cat did yesterday). However, I don't exactly have much else to report.

So, school. School, school, school. Seems like that's all I have time for these days. For example, I'm writing this blog entry when I should be working on my research paper for English, or catching up in Geometry (I think that should count as a foreign language...), or studying for my AP History final, or working on my speech for Debate competition in January... see? I'm swamped. I'm not here to complain, though, so let's move on to the more interesting parts of my life.

My birthday was almost exactly a month ago. Still not driving... I've built up a mental block about it. It's not my fault though, really. Every time I get behind the wheel, all the cars around me change from shiny, not-really-there, Barbie doll accessories to heavy machines that have the potential to kill. You'd think my parents would be enthusiastic, but they aren't. I think they want me to tote them around for a change.

You'd also think they would be glad that I, unlike most of the teenagers of America, do not have a cell phone growing out of my thumbs. But apparently I need to be accessible, because someone made the brilliant decision to cut the land-line and give the Sixth Grade Rugrat a phone.

I'm sorry. Mattie isn't a rugrat, she's just artistic. And enthusiastic. And hyper. In a very loving way. Usually about the time when I'm working on my book. Not that I mind.

I also don't mind when I'm absorbed in creativity and character development, and people come in, suddenly concerned about my day.

I also don't mind when little sisters feel that it is necessary to blast Taylor Swift in the next room when I'm working on my English homework.

Apparently, there are a lot of things that I don't mind these days. I wish somebody had told me before I was shoved into these scenarios.

As a very, very wise author named Louise Rennison once wrote: "We are not a family. We are four people who, through great misfortune, live in the same house." Perhaps in my case it's hyperbolic, but I would still be a happier person if everyone just stayed in their little corner of the world and didn't interrogate me. And maybe we could socialize for thirty minutes in the evening.

My point is, if I'm not talking, I don't have anything to say. You'll know when I need to discuss my day, because words will be pouring out of my mouth so quickly that cops will pull us over and give me a speeding ticket.

And that's all I have to say at the moment.

Also, if you want to read an awesome blog with insights on cyber-bullying and why it is so despicable, check out this link: http://girloftheyearstudios.blogspot.com/2011/12/i-dont-understand-people.html

Sorting Authors

I was browsing Mugglenet articles today, since I haven't checked them out in a while, and I stumbled across something in one of them. Apparently, a magazine sorted various politicians into houses from Harry Potter. (Obama is currently labeled Gryffindor... because that makes sense...) Anyway, I started thinking about it, and I decided it would be really fun to sort my Top Ten favorite authors into houses. And I'm going to make you suffer with me because I'm bored. :P Deal with it.

For anyone who has never attended Hogwarts, or graduated a while ago and need a recap, there are four houses: Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. Each one is named after the four founders of Hogwarts (i.e., Godric Gryffindor, Helga Hufflepuff, Rowena Ravenclaw, Salazer Slytherin- who is, by the way, in no way affiliated with the roofing company).

Gryffindor is considered the best house, because it's for the brave people. It's basically a factory for heroes and sidekicks. Plus, Harry, Ron, and Hermione are Gryffindors, so everybody wants to be in with him.

Then there's Ravenclaw, for super-smart people. You know the type- thick glasses, inhalers, knee socks, know the first nine hundred digits of pi, still play those weird magical creature card games even though they're seventeen years old. I believe the common term is "Proby".

Next is Slytherin. That's the Bad Guy House. Personally, I think they get a bad wrap- I mean, yeah, the Slytherins we see in the books are either prejudiced, twitchy little ferrets like Malfoy, or dunderheads like Crabbe and Goyle. But Hogwarts is big enough that someone somewhere must be a decent Slytherin wizard. That's my theory, anyway.

And finally, the Hufflepuffs. Where to begin here? Anybody who's seen A Very Potter Musical has been trying to answer this question for years: "What the hell is a Hufflepuff?" (Mom, I'm quoting, it doesn't count.) And it's true. Nobody knows. They're just... there. To give it an even number, I guess. But that's where everybody else goes, if they aren't bigheaded, socially awkward, or have a sneering problem.

1. J.K. Rowling- She is my favorite author of all time, but I'm not sorting her. She doesn't have a house- no, she doesn't need a house. She created the houses. She is the Sorting Hat. (If you haven't figured out which books she's written by now, seek professional help).

2. Neil Gaiman- Whoa, boy, this is a tough one. Mr. Gaiman is the author of several AWESOME books, such as American Gods (which I'm attempting to get my hands on), Coraline (which was good enough that Tim Burton decided to ruin it), and The Graveyard Book (which I hope nobody ever ruins by making it into a film). Gaiman is brilliant, obviously, but his stories are kind of dark sometimes. Well, I like that, and I like his blunt humor- very dry and British- but it's something you kind of have to be in the mood for. I would say Slytherin, with all the loving fondness in the world, simply because his stories have such Gothic tendencies. Plus, I could totally see him sympathizing with Snape, which puts him solidly in with the green and silver crowd.

3. Jane Austen- Anybody with a Y-chromosome who decided to read this (you're very brave, by the way) probably doesn't know who Ms. Austen was. She wrote books on morals: Pride and Prejudice, Emma, Sense and Sensibility, Mansfield Park just to name a few. If that doesn't ring a bell, look up Kierra Knightley's filmography. Anyway, I'd put Austen in Gryffindor. She was pretty brave in the way she poked fun at society in the 19th century, and I'm sure there were those who thought she was far too outspoken for a woman. Plus, she throws in really good twists, and I know how difficult that can be for a writer- you want to shock your audience, but at the same time you don't want them getting too upset the way you violently murdered their favorite characters (not that anyone dies in her books, but you get the idea).

4. Roald Dahl- Oooh, another tough one to place. Roald Dahl is one of my favorite kid authors. His books have a way of teaching kids without them realizing that they learned anything. He wrote books such as Matilda, James and the Giant Peach, The Fantastic Mr. Fox, and The Twits. (The first three have been ruined by the film industry, naturally. It happens only to the best of us.) Dahl was a brilliant kid's author, and I re-read his books over and over again. I'd send him to Hufflepuff, simply because there's nowhere else for him to go. He's not a hero or a villain, and he's not unnaturally intelligent either. He writes for kids and makes people laugh. If that's not Hufflepuff-esque, I don't know what is.

5. Hilary McKay- This woman is a wonderful children's author. She is, like most of the people that will be on this list, English, and she wrote a sequel to A Little Princess, as well as The Exiles series and the Casson series (LOVE THEM). Ms. McKay is so creative, and she has a wonderful way of shoving her quirky characters into reality, getting them into crazy situations in which they learn valuable lessons- she's taken them up onto the roof of a school, had them stowaway in beanbags on trips to Italy, and even sent one girl to spend the night at a zoo in search of tigers. I would put her Hufflepuff with Mr. Roald Dahl, and I think they'll both get along very nicely.

6. Lemony Snicket- Just saying Daniel Handler's nom de plume is enough to make you laugh. For those of you who are saying, "Uh, who's this Daniel guy?" did you honestly think that Lemony Snicket was his real name? Anyway, if you live under a rock, Lemony Snicket wrote The Series of Unfortunate Events, a thirteen-book series about Violet, Klaus, and Sunny Baudelaire, three orphans who are heir to a massive fortune. The awful Count Olaf has been trying to get his hands on this fortune ever since their parents died in a horrible fire, and because of this evil man they have virtually no one to turn to. I would put Snicket in Ravenclaw because of all the little hidden clues, and all the subtle references to culture. You have to really pay attention to understand the books- or, to appreciate them, anyway. I like the way he defines words, without all that stupid technical jargon that kids don't understand.

7. Alan Bradley- Mr. Bradley is the author of a mystery series that has recently become very popular. The Sweetness at the Bottom of the Pie, The Weed That Strings the Hangman's Bag, and A Red Herring Without Mustard are all written about an eleven-year-old amateur chemist named Flavia de Luce in England, 1950, with a certain flair for solving crimes that happen around her neighborhood. I loved every minute of these books, the way Flavia has the intelligence of an adult and the personality of a very indignant, opinionated, put-upon young girl. Bradley goes to Slytherin, mostly for sheer brilliance and cheek, but also because he has a habit of making his young character fantasize about poisoning her evil older sisters, a very Slytherin quality.

8. J.R.R. Tolkien- Gryffindor. No question about it. All you need to do is say the name, and instead of thinking of the old Englishman who was friends with C.S. Lewis, you think of Frodo and Sam's trials with Gollum, Gandalf with his fireworks, Aragorn and Arwen talking to each other in elvish, and Gimley and Legolas counting how many Orks they kill in battle. The amount of detail, the long-standing survival and popularity of the story, and the story's influence, their is no other house that befits Mr. Tolkien better.

9. Christopher Paolini- This is the kid who wrote Eragon, Eldest, Brisingr, and Inheritance. If you don't know what those are, then he's the guy who wrote about all those dragons. I like to call it "The Story That the Author Couldn't End". I put Mr. Paolini in Ravenclaw because he started out strong, but he is slowly crashing and burning. Poor guy. Maybe things would have gone better for him if the film industry didn't screw up his first book. Anyway, he's getting kind of annoying in that he can't finish his story. And the books go and go and go, and then they cut off and you're sitting there thinking "I spent a MONTH reading this book, and I have more questions at the end than I did at the beginning." So he goes into Ravenclaw, if nothing else because he is "an insufferable know-it-all."

10. James Howe- Ever heard of the Bunnicula series? No? Not really all that surprising. This is a series of kid's books written by Mr. Howe from the point of view of a dog. His best friend is a cat who is incredibly superstitious and fancies himself a detective. Among other things, the cat believes that the family rabbit is a vampire that sucks the juice out of vegetables. All this was before Stephanie Meyer screwed up the concept of vampires. I think James Howe is incredibly creative, and his allusions to various classic works of literature will probably inspire kids to read more, like me. Because of this, Howe goes to Gryffindor.

*Note: Only one guy on this list is American. There's a reason, people.

Snow Flower and the Secret Fan

Today, my mom and I went to see a movie called Snow Flower and the Secret Fan. I did not like it, Sam I Am. I did not like it in a box, I did not like it with a fox, I did not like it in a house, I did not like it with a mouse.


SPOILER ALERT: If you actually want to see this movie, go away.

So, the movie follows two story lines. The first one takes place in modern times, and my mom said it wasn't in the book at all. There are these two girls living in Shanghai, named Sophia and Nina. Sophia is actually from Korea, and she's all misunderstood by her step mother, and her father dies part-way through, and she gets depressed and almost gets killed in a car accident. Nina is her "laotong" (I hope I'm spelling that right). That means that they aren't actually related, but they're... uh... Soul Sisters, for lack of a better word. They sign this ancient document when they're seventeen-ish to be forever loyal and faithful and all that jazz. But, of course, they get in a fight and everything goes into a tailspin, and then Sophia has her accident (which is actually in the beginning of the movie).

Then, Nina finds out that Sophia was writing a book about her great-great-great-great-great-great grandmother, Snow Flower, and her laotong, Lily. This is the second storyline, and the movie sort of goes back and forth between the two.

So, Snow Flower and Lily have the same birthday, and they got their feet bound on the same day to. Now, let me explain that. Foot binding was this ancient tradition a bajillion years ago, where moms would have their daughters' feet all tied up with rags, pretty much breaking their feet to make them small. The smaller your feet, the better husband the match maker would give you. Seems borderline sadistic if you ask me, not that anyone bothered to.

Snow Flower and Lily met each other when they were seven. The match maker decided that they should be laotongs, in spite of their difference in class, because they had compatible astrology signs. So they became best friends, yada-yada, blah, blah, let's all skip and hold hands and pick flowers. Then Lily gets married and has to go away. She becomes a sort of noblewoman, and her husband is kind of weird (to me, at least). He goes away to trade, and by now Lily's got three or for kiddos and hasn't seen Snow Flower in ages, because her mother-in-law won't let her.

Well, Lily goes and sees her anyway, and finds out Snow Flower got married. Then there's a typhoid epidemic that wipes out a bunch of people, including Lily's in-laws. She also finds out that Snow Flower's dad ruined the family by becoming a druggie (well... a nineteenth century druggie, anyway). And a bunch of other stuff happens, and then Lily finds out that Snow Flower's husband is abusive and tries to rescue her. (Go, Lily!)

But stupid Snow Flower says she can't leave, it's her duty to stay, and then she... erm, breaks up with Lily, for lack of a better phrase. And Lily is heart broken, and tells her servants to burn all the letters and finds out that Snow Flower has new laotongs now.

Then, a long time passes, and Snow Flower's daughter comes to Lily and begs her to come back because her mom is sick. And Lily's like, "But what about her other laotongs?" and Lotus is like, "Uh, they're just her students. She totally played you."

Turns out, Snow Flower wouldn't leave her husband because she "didn't want to be a burden to Lily". World's Dumbest Reason to NOT Leave an Abusive Husband.

So, Lily goes back, and talks to Snow Flower, who, of course, dies anyway. The End.

Okay, so, after all the self-inflicted drama here, I come to only one conclusion: We, as a human race, are stupid.

I mean, I know that this was hundreds of years ago, and it was therefore a "different time" and it happened in a completely different culture than the one I've grown up in, and all that. I totally get that.

But (here comes the big BUT), come on, man. I mean, seriously? All that, because she didn't want to be a burden? I don't care who you are, where you live, or what time you're from, if somebody offers you a way out of a situation like that, you take it, if nothing else for the safety of your kids. Staying with an abusive husband because you don't want to be dependent on somebody who actually cares about you is like keeping a dog that has rabies because it saved you from drowning when you were six. Noble in theory, stupid in practice.

And, let me just say, if anyone tried to beat me or my friends up the way that pigheaded jerkwad did to Snow Flower, you can bet I would have kicked his sorry butt right into a prison cell. I'd sue 'em for all they're worth.

And I get that Snow Flower couldn't sue him for all he was worth, because they didn't do that back then. Plus, there was that whole Women Are Property thing. But she could have taken Lily up on her offer. Sure, it was considered shameful, but I think that the Pros outweighed the Cons on that one. Just sayin'.

Conclusion: When she didn't take the help, she had nobody to blame but herself.

A Special Note to Mom, Who Will Probably Kick My Butt When She Reads This:

I think we should have waited three hours to watch Winnie the Pooh instead.

Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows- My Mixed Feelings At This Early Hour

Hi! I'm waiting for my chance to snag an early look at the brilliant JKR's Pottermore, and since I'll likely be up for a while, I thought I'd get you all in the spirit by bashing the latest Potter movie. SPOILER ALERT! If you haven't read the books or seen the latest movie, I suggest you get that done quickly. Like, NOW. Before I sic the dementors on you.

I think that Deathly Hallows, Parts I and II, weren't bad, all things considered. I mean, look at how they screwed up OotP and HBP. I don't think I'll ever get over the Snape scenes they cut out of the sixth movie. My point is, up until the last two movies, with a few exceptions, these wretched Warner Bros have been chopping up Rowling's babies to bits! But they didn't goof up the last two movies, for which I'm sure we are all eternally grateful. It was a wonderful way to round off the franchise and help me cope with my Post-Potter Depression. (This, coupled with Pottermore, should have me cured before Thanksgiving at the earliest, and after Christmas at the latest.)

I liked the beginning of Pt. One, which showed the trio making their various preparations to leave on their hunt for Horcruxes. Seeing Hermione fading from her own pictures totally hit home. Then there was the bit with the seven Harry's, which was hysterical. (It was a bit disturbing to see Dan Radcliffe in Fleur's dainty lingerie...) I personally think that Hedwig giving Harry away made a bit more sense than all that about Harry mercifully disarming Stan Shupike rather than sending him to an untimely death. (I had to reread that part when I first got the book in seventh grade. I think Lupin needed to pull the stick out of his hairy hindquarters on that one.)

So, then comes the good-morning kiss between Harry and Ginny, which I was a little disappointed at. Even though seeing Georgie with that ridiculous toothbrush sticking out of his ear was a laugh, I like Ron's blind rage and total tactlessness about the situation. I know that Ron and Harry were yelling at each other in that part of the book, but I couldn't help thinking it was a tiny bit funny.

Then the wedding. I wish Muriel was more drunk, but I think Luna's lines were brilliant. Of course, I am slightly biased, Luna's in my Top Five Best Characters EVER list.... But so what?

Was I the only one who did a double take when they changed Totenham Court Road to Strausbury Avenue, or am I just picky? Never mind, though, the rest of the movie, which I won't drag you through play-by-play, was relatively close to the book, with a couple of changes. I could at least see the reasoning behind those changes, and they were so minor that they weren't a big deal. I must say, the BEST part of Pt. I is the reunion between Ron and Hermione. I'm definitely going to play that one over and over when I get around to buying the DH movies.

Pt. 2 was sort of like a school pep rally, with everyone cheering and laughing, and bursting into applause at all the right moments. By then, the theatre was so filled with a buzz of energetic unity that I felt like I was at home in the Gryffindor Common Room after kicking the Slytherin's sorry butts at a Quidditch match.

For those of you who haven't heard the Trivia Game Anecdote from my mom, I'll tell you now. The theatre people were giving away prizes to those who were most knowledgeable of Pottermania. I kept not winning and not winning, and then they asked when Hermione's birthday was.

I, naturally, leaped to my feet at lightening speed and began bouncing like a Mexican Jumping Bean. I was the only one in the entire theatre, out of 450-some-odd people, who knew Hermione's birthday was September 19, 1979. My prize? Oh, just an official, legit replica of Hermione's wand, that's all!! Those suckers were fifty dead presidents at Universal last year, and I got one just because I remembered somebody's birthday. I guess you could call it my proverbial Klondike Bar Moment. hee hee....

As for actually settling down to Pt. 2... well, I was a happy camper. I felt like a house-elf with a minicam sitting on Harry's shoulder (in the words of John Granger, not me). It was great, even though it was repeat for me, since I spent the months waiting for the Hallows movies by rereading Book Seven in an endless refrain until I had it somewhat memorized. I figured that the dragon scene would be mediocre at best, but I was pleasantly surprised that it wasn't. The commercials were fairly misleading on that score.

I thought that Helena Bonham-Carter's performance as Hermione pretending to be Bellatrix was absolutely brilliant. All the Polyjuice scenes in these two movies have been great. Once the trio pulled out of Gringotts and made it to Hogsmeade, I was gearing up for Aberforth's soliloquy and was slightly disarmed when Dumbledore's past was not divulged, in full detail, by the old goat-lover. I suppose now, though, that it makes sense. If you are too lazy to read what happens to Dumbledore, than you are content to be ignorant, and that is ultimately your prerogative.

I loved every minute of the D.A.'s antics and the Battle of Hogwarts itself. Ginny bolting into the Room of Requirement for example. Ron says, "I haven't seen her in six months, and you'd think I was Frankie First Year!" to which Seamus replies, "...there's only one Harry." (My mom's favorite part, naturally. She ships Harry/Ginny all the way, with the same ruthless and hardcore devotion that some people show to football teams.) Personally, though, my favorite part is when Neville is asking if they actually have permission to blow up the bridge, and Maggie Smith nods and says, "Yes. Boom!" That was awesome! I mean, it isn't something McGonagall would actually say, except in this dire moment of crisis. I think she's actually enjoying this little attempt to defend the school, and I think she's channeling all her pent-up anger at Snape into having some fun with the D.A.'s chaotic tendencies. I went home and reread parts of the battle specifically after that, seeing the whole thing with new eyes.

And it wasn't just McGonagall who was a little out of character that night. Snape's death actually pulled a couple tears from my eyes, Neville's heroics had me beaming with Gryffindor pride, and Luna's sudden assertive outburst ("Harry Potter, you listen to me!") had several people on their feet, clapping and cheering. (Yes, I was one of them...). I was also impressed by the way the portrayed Voldemort's disembodied voice booming over the campus, as though its sound brought actual physical pain and emotional panic to the students. It is pretty morbid, but interesting, and it emphasizes just how evil Voldy-poo is to those who haven't read the books.

Snape's death and his memories were incredibly touching, and though I missed most of the Resurrection Stone scene in a mad dash to the bathroom, Mom gave me enough of the details later that I was sufficiently satisfied with that.

What I was incredibly disappointed with was the King's Cross scene- and NO, you perves, not because Dan wasn't naked! Dumbledore remained maddeningly vague, while in the book he gave Harry the straight dope. (I was just as peeved at Dumbles as Harry was when that part came round. I mean, you couldn't tell him all that stuff while both of you were alive and in your study with the comfy chairs?? You just had to wait until you were both safely dead, didn't you!) But all in all, the end was essentially the same, although it left out enough details that people who haven't read the books will be able to read them with a few surprises still left.

So, I guess that's Harry done with- for now, anyway. I don't know about you, but I'm constantly rereading the stories. The funny bits still make me laugh, the deaths still tug at my heart strings and tear ducts, and the story still leaves me gasping and smacking my forehead, right along with Harry and the gang. Harry has been a huge part of my childhood, and will always be part of my life. I think we all owe JKR a HUGE thank you, and maybe a Hagrid-sized hug, for providing us with an escape from our problems in the form of a castle where wonderful things happen and a bespectacled boy who lived in a cupboard and has a funny cut on his head.

NYC (Not the city...)

Hey, everybody- if there still is an everybody. I seriously doubt any of you are still reading my stuff, since I've been in Kentucky for almost a week. To bad. I'm writing this anyway. HA HA.

When I was in Louisville, I wasn't there to play baseball (sadly) or to eat cheeseburgers (which were invented there). No, I was there with a bunch of other Nazarene teenagers from around the country at a little get together we like to call NYC. No, I'm not talking about the geographical NYC. I'm talking about Nazarene Youth Conference.

To you laymen (who don't know what this is) and to you Lame-O's (who already knew about it but didn't go), NYC is an event for high schoolers every four years. You must, of course, be a thorough Nazaraniac, and anywhere from entering freshman year to leaving high school for good (you stickin' lucky Seniors!). Basically, we all gather in one city, usually in the U.S. (but we have Canadian buddies, too) to hang out, talk about God, eat really greasy food that would make a lesser teen barf, and occasionally jump up and down at TobyMac concerts.

I know what you're thinking. (Yes, I am psychic, MWAHAHAHA!) Either you're thinking, "Awesome! Summer camp on steroids!" or something more along the lines of, "You mean 6,000+ Christian teens all in one city being hyper and talking about God? Yuck! Bring me a bucket, I'm going to be sick!"

To the positive thought group- that's exactly what it was.

To the negative thought group- I'll give you a whole list of reasons why you should have gone.

1) TobyMac and the David Crowder Band both gave awesome concerts, and Starfield lead the worship every night. Oh yeah, BE JEALOUS! I got to rock out to TobyMac, see one of the last concerts the David Crowder Band will ever give, and worship with hot Canadian guys! Seriously, though, it was great music, and kind of cool to find a bunch of other kids who know all the words to those songs.

2) Hot Canadian Starfield Band taught us to dance. There were two dances: The Hockey Mom and The Eighties Mom. I'll spare you the details of how weird we all looked doing that, but trust me, at the time we were having TONS of fun, and we (meaning me) didn't think that those memories would ever come back to haunt us...

3) Ice Parties. Let me give you the story on that one, because it's pretty good. So, I was in a hotel room with five other girls, meaning that we were all basically crammed into whatever corner of the room was most comfy to us. I was sleeping on a tiny corner of the couch with a squishy pillow that my head always sunk right through, but I was usually too tired to notice all of that.

Anyway, next door to my roommates and me, there were a bunch of guys from Ponca City, and all the girls in my room were pretty happy about that, to say the least. Before curfew, just to get out of the hotel room for a while, we (along with Ponca City Boys Next Door) would mount an exhibition to go down to the sixth floor and get ice. Why? Because: a) Water bottles are three bucks apiece, and ice is free, and b) HELLO?? Think about it. Five hyper teenage girls+five cute boys who have no objection to chillin' with us (pun intended)= Boy Stalking Time.

Now, I personally didn't do much boy stalking. I was kinda busy with the whole At-NYC-God-Will-Change-Your-Life thing, but that doesn't mean I didn't pass up the opportunity to hang out with said group of crazy girls and cutie-pie boys. And even though the Knock-on-the-Wall language they invented was annoying at two a.m., at least it yielded results. No naming names, but I know that at least one of my roommates got a Prince Charming kiss, though whether they will live Happily Ever After remains to be seen.

4) The Gummy Bear Story. This was the talk of the hotel for days after it was told. One of our speakers, Brooklyn Lindsey, was telling the story of her NYC experience- namely, meeting her husband at NYC when she was seventeen.

The way she tells it, she had her eye on a Smokin' Hot Guy pretty much since she got on the airplane. One day, she leaves something at the hotel, and her friends (naturally) ditch her. (This is sounding more and more like a situation I would wind up in- *coughcough* MILLIE *coughcough*) So, who should rescue her from the perilous, lonely walk back to the hotel but Smokin' Hot Guy? He offers to walk back with her, and naturally she accepts.

So they're on an elevator, and it's all awkward because they're the only ones in it. And then Brooklyn sees something on the floor.

See, at NYC, our teenage brains get fried. Between meeting our future husbands, going to TobyMac concerts, and eating super greasy food, it's no wonder we go slightly insane. Case in point: Brooklyn's youth group had a Gummy Bear Fight. They just bought a ton of gummy bears and pelted them at each other. (This definitely sounds like something my youth group would do, especially after what happens next.)

You see, as Brooklyn is staring down her sneakers, begging God to give her something brilliant to say, God catches her eye with something. It's a smashed, dusty, bacteria-infested gummy bear. Yep, folks, a red gummy bear on the elevator floor.

Naturally, Brooklyn looks up at Smokin' Hot Guy and says, "Dude, I dare you to eat that!"

And Smokin' Hot Guy, not being stupid, says, "Sure- if you eat half!"

And now, many moons later, they are happily married with a two-year-old girl.

I personally, if I'd had money to spare, would have loved to buy a jumbo bag of gummy bears and leave them random places, just to see what happens. And apparently, as Brooklyn told us the day after this story was told, we cleared out the entire city of Louisville of its gummy bears, so I'm not the only one. I guess we know now why God invented those. :)

5) Workshops. You know, classes that you take, but only for about a day. I went to two pretty good ones that were talking about writing, and everyone else I talked to had fun with their workshops too. I got nothing but good reviews from everyone on all the different topics and teachers.

6) Meeting people while you're in line at Starbucks. Everyone here- okay, maybe not everyone, but most of you- enjoys a good old fashioned grande frappuccino to round off a particularly moving service. I myself needed a good sized Mocha Coconut after Reggie Dabbs said his piece. Fortunately for me, and the other thousands of kids who completely lost their cool during Reggie's session, there was a handily placed Starbucks in the building we hung out in during the day. Whenever you needed a pick-me-up, all you had to do was jog down two flights of escalators and be prepared to stand in a line roughly the length of a football field.

Easier said than done.

While the line was ridiculous, I have always been a people watcher at heart. And there were some pretty interesting people to drop some eaves on in the Starbucks line. A lot of Californians (no surprise there), a couple of New Yorkers (not really surprising, either), some Canadians, and even a guy from Hawaii named Genesis! You can have some pretty interesting conversations with those folks... I know I did.

7) Extracurriculars with your Church Buddies. Okay, so our district didn't want to just stay couped up in the hotel all the time. Sue us for wanting to have fun! We went to Merango Caves in Indiana, which was pretty dad-gum cool. There were lots of stalactites and stalagmites that were bigger than I was, which is cool, considering every cubic inch that a stalactite or stalagmite grows is equivalent to one hundred years! And for those of you wondering the difference between a stalactite and a stalagmite- stalagmite's got an "m" in it, people. ;)

Then there was King's Island, a really awesome amusement park that tons of great rides, even if its pizza is like trying to chew cheesy leather. I road a bungie ride called the Slingshot with another kid from my church. Basically, it was this steel sphere thing. We were strapped in, and then there was a click and POW! we shoot two hundred some-odd feet into the air! It was pretty cool. The kid I was with? Bradley Baker. If you know him, you probably peed your pants laughing at him screaming his head off (which you could hear all the way from the ground). If you don't know him, I'm very sorry. You're missing out on one heck of a dude. And if you didn't hear Bradley's screams, think of what a monkey being squished by a rhino would sound like.

8) College Opportunities. There are eight Nazarene Universities in this particular country, and all eight of them were well represented at NYC. There was some serious SNU pride, not to mention the other universities with their various "commercials" and chants. Olivet had a dance. At Northwest (we found out), there is an official coffee drink called a Brick (diabetics beware), a talent show called Fresheree (no talent required), and an ongoing scavenger hunt to collect as many professor cell phone numbers as possible. Point Loma started a rumor that Miley Cyrus attended their college. The point is, Nazaraniacs sure know how to market.

9) Inside jokes and Buddies 4 Life. I don't know about the others, but I made lots of new friends and reconnected with people that I haven't really hung out with since elementary school. Leanne always knows everyone's name and exactly what they're going through. My roommates, Becca, Emily, Julianna, and Sara all had some pretty rockin' dance moves and were always in a good mood. I'm serious- no grouchy girls in our room. I learned how to play a lot of new card games with some of the older girls.

Oh yeah, and there were the guys too. The bus captain for my bus was a pastor from Shawnee named Micheal, but everyone called him Princess Honey Bear. I have no clue how he got saddled with that nickname, and no desire to learn the reasoning behind it. Bradley slept through the entire Sunday morning service- even communion. Brady has a Louisville Slugger (the lucky stinker) named- what else?- Babe. Even the Ponca City dudes from next door were fun to hang out with, and they really knew how to party.

10) Unbroken. When I found out what the theme was- Unbroken- I looked up the word for an exact definition, because I'm like that. Here's what I got:

un-bro-ken- adj. 1. not broken, fractures, or damaged 2. not interrupted or disturbed; continuous

That was the theme that was picked. It makes me smile every time I see it, because this experience wasn't all sunshine and daisies. Oh yeah, it was fun and great, and I would do it again in a heartbeat. But guys, this NYC was a process, not just a get-together for 6,000 teenagers. There were seven sessions, seven speakers, and seven different steps we had to learn.

The sessions were called Create, Broken, Promise, Presence, Satisfied, Mission, and Restored. Let me tell you, it was an emotional roller coaster. There was laughter and tears in equal abundance- I even cried. I, the Heart of Stone, the girl who watched Steel Magnolias without showing any form of emotion, cried like a little baby two whole times. There were times when all of us were sitting there busting up, or totally amazed, or so excited that the bleachers were shaking, or so deeply moved that the room was ringing with silence. And my favorite part of NYC was how God totally came into my little corner of the world and went nuts. He rocked my face off, rearranged it, and put it back on upside down, and I'll never ever be the same. Ever.

You'll here people say that nobody ever went to NYC and had a crappy time. In fact, they told us that on the bus at five a.m. when we were driving up. At the time, I didn't believe them, because it was five o'clock in the morning and not a coffee maker in sight. But here I am now, the cynical, misanthropic, reclusive Sarah who hated voluntarily socializing with anyone- especially kids from church. And I'm telling you right now that that was the best thing I ever did in my life, I had fun, and actually acted like a kid and not a New Jersey doctor with a cane and a chip on her shoulder.

Book of the Week: Coraline

Hi. I'm back. I think I've already proven that I'm inconsistent with updates, so don't be surprised.

The first time I read this book, I was in fourth grade. It might have been on the Sequoyah Book List, but I don't really remember. What I do remember is that I read it in a single day. How did I, a lowly nine-year-old, accomplish this feat? I was terrified, that's how!

Anyway, I reread it recently at my mother's suggestion (she has a sixth sense for sniffing out instant hits). I really appreciated the themes more the second time around. Here comes the vague summary:

The book is about a little girl named Coraline. She moves into a big, old house (it's well into its second century, if I remember right). The house is divided into apartments, or flats, as the call 'em "across the pond".

Her parents are the "distracted and creative" types, and they don't really pay too much attention to her. It annoys her a lot, but she puts up with them most of the time. I get the feeling that Coraline thinks she's smarter than most adults. Her dad is always making weird food that looks like something you would feed Napoleon  Dynamite's llama, Tina, and her Mom's catchphrase is "Don't make a mess!"

Coraline has some pretty odd neighbors, too, and I bet she is, if not smarter, at least saner than they are.

There are two old ladies who live below her. They are retired actresses named Miss April Spink and Miss Miriam Forcible. They mostly did classical theatre from what I saw. They have lots of highland terriers with funny names (the one you hear about most is Hemish. No, I didn't sneeze). They also tend to argue with each other a lot. It's good-natured fretting, but still.  

There's also this guy called The-Crazy-Old-Man-Upstairs. His name is revealed at the end of the book, so I'll not say it here. Suffice it to say that this guy is foreign (possibly Russian) and definitely crazy. He smells weird and claims he has a mouse circus in his attic apartment. If that's not a certified cuckoo clock, I don't know what is.

So, one day, it's raining outside and Coraline doesn't have anything to do. She mooches around for a while, and then her dad tells her to count everything blue, find the water heater, and count all the doors and windows in the apartment. She finds:

153 blue objects
21 windows
14 doors

Of the doors she discovers, thirteen open and shut. One of them, a great big door covered in odd carvings in the corner of the fancy drawing room (where they keep her grandmother's "expensive and uncomfortable furniture") is locked. When she gets her mom to unlock it, Coraline discovers that it's bricked up.

So, exactly how does she get inside it one night and discover that a better version of her life is on the other side of the door?

That's right: "Other" parents that pay attention to her, neighbors who never get her name wrong, toys that play with her, even a talking cat!

Of course it was all too good to be true.

I won't say more than that, though. After all, when you're telling people about a book, you can't just yell, "The Other Mother is really an evil Beldam who's luring Coraline into a trap! She really wants to sew buttons in Coraline's eyes and then suck out her soul like the other kids she has locked up in a mirror!" No, you have to leave them hanging on a snappy and vague punchline that makes them want to get off their computer chair and go buy the book at a Barnes & Noble.

On a scale of 1-10 (1 is worst, 10 is best) I deem this book... well, not higher than a 9.8 because there is always room for improvement.  

Reader's Block

Hey, people! So, let's get down to brass tacks. I'm new here, obviously, but I don't feel like giving you a long sob story about my life. It isn't interesting, or creative, and you'll hear more than you want to know about how much my life sucks over the next few months.

I won't blame you if you quit reading now. In fact, I'm about to give you homework, and if that doesn't scare you off, I don't know what will.

I have been a victim of writer's block before. If you have ever been assigned an English project, or maybe a report on a famous person of your choosing, and you've had trouble deciding what to write about, then you've had it too. Lately, though, I've had a less common problem.

Reader's Block.

I call it that, because it's sort of like writer's block. My problem is not knowing what I should read next.

See, the thing is, I've read a whole lot of books. I read all the Harry Potters, and I've read other stuff too, like Pride and Prejudice and Little Women. I know that I should probably work on finishing out the Eragon series, or find out whether the gods have killed Percy Jackson yet. Still, even though I love reading stories that come in series, I think every now and then you need a break. I mean, come on, if you were on a desert island and had nothing but the Series of Unfortunate Events with you, you'd get bored with reading about the same characters.

Maybe it isn't very loyal to Violet, Klaus, and Sunny, but I want to read about something else before they get around to conquering Count Olaf and his motley crew. The thing is, I don't know where to look. I'm reading The Scarlet Pimpernel, and I'm dabbling in more Jane Austen, but I haven't really got into them.

What I mean is, when I read about Marguerite St. Just and her brother, Armand, I'm nervous for her and worried that she may never escape Chauvelin's evil clutches. But the world doesn't melt away. And I'm easily distracted, so getting through it is a long process.

I guess you could say that I'm on a hunt for the perfect book. Any thoughts?