GOF

(Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire).

Saw it. On opening night. A week ago. And I'm still trying to decide how I felt about it. The book is darker, yes, so I should have expected to be scared. And I was. (Feet up on the seat, anyone? Oh, just me then?) . Then again, I thought that E.T. was scary. Of course, I was four years old... Nevermind.

The book is sad, yes, and that was most definitely reflected in the film. Ask those sitting around me how hard I was bawling. (Answer: Like a little girl).

I guess my main problem is not being able to get over the "feel-good" whimsical touch of the first two films/books and then the excitement of the third. This is the first book/film to actually get inside the mysteries of Harry's life and bring the horrors out into the open. Maybe I wasn't ready for that, I don't know.

I do think that the humor in the film was very well placed and executed quite well. Additionally, the whole "teenage angst" portions were fabulous. And hilarious. And slightly painful - now that I've gone through it all and know what the characters must be feeling!

I do not like Michael Gambon's portrayal of Dumbledore. And the makeup department has made him grungy and dirty and I am SO not a fan. Richard Harris was perfect - anyone playing the Big D in the future has a hard role to fill (and I hope someone else is slated for the fifthe film).

Of all four books, the viewer would benefit most greatly from reading GOF before seeing the film adaptation. The first three films allow the viewer to be slightly oblivious to the background and inner thoughts of the characters. Because there are so many important clues in the fourth book that aren't captured on screen, reading the series would be beneficial. Don't get me wrong, I think that prior to seeing the films, reading the entire series of HP books is the best mode of attack (as for any movie adapted from a book - might need to read P&P again before seeing the most recent adaptation, for example).

Anyway, see it and make up your own mind!

T-giving

That I didn't let myself get stressed out is reason enough for celebration. The fact that I had 14 people crammed into my tiny living room is why I'm still smiling a few days later.

Now that the food has been eaten and the wine has been poured (oh, the wine. Multiple... so many bottles of wine...), the dishes have been done (thanks, Joshy!) and the leftovers stored, I'm finally able to look back on the enormity of the evening. Such a good time! Thanks to everyone who made it wonderful!

Pics to be posted when people send me some!!

BUTTERSTICK!

I got to see Butterstick today! And he was a cutest ball of fluff EVER! He was very small - the published pictures make him look much larger and mature than he really is. We had only a few minutes, and he was crouched behind some straw most of the time. But when he picked up his fuzzy face and looked at the crowd, there was an audible gasp as the air was sucked from the room.

I admit, I was one of those people.

He's just so damn cute! And it's the hottest ticket in town. Can you believe that people are actually selling their tickets on Craigslist and ebay (not that it matters)? Craziness! I mean, the public will get to see his buttery highness eventually. But he might be all grown up by then and will no longer be as adorable.

Well that explains the hysteria, I suppose.

Sick

So I'm home. I feel like ick and there was nothing to do at work. Therefore, I left. I honestly have no idea why I went in at all. Being at home has allowed me to make some interesting observations...

The cafes at Union Station? PACKED. Packed with (mostly) men in suits, schmoozing away. My, that scone looks lovely, my friend. And my latte? Delish! Here, try some of my quiche - no worries, I can order another one. It's covered! Ha ha hum ha ho hum! Now where do you stand on gun control? I forgot. My latte is just so intoxicating! Perhaps that was the Bailey's... No matter! What were we talking about again? Right. If this is "work," where do I sign up?

Children in "D.A.R.E."-like shirts? Standing on all of the street corners, of course. They weren't passing out flyers, or trying to sell candy bars, or even paying much attention to what was going on around them (a cop pulling someone over? nothing). Why? Why aren't they in school for one thing, and why are they standing around unsupervised with big yellow t-shirts covering their uniforms?

Loudy McStompy? The guy upstairs? Has a CLEANING SERVICE. At least, that's my guess. What else would explain the CONSTANT banging and stomping and vacuuming and dropping of things and my stuffing my ears with Swedish Fish to attempt to block out the noise since my HEAD IS POUNDING and this headache WON'T GO AWAY? Who needs a maid, anyway? How messy can one guy be? Well, if it's in any way related to how loud one guy can be...

The two mice CreePaul caught and wanted a victory parade for doing so? Must have sick family members, because there is a smell in the house that makes me want to VOM. Ah, scented candles... Problem solved.

The sound I hear when the mailman drops the mail through the front door mail slot? Terrifying! I thought that someone was in the house! Where's that baseball bat? And where's my Netflix? Arrested Development season two, disc three isn't going to watch itself, now is it?

I need vitamins.

Go... Blue?

My beloved Wolverines SUCKED this afternoon, regardless of the fact that they were playing in the freaking BIG HOUSE and the stupid FuckBucks have bragging rights for another year. Again. DAMMIT! My throat hurts from yelling at the t.v.

Okay, I still love them. Fine. Whatever. At least our hockey team is consistently good. That's something.

Stupid Email

I can't get into any of my email accounts here at work (and why do I have so many, anyway? gmail, yahoo, and comcast -- in addition to umich and gwu mail (both forwarded). I don't think that I need all of them, clearly, but now that I can't get into them... GAARRRRGGGHH!). Perhaps I have been blocked by the network server thingamabob? Not sure... Anyway, I can't remember anyone's email address and since I only use my work email for "work," I have a feeling that this is going to be a very long day...

On a happier note, going to see Harry Potter tonight after a satisfying meal of ginormous Chipotle buritto. I. Can't. Wait!

The Shadow of the Wind

I recently finished The Shadow of the Wind. It was quite good. I think that I would be gushing more about it now had I not left the final chapter unread for a week. It allowed me to come down off of my high and I had to backpedal a bit to remember what was going on. I should have finished it -- though my sleepy eyes no doubt prevented that.

That said, it really was a phenomenal book with some great twists. A little longer than average at 496 pages, but definitely worth it.

Which Peanuts Character Are You?

I'm Woodstock, who are you?


Okay, I totally stole this from Deals, but it was so cute!

Northworst Remorse

Ah, Northworst. You provide me with endless entertainment and stress.

The flight back to DC last night, now? Holy pain in my ass, Batman!

As usual, I stepped out at the curb to get my e-ticket. The machine was being difficult and kept asking for my confirmation number... which I didn't have. So I hauled ass inside to talk to someone at the counter. This is where it gets good...

The area for coach passengers was packed. I spotted an empty e-ticket kiosk and attempted to check in again. No dice. So I waited for the counter employee to take a breath from talking to this guy, and I go for it.

"Excuse me, ma'am? I'm being asked for my confirmation number, but I don't have it. What should I do?"

Nothing.

"Ma'am? I need some help."

She very slowly, alien-like, turns toward me and very icily says, "Can you not SEE that I am helping someone else?"

Under my breath, "whoa." Pause. "Yes, of course, but I just have a quick question."

"YOU'LL HAVE TO WAIT!"

O...kay. So I stand there like an idiot while she tells this poor gentleman that there is no way that he is going to make his 7:00 flight (it's 6:30) because the line at security is way too long (there are about five people in line) and that the gate is near the end of the terminal (they have a people-mover type tram that can get him there in seconds). And his bag would never make it. He said, fine, no problem, I just want to get home. TOO BAD. She imformed him that he'll never make it and hands him a ticket for a flight the next morning at 6:45 a.m. Dejected, he was about to say something, and she sent him this GLARE that about knocked his head off. It was terrifying.

All through this, she kept yelling at every single person who DARES step up behind me, "I. AM. CLOSED. NO MORE CUSTOMERS."

I ask, "Ma'am, should I go to another counter?"

Nothing. I take that as a cue to stay put. Besides, if I get out of line, I will definitely miss my flight. Annnd, it makes total sense that there are three employees assisting at least twenty coach customers and seven employees helping exactly zero first class passengers. Heaven forbid they walk over and help us peons, SERIOUSLY.

And then, to herself, "Life is just grand. JUST GRAND."

Fantastic. I have awakened the beast. And she is HUNGRY.

"WHERE ARE YOU GOING?"

"DC. Reagan."

"WHEN DOES IT LEAVE?" (It's close to 7 by now).

"7:30."

"I HOPE YOU DON'T HAVE BAGS TO CHECK BECAUSE THEY WON'T MAKE IT."

"Just carry-on."

She thrust a boarding pass at my face and I hightailed it out of her line of vision. Terrifying!

Security was fine except for the asshat guard who was arguing with the x-ray scanner chick about a pen or something. COME ON! I have NO TIME! AHHHHHH!

Got to the gate, and they weren't boarding yet because it's hard to board a plane when the plane ISN'T THERE. When I finally got onto the plane, there was a bit of commotion going on behind me. One row back, across the aisle, there were three people arguing. The woman by the window, who I couldn't see (we'll call her 'Crazy'), the twenty-something guy in the middle seat, and the chick on the aisle.

Crazy: "I want to move!"

Chick: "If you just switch with me, it will be very simple."

Crazy: "I paid for a window seat, and I want a window seat!"

Bitch, this isn't a hotel where you pay more for an ocean-view room - what the hell is she talking about? I caught the eye of guy, and he shrugged, looking a little scared.

Chick: "I need to be asleep when the plane takes off, or I will FREAK OUT." (Never did find out what that meant, though). "If you're going to need to get up several times during the flight, why don't you just sit on the aisle so you don't disturb everyone?"

Crazy: "I want to sit by the window. I want to move. I WANT TO MOVE!"

At this point, guy said something that pissed her off even more, and she was out of her seat and in the aisle. I don't know how she did it - there was a blur ;)

Here comes the perky flight attendant, completely unaware of what is about to unfold.

Perky: "Did someone need some assistance?"

Silence. Not a word.

Finally...

Guy: "How full is the flight?"

Crazy, interrupting him: "I WANT TO MOVE. I have allergies."

Perky: "Well, passengers are still boarding the plane, but it looks like there should be a few seats."

Crazy: "I'll be in the back waiting for my new seat."

Wow.

So chick moved to the window, guy moved to the aisle, and I didn't see/hear Crazy or her allergies again until she hit me with her suitcase on its way down from the overhead compartment. Thanks!

It was a banner day for Northworst - at least in my book!

Done For

When I got home from the airport last night, CreePaul announced that the mouse tragically lost his battle with the snap trap this weekend. Here's hoping that there aren't more, because we are out of traps...

Rodent Paradise

cute!

Mice. Or rats. Whichever. Point is, we've got 'em. There can't be just one. These little fuckers managed to eat every chip in every bag ON TOP OF THE FRIDGE. How the hell they got up there, I'll never know. And there were many, many bags of chips, pretzels, and goodies up there. They ate EVERY LAST CRUMB.

So I emailed the landlord, asking what we are to do about it. She asks if I've seen the little fat-asses. Well, no, but there is a gnawed-out hole in the wall next to the fridge, it (or they) have knocked down things from the top of the fridge, and one took some royal liberties with a very delicious apple that I was planning on eating. Oh, and we can hear them in the walls, building a fortress of solitude.

"How large is the hole?"

"About 2x3 inches."

"Well it's obviously a mouse because a rat would never fit through there."

Okay, does she know anything about rodents? I used to have pet gerbils (the only pet to which I wasn't allergic), and those little guys could squeeze themselves under and through the smallest openings. Plus, as we lived across from a field, we used to get little mice in the house every so often. I've seen them. I know the signs.

In fact, my dad would corner the little guys in the linen closet, hold a garbage bag completely over the bottom opening, and wait for them to run into the bag. He would then trot across the street, find a nice area, and let them go. So they could get together and plot on how to get back into the house stocked with Better Made potato chips (chips that we eventually had to store in the microwave so they couldn't get them. That was one thing - my dad loves his Better Mades. Don't mess with his chips, for reals - he'll corner you in the linen closet).

That's why I have a hard time killing spiders and other assorted insects that find their way into my house. My dad used to catch spiders and take them outside - something that I continue to do. Even in college, when I was living in a basement apartment, and the biggest, hairiest spider I had EVER SEEN decided to chill on my living room carpet for awhile, I trapped him under a bowl and took him outside. I was fine until he jumped at me. I shrieked all Homer-like and ran away. Classic. I found out later that he was a wolf spider. Yummy!

Centipedes, however... they die. SMOOSH under my flip flop. And any unfortunate pervert spiders who get into the shower with me? They get a nice, long swim. I don't like eight eyes on my when I'm all vulnerable...

Anyway, all I really wanted to know is whose responsibility it was to rid the apartment of the fucking rodent freeloaders. I wasn't sure if it was in the lease. According to her, it's our move. Apparently.

So when I was in Chicago, Jenny cleaned and organized the HELL out of the kitchen. There are snap traps (of which I am none too happy about, but I guess it's better than putting out poison and having them die in the walls). Not that it matters anyway - the fuckers tripped the wire thingy and then ate all of the peanut butter. LICKED IT CLEAN. And they've done this every night since. CreePaul thought that it would be a good idea to bring a cardboard box home from work and trap them in it. Because they'd probably find it to be the craziest, most complex prison EVER. They probably wouldn't gnaw through it, considering they gnawed through a PLASTER WALL. The plan gets better, though. Once the mouse (or meeces) were caught, he would then hurl it out the door into the parking lot. BRILLIANT plan.

Anyway, they really weren't bothering me until they ate my honey twist pretzels. I love those. I can just see this turning into us destroying the house as we try and trap them and at the end of the story, they're giggling in the rubble of our house as we stand, dejected, covered in soot.