Vendredi/Samedi

Okay, so I may or may not have seen the first episode of The Legend of Korra today, but I don't feel at liberty to discuss it until next week, when it's officially released online to fans. So instead, I'll talk a little more about yesterday, A Ring of Endless Light, and how my Saturday went.

I. Yesterday, Continued

As I was walking into the Citadelle, I saw a group of school-aged children leaving the playground with their teachers. They were all really cute, about five or six years old at the most, and well, here is the conversation I have with myself every time I see adorable kids:

Ovaries: Want.
Me: Not yet.
Ovaries: Please?
Me: Ovaries, I haven't even had a boyfriend yet. Aren't you getting a little ahead of yourselves?
Ovaries: But - but - they're so cute!
Me: (sigh) I know, right?
Ovaries: So?!
Me: Give me five to ten years and we'll talk. In the meantime, you'll have to content yourselves with babysitting or surprise adoption.
Ovaries: Fine.
Me: Good. 

Anyway, so I kind of smiled as I watched the kids hold each other's hands to cross the street, because it was really stinkin' cute. But one of their teachers saw me, and she sort of frowned at me, so I looked away quickly. I hope she didn't think I was some kind of creepy weirdo or child predator! Is it weird to be dotingly amused by children in France?

II. A Ring of Endless Light

I'm about halfway through my audiobook reread of A Ring of Endless Light. It continues to be ridiculously good, although I am bothered by a few things on occasion. For one, I don't get why Vicky gives Zachary the time of day. I mean, thematically, I understand why he's a part of the story; he's a foil to both Adam and Leo, he represents a darker viewpoint in a story about death, and he's ultimately what Vicky doesn't want, because he's needy and manipulative alongside his good looks. But he annoys me so much, and it frustrates me that Vicky buys into his codependent nonsense. Also, Vicky and Adam have a conversation on a hot day in which she tells him that she's "thinking of becoming an Arab" because Middle Eastern accoutrements are better-suited to warm weather. I understand the sentiment, and maybe I'm just too politically correct, but Vicky's usage of the word "Arab" makes me uncomfortable - it could be that I hear way too many ignorant Republicans using it in weird ways. Anyway, it just stood out to me. Overall, though, I'm enjoying it so much.

III. Today

Slept late, went to the grocery store, folded laundry, brainstormed some internship essays, Skyped with Sarah, made dinner. Will Skype with Pooja shortly.

Disneyland and The Hunger Games coming soon. Can't wait!
 

Nostalgia Trip

So, like roughly any other girl I went to school with, I grew up reading the American Girl books. While I never owned a doll, I loved the stories, which were about brave and resourceful young ladies growing up in different eras in United States history. When I was little, Samantha was my favorite; now that I'm older, I might like Felicity best. I even had the completely hilarious in retrospect computer game, American Girl Premiere. In any case, I know that when I think about these books, I do so with a nostalgia filter firmly in place.

During the past several years, I found out that there have been movie versions of some of the stories, sweet, inoffensive films I enjoy watching when I come across them. I saw the Felicity movie when I was still living at home, and the Samantha movie shortly thereafter, but it wasn't until this weekend that I finally got around to seeing Molly and Kit. Some are better made than others; Kit's was the only theatrical release, with an appropriately laudable cast (Abigail Breslin of Little Miss Sunshine as Kit, with supporting roles played by Stanley Tucci, Joan Cusack, Wallace Shawn, and Julia Ormond), whereas the rest have been TV movies with generally lesser-known stars. After having seen them all, I think Molly's was probably the worst. She was played by Canadian Maya Ritter, and while I certainly have nothing against Canadians, it's a little jarring to see a movie set in a heavily patriotic World War II-era United States that was obviously filmed in Canada with a mostly Canadian cast, the younger members of which have not been taught the U.S. way of saying "sorry," for example. (Though I must admit, I do rather like the Canadian way, and always grin when I hear Gilbert Blythe using it in the Anne of Green Gables films). As for Felicity and Samantha, I think I need to watch their movies again to decide which I liked best. I do remember, however, that Felicity is played by Shailene Woodley, who would go on to star in The Secret Life of the American Teenager (cringe) and The Descendants (which is actually getting her a lot of buzz), and Samantha by AnnaSophia Robb of Bridge to Terabithia fame.

If you happen to feel as nostalgic about these books as I do, I have included links to all the trailers for your viewing pleasure: Samantha, Felicity, Kit, Molly. It's been a lovely weekend for a nostalgia trip; I hope you feel similarly.

Checking In

This will be a short post. I just wanted to mention that I have been losing myself in fiction lately, which is why my poor lonely blog has been neglected this week. Downton Abbey has briefly consumed my life; I was up until nearly four last night and the night before watching it. As you might have guessed, this means I owe you about fifteen blog posts, which will be written; I have to retroactively fill up unused days with something. There will also be a review of John Green's new novel The Fault in Our Stars, which was achingly beautiful, hilarious, and sad. I don't usually cry when I read books, but oh boy did I cry when I read this one. Also, I find it very fitting that I read it within a week of my visit to Amsterdam. Anyway, expect this blog to turn into review central soon.

The other thing I wanted to mention is that this is the time of year when I'm prone to feeling sorry for myself. I know you must be sick of hearing about it, and it is rather pathetic, but sometimes I just get so upset over being 21 and not having had a boyfriend yet. I really want to get over it already - I went to therapy about this, for heaven's sake! - and I realize writing self-pitying things like this doesn't really help. I guess I wanted to let you know that if I seem a bit down, it's because I'm rather sick of our culture's obsession with romantic love, and its tendency to label those without it as incomplete. Or maybe I'm sick of the readiness with which I buy into that notion anyway. Well, in any case, I shall be cheerful enough again soon. Just prepare yourselves for sarcastic Aida, and know that she'll hopefully be herself within a few days.

Okay, Downton Abbey! Reviews! Until later!

Sisterhood Everlasting [SPOILERS]

The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants has a special place in my heart. They're not the best books ever written, but they spoke to me nonetheless. I hasten to add that I am a quite casual Traveling Pants fan; I've read the first three books and some of the fourth, and I own both movies. I was nevertheless surprised to hear that Ann Brashares had written another installment in the series, however. The cynical side of me thinks she just wrote it so she would have a guaranteed seller on her hands, but even if that is the case, Brashares's writing doesn't really suffer. In fact, I would say her prose is better than it's ever been, bearing in mind it's been a long while since I read the first book. Yet as well-written and ultimately good as this book was, it was also one of the saddest, most heart-wrenching things I've ever read.

Okay, if you don't want to be spoiled for this book, stop reading NOW. Major, major spoilers ahoy. In fact, it is impossible to really discuss this book without discussing the huge, series-changing spoiler, because it's the main plot point in the book. Look away!

Watching Miyazaki

Am I the only person who, despite not wanting kids for a good long while yet, gets really excited about the idea of introducing them to her favorite works of fiction? I guess it helps that I still enjoy family-oriented media, as my love of all things Pixar and YA fiction indicates. Anyway, I had always heard that Hayao Miyazaki's films were treasures and often great for children, but not having grown up in a particularly anime-appreciative family, I hadn't seen many of them myself until I got to college.

I have to admit that I'm still not a huge fan of anime in general. It has nothing to do with animation as a storytelling medium (as longtime readers will know, far from it). It's probably just that that particular style of animation is not especially appealing to me, and sometimes I prefer to watch movies in a language I understand (although this is not always a problem, as I love Akage no Anne, the anime adaptation of Anne of Green Gables, like no tomorrow). But I'm really coming to love Miyazaki's work. True, almost all of it has been dubbed, but they're Miyazaki-approved dubs with generally great voice acting, and if it helps me to access the story better, I can't see why anyone should have a problem with it (I'm sure the Miyazaki purists would beg to differ, though). As of now, my favorites are Castle in the Sky, Spirited Away, and My Neighbor Totoro. I love that Miyazaki consistently chooses female protagonists (although sometimes, as with Sheeta in Castle in the Sky, they can be rather one-note), and can convincingly tell simple stories without major antagonists, like Totoro (I watched the Disney dub with the Fanning sisters, and it was adorable). I don't love all of it (I thought Ponyo was visually stunning and super cute but light on plot, and Princess Mononoke was a bit too gritty for me), but overall I can see why Miyazaki has the reputation he does. I love Pixar precisely because their maxim is storytelling is key, and I think Miyazaki operates in much the same vein.

So, as I get ready to watch Nausicaa of the Valley of the Wind, I'm quite happy to report that I've added Miyazaki's collection to my list of fictional works I must introduce my future children to. They're beautiful stories, full of imagination, inventiveness, and, especially with Totoro, reflections on childhood, and I can't wait to share them with my kids someday.

P.S. Random side note: I was watching Castle in the Sky for the first time last night, and it struck me that Sheeta and Pazu look very much like Anne and Gilbert from Akage no Anne. I don't know if it was the wardrobe or the fact that Miyazaki worked on both or what, but I think it only helped me to love the movie more.

P.P.S. I really do have an actual list of fictional works I plan to introduce my future children to. Let me know if you'd like me to post it!

In Which I Visit the French Consulate, Miss My Train, and Obtain Cupcakes!

Next semester, I will be studying abroad in Lille, France. Among other things, the French government requires that Americans who plan to attend a French university for more than 90 days obtain a student visa. It's a long and quite arduous process, which involves an exhaustive list of documentation, often in duplicate, at least two websites, and of course, humiliating passport photos. The last step is to visit the French consulate nearest your permanent address for an in-person visa interview.

I imagine this is complicated enough for someone who doesn't live and go to school on opposite sides of the country, but in my case I fretted for a few days over whether or not I would have to go to Los Angeles for my visa appointment. Luckily, my UVa student ID qualified as proof of residency, and with that, I had ample time to mosey on up to the consulate in DC and iron things out.

Naturally, I didn't end up going until today, almost exactly a month before I leave. Oops. I had an especially stressful week, thinking I had to have an address to put on my visa application before I went for my interview (as it turns out, having an address? Totally not necessary). I've now written email after email in my terrible French, trying to secure an apartment, at first without much success, although I last night I sent my prospective landlady a tentative agreement. With that behind me, I reserved a seat on the Amtrak (at vastly inflated prices, because of course I didn't do this until the day beforehand) and got my papers in order.

This morning I woke up at 5:30 to catch the 7:09 train. I figured I would dress, put on make-up, double-check to make sure I had everything, and be out the door at 6, with enough time to enjoy a leisurely breakfast at Little John's before walking over to the station. Instead I had to answer email from France and print out both my train reservation and my acceptance letter from Sciences Po. By the time I left my dorm room, it was almost 6:40, and I was once again thanking my lucky stars that I live in Brown and can get to places on time even if I wait until the last minute. One frantic ride on the 7 later, I was at the station with about five minutes to spare. Not great, but at least everything had worked out.

In fact, initially, things were going great. The train got into DC early, the Metro I wanted arrived at the same time I did, and I didn't have to wait at all for the bus to the French Embassy. I couldn't believe my luck. I was worried I would just barely make it to my appointment on time. Instead, I was there almost an hour early. The whole process felt very official, too; at the front gate, I exchanged my driver's license for a visitor's badge, walked into a spacious foyer, and entered a crowded room where people were speaking French almost as much as English. I sat down nervously, took out my iPod, and waited.

And waited. And waited. Apparently, there was a huge problem with the computer system this morning, and everyone's interview was delayed. I arrived at 10:20. I had an appointment for 11:15. I was finally called up about 12:30. By the time I had handed over my documents and paid for my visa, it was past 1. And surprise, I still wasn't done. My friend David, who is studying in Paris right now, mentioned that he had had to bring a prepaid express envelope to his interview, but I didn't see anything about it on the website when I was triple-checking the list of required documents, so I figured they had just changed their system. Nope. They still expected me to have an envelope, though they had completely neglected to tell me about it in advance. So I had to hop back on a bus, buy an envelope at the nearest post office, and get back to the Embassy by 3. I waited for nearly 15 minutes for a bus to arrive, and after the post office had to find a store with cash back so I could pay my return bus fare. This was on top of paying for my visa and buying the express mail envelope, which, let me tell you, wasn't cheap. I was also starving and considerably stressed out, considering I had had nothing to eat since a muffin on the train at 7:30 that morning and I was on a time crunch. Nevertheless, I eventually made it back to the consulate 10 minutes before I had to be there, and finished my application without much further hassle.

Originally, back when I was planning out my day, I thought I would be done with everything by noon at the latest and still have four hours to kill in DC before my train left. I planned on strolling over to Georgetown Cupcake and then maybe checking out a museum or walking by the monuments. Instead, it was almost 3:30 by the time I left, and I knew my cupcake stop would have to be quick if I wanted to be back at Union Station on time. I had texted my brother to look up directions while I was waiting for my appointment, and luckily it was not a long walk. But I had to wait in line outside the store (!), and then promptly got on the wrong bus for my trip back to the station. The shop assistants at Georgetown Cupcake told me to take the Circulator. I got on a Circulator, but because I have my moments of incredible stupidity, I got on the Circulator to Dupont Circle, not Union Station. At this point, it was just after 4, and I had a ticket for the 4:50 train.

If I had realized my mistake, I probably still could have gotten off at Dupont Circle and taken the Red Line back to Union Station, no harm done. But it was not until we passed a suspiciously familiar Christmas tree that I figured out with growing horror that we were back in Georgetown, and it was past 4:30. Panicking slightly, I asked the driver how much longer it would be until we got to Union Station. He did a double take, told me I was on the wrong bus, and promptly opened the doors, indicating the correct stop across the street.

By this point, I was basically hyperventilating. I'd done a fair bit of traveling on my own, but I'd never missed a form of scheduled transportation before. Never. And now my train was leaving in 20 minutes, and I was clean across the city. By 4:35, the correct Circulator had yet to appear, and in desperation I started to ask a nearby cab driver to take me to the station. He didn't take cards, however, and as I only had about eight dollars in cash, there was no way he could get me all the way across the city. Finally, at 4:40, the Union Station Circulator turned up. I leapt on, anxiously stood by the back door, and watched the cars go by. Slowly, I realized that I was on a city bus that had to get from Georgetown to Union Station in rush hour traffic, and make other stops along the way. Heart sinking, I knew I wasn't going to make my train. I found an empty seat, texted my parents, and fought back tears. 4:50 came and went, and I started to cry silently in spite of myself. Predictably, no one around me even spared me the slightest glance, even though the bus was full and it was pretty obvious I was upset. My parents called to reassure me, but mostly all I did was sob over the phone while my dad told me it was going to be all right, and he was proud of me for getting through the visa process. Eventually, I composed myself and prepared to get a ticket for the next train to Charlottesville.

The bus arrived at Union Station about half an hour after my scheduled train left. I trudged over the ticket counter and somewhat hollowly traded in my ticket and paid the difference. Then I bought some dinner and sat sadly by my gate, wanting nothing more than to be at home, curled up in bed. I read some of North and South, which I downloaded onto my iPod's Kindle app last night on a whim, and ate my pizza, but I was exhausted. I had expected to have a slow, leisurely afternoon and return home on time feeling accomplished and content. Instead, I was miserable.

Once I got on the train, though, I started feeling slightly better. I spoke with my mother on the phone, read, did some Sudoku puzzles, and slept. I got to Charlottesville and boarded a trolley without much trouble, and now I'm in my dorm room with last night's Parks and Rec to watch and a Georgetown Cupcake in my belly. And really, I can't say that I didn't have an eventful trip. I got done what I intended to do, at least, and my semester in France is just on the horizon. I had an experience in adulthood today, and while it wasn't in the least pleasant, it was definitely informative. Here's to better times ahead, hopefully with fewer wrong buses and many more cupcakes.

Twenty-One

Well, I am now twenty-one, and I have consumed my first drink. Sara and I headed out to Harris Teeter this afternoon, where after much deliberation I picked out some Korbel Sweet Cuvee, a not-champagne from California (as a Californian, I figured it was an appropriate choice). It was really cheap and 11% alcohol, so it probably wasn't very good, but since I didn't really have anything to compare it to, I had to judge it on its own merits. I did enjoy showing the cashier my ID at the check-out line, although I look about sixteen in my driver's license picture. Hells yeah, I'm of age!

Many of my closest UVa friends came by my room tonight for a little get-together; Sarah gave me a wine glass, Pooja brought birthday cake, Sara gave me a card, and everyone else brought their lovely selves. We started the evening off with sparkling cider, since it's non-alcoholic and something I know I like, and then I opened the bubbly around 10. My more experienced friends said the champagne was actually quite good for being as cheap as it was, but I'm not sure if I liked it yet. I've never cared for the way alcohol smells, and the taste was pretty strange, too; I ended up pretty much drowning my champagne in orange juice and sipping it very slowly. I finished it over the course of an hour, partly because I also had birthday cake and friends were trickling in and out, so I had hostess duties to attend to. Consequently, I don't think I felt much when I was drinking, not even a little buzz. Honestly, I think alcohol consumption is way overrated. There's still about half a bottle of champagne to consume, and I'm not sure I'll have the rest. Still, the party was nice, especially because apart from Pav Lunch and the excursion to Barracks the rest of my day was pretty terrible (scholarship rejection, econ test, and a politics class I wasn't prepared for, among other things). Ah well. Hopefully I have plenty more birthdays to look forward to!

Entertainment 2011 for October forthcoming. Time to get some religious studies homework done!

Aida's Obligatory September 11th Story

As you've probably been bombarded with memorial services and television specials ad nauseum for the past week, you don't need me to tell you that today marks the ten-year anniversary of the September 11 attacks. If you're anything like me, you're likely getting a little tired of the constant coverage, but this is an important day. In keeping with the spirit of the anniversary, here is my 9/11 story.

Back in September of 2001, I was two months shy of eleven. My parents had been commissioned as missionaries the previous summer, and we had moved to Costa Rica in January so my father could learn Spanish at language school. Richie and I were students at a small international school in the mountains, where I was in the fifth grade. That Tuesday started out roughly like any other. Richie and I got on our bus, went on our usual long ride to school, and headed to our respective classrooms. The fifth grade (all twenty or so of us, and we were a big class by Marian Baker standards) had art first thing on Tuesday mornings, so the first thing I knew anything was amiss, we were ensconced in the art classroom, busily working away on our various projects. Rumors must have been flying like mad, because our art teacher told us that the Empire State Building had been hit, not the World Trade Center. Class continued like nothing had happened, but I do remember going up to the teacher and asking quietly if the building had fallen apart and hurt people when the airplane went into it.

I don't remember many other details from that morning, apart from a general sense of unease among the teachers. The fourth and fifth grades had gym class together, and I heard my old fourth grade teacher having a tense conversation with someone else, perhaps my fifth grade teacher, Mr. K.

"Has anything else happened?" one of them asked.
"Bush made a speech," the other responded.

Finally, after lunch, Mr. K told us what happened. I cried. Looking back, I can't really explain why, but I think it had a lot to do with the fact that I was a sensitive little girl who was living out of her country for the first time, and acutely aware that something terrible had happened when I was far away. Many of my classmates were the children of diplomats and influential businesspeople, and probably had friends and relatives far closer to New York City and Washington, DC than I did. None of them cried, however, and they didn't understand why I was so upset (although truthfully, I didn't quite understand why I was so upset, either). Costa Rican Independence Day was fast approaching, and the fifth graders were learning a traditional dance, but I was allowed to sit out because I was still crying.

When I got home, my mother was sitting in the living room, watching the news. We only had basic Costa Rican television, which meant the few channels we did receive were all in Spanish. By that point in the year, however, my Spanish was fairly good, and in any case the video footage spoke for itself. My dad's language school, largely populated by Americans, held a vigil that evening, so we made our short walk over to the campus, where all the adults were somber. All the children were sent outside to amuse ourselves while the adults held their vigil. Some of us were old enough to have some understanding of what was going on, but others, like Josh, who was two, didn't have a clue. Josh had an airplane fixation even then, and while I'm not sure if he even knew that the news that day had been full of them, he talked of nothing but airplanes that night. So I sat on a hill with my brothers and the other children, eating sugar cane and listening to Josh's airplane noises and the singing of the adults.

I'm not sure how much I understood that day, but I remember reading every news magazine I could get my hands on in the Marian Baker library in the weeks that followed. It was around that time I became more politically conscious, although I may have been following the news casually even before the attacks. By the time of the invasion of Iraq a year and a half later, I was watching the news regularly and forming my own opinions about what I was seeing. I don't know if September 11 was the catalyst for my rapidly-growing awareness of the world around me, but it had a tremendous impact on my development nonetheless. For years I would get up early on the anniversary just to watch the memorial services, and while I have succumbed to 9/11 fatigue in college, I'm still fascinated by the stories from that day. Perhaps it's because I was out of the country and removed from the national atmosphere, to the point where I read about rather than experienced firsthand the fleeting but intense unity in the aftermath of the attacks. Perhaps it's because I was ten years old and just entering the world beyond myself. In any case, it is a day that will stay with me for the rest of my life. Did the world really change? Maybe. Did my worldview? Certainly.

Sunday, Lazy Sunday

I'm lying in my dorm room, watching an old BBC adaptation of Anne of Avonlea, finishing my French diagnostic test, and filling out sudoku puzzles when I get bored. It was a lovely day, not a cloud in the sky and beautifully warm. The first Wesley worship of the semester was this afternoon, and it was so good to be back! There were so many people, including plenty of new faces, and I sang with the music team, which I plan to do regularly. I love to sing, though my voice isn't spectacular. It's not bad either, but I have a really limited range (classic second soprano). Anyway, it was so nice to be among friends, singing and passing the peace. I won't pretend I'm not doubt-ridden about my faith sometimes, but I'm the daughter of two ministers/missionaries, and church is in my blood. I didn't go for about five weeks this summer, and I always felt so guilty. I can't not go to church, at least for very long. I wonder if I'll be able to find a good church in France, if I end up going. Well, I'm just going to have to, I suppose!

It's the first week back and I already have tons of reading to do, so I'll leave this here. More tomorrow! Let me know if you're curious about anything I might have neglected to mention!

Je Promets, This is the Last Akage no Anne Post!

Fifty episodes, four days, and one tired, wistful, and very satisfied Aida. We have come to the end, mes amis. Akage no Anne, much like its source material and title character, is a timeless treasure. I have included a link on my Facebook, but in case you'd rather not go digging through your news feed to find it, here it is. You're welcome!

My final list of impressions is below:

• I took my notes in chronological order, but I want to say first and foremost that Matthew's death made me cry so much. I sniffled a little in the book and while watching the Sullivan miniseries, but considering both of those were in English, I think Akage no Anne deserves higher praise. It touched me deeply despite being in Japanese, fan-subbed, and anime, a medium I dislike (although I love animation in general, so don't accuse me of being trapped in the Animation Age Ghetto). Short story: This is really good, guys.
• Okay, chronological notes, starting from Anne going to Queen's.
• The Charlottetown/Charlottesville typo persisted in all but two or three episodes, which of course made me even more of an emotional mess. A paraphrased line of Anne's struck me in particular: "I am going to Charlottesville to seek my future." Why do you do this to me, show?!
• Anne's studying puts me to shame. When she stays up until one in the morning doing her homework, she's not spending half of her time on Facebook and Tumblr (or whatever the nineteenth-century equivalent would be), that's for sure.
• Moody Spurgeon MacPherson cracks me up.
• The novel describes Anne's eyes as "green in some lights and grey in others." The anime does this really, really well.
• Akage no Anne uses a lot of flashbacks. Sometimes they're overdone. Other times I feel just as the characters do. Anne's character design went through a lot of subtle changes that really pay off in flashback comparisons, I will say that. I didn't notice how much she had changed from even eleven through twelve until Marilla thinks back to her arrival, and man oh man was I surprised.
• When Anne learns of the Avery scholarship, she has a vision of herself in a cap and gown (and her usual braids!) accepting a diploma while a proud Matthew looks on. My first thought was how ridiculous it was that she should graduate in braids, but my second was just sadness. Anne does eventually go to Redmond, but Matthew won't be there to celebrate with her. :(
• After Anne leaves for Queen's, Marilla is shown crying in bed and looking longingly at the empty chair at the dining room table. Once again, why do you insist on breaking my heart, show?
• One aspect of Akage no Anne I did not enjoy so much was the music. That is one advantage the Sullivan production does have. Akage no Anne has this weird track with bagpipes they like to use over and over again. It was funny the first time it played (during Mr. Phillips's farewell speech), but after that it was just overkill. There's another track with gongs that was used less often, but happened to be equally weird. Sullivan probably had a better budget.
• Another Sullivan advantage: the wonderful use of English-language poetry. In the live-action mini, Anne is fond of reciting "The Lady of Shalott" and chooses "The Highwayman" for her White Sands performance. I know "The Lady of Shalott" was not in the book, and I don't think "The Highwayman" was, either, but they were both great additions. In Akage no Anne, the recitals are pretty random, and I have no idea what Anne is talking about in any of them.
• Anne has a conversation with Jane and Diana about richness in which Jane says that diamonds would be a pretty good consolation for loneliness and sorrow. Considering Jane marries a millionaire who showers her with diamonds in Anne of the Island, I was more than a little amused.
• Whenever a lecture hall scene comes up, the girls seem to be sitting on one side of the room and the boys on the other. It might be another Japanese thing, but it struck me as odd.
• I kept getting strange sidebar ads as I went through the episodes. One that I found particularly funny featured two Twilightesque cartoons locked in a close embrace, telling me that one click would help me "Find [my] Bella." As a straight female watching an Anne of Green Gables anime this was amusing enough, but the thought that anyone would be looking for someone as aggravating and selfish as Bella Swan was what really cracked me up!
• Okay, so Josie starts the rumor that Emily Clay is a shoo-in for the Avery just to spite Anne. Later, Anne mentions that she's sure the won't get it because everyone is talking about Emily. Anne gets the Avery, of course, but I can't help feeling a little sorry for Emily Clay. Imagine being talked of as the surefire winner of a coveted school prize for weeks on end, only to lose to someone else. Maybe Emily got the Avery when Anne gave it up?
• I've said it before. I don't care, it bears repeating: Matthew's death is so darn sad!
• The scene where Anne is finally able to cry over Matthew with Marilla was heartbreaking and beautiful ("you're like my own flesh and blood!"), but there was one thing that bothered me. In the Sullivan film, and I'm pretty sure in the book, Marilla hears Anne crying and goes to comfort her with her hair down. It's a little thing, but it's symbolically important. Marilla, who always wears her hair so severely, is able to open herself to Anne emotionally fully and completely in a vulnerable state, in her nightwear with her hair down. In Akage no Anne, she's sitting with some visitors who have come to console her when she hears Anne and goes upstairs to see her. She's in her black day dress and her hair is in its usual bun. Like I said, it doesn't really matter that much, but it irked me just slightly.
• Gilbert came to Matthew's funeral. Aww.
• Matthew's name is written on his gravestone as "Thomas Cuthbert." Was his name actually Thomas Matthew Cuthbert in the novel, and I'm just misremembering? If not, that's really an inexcusable error.
• Another error: His gravestone said he died in November. This is certainly wrong. Anne had just come home from Queen's for the summer, so it had to be May or June, July at the very latest. Bad form, background artists!
• I really liked the metaphor of life being like a road, and Anne's decision to give up her scholarship and stay with Marilla as a bend in it. It was accompanied by some lovely visuals, and the whole thing just came across well. Good job!
• "Good morning" is "Ohayo" in Japanese. Whenever the characters said it, though, it sounded like they were yelling "Ohio!" at one another, haha. Unintentional humor for the win!
• Aww, Anne and Gilbert are so cute. I know this was made over thirty years ago and it was the only novel they adapted, but I really want to see a good adaptation of Anne of the Island someday. Also Anne's House of Dreams and Anne of Ingleside, but especially Anne of the Island. As someone who is in college now, I'd love to see Anne's college years on screen.

In closing, I really, really loved Akage no Anne and thoroughly recommend it to anyone who thinks of Anne as a kindred spirit. It's so, so great.

Pictures:

 

Yeah. Remember how I said the background English wasn't always perfect? I'm just going to leave this here.

Whenever Marilla burst out laughing like this, so did I.

Miss Muriel Stacy (or, as the subtitles once called her, Miss Maurice Stacy).

Guess What? I'm Posting About Akage no Anne Again!

Let's have another bullet point list, shall we?

• I'm enjoying this so much. I really might like it better than the Sullivan films. Sure, it's anime and it's in Japanese, but it's so well-made I don't even care. I can't believe I haven't watched this before now!
• I ought to finish the entire series tomorrow. In some ways I'm sad, because I've loved it so much and I don't want it to end. That's what the books are for, though! I even had the forethought not to put my copy of Anne of Green Gables in storage with the rest of my books, so once I finish Howl's Moving Castle I think I'll reread Anne.
• I finally thought to take notes while I was watching today, so here are my scattered thoughts:
• According to the subtitles, Japanese promos are so much politer than American ones. Instead of telling their viewers to "Tune in next week!" or "Don't miss the next episode!" they respectfully implore you to "please watch" or "please wait and see." It makes me laugh.
• The English loan words are easy to decipher. "Cake," "ice cream," "Christmas," and "present" are all as they are in English. None of the names have been changed either, so you get to listen to Japanese voice actors pronounce "Anne Shirley," "Gilbert Blythe," and "Marilla Cuthbert." I think my favorite bit is when Anne calls Diana's mother "Barry-san," haha.
• I was amused by the Anne-dyes-her-hair-green fiasco as always, but I call shenanigans on Anne having her hair pixie-cut in March and then it all being back to normal (almost waist-length) by August. Nope. Speaking from experience, hair growth doesn't work that way.
• The English writing in the backgrounds is usually quite good, but every once in a while I'll catch some errors. When Anne and Diana went to visit Aunt Josephine in Charlottetown, they walked under a banner proclaiming the "83th" exhibition. Then in Anne's nightmare, Ruby Gillis's name was spelt with two b's.
• Speaking of Ruby, there was a moment when she was in hysterics over being caught in a snowstorm at school, and Miss Stacy slapped her! It sounds terrible, but in context it was so funny. I actually laughed out loud.
• Funny visual: Aunt Josephine rides a carousel with Anne and Diana.
• There was an anecdote I don't remember from the book where the hired man, Jerry, tricks Anne into thinking she'd eaten poisoned apples and was about to die. She then goes on to write farewell notes to Matthew, Marilla, and Diana, and they were so melodramatic I nearly keeled over myself from laughing so hard. Oh, Anne.
• The most recent episode I watched (#37) had Charlottetown mistranslated as "Charlottesville" in the subtitles. Of course it was completely unintentional, but as someone who left home to go to school in a city called Charlottesville, it made me unexpectedly emotional.
• This episode also happened to feature Marilla reflecting on Anne growing up. There was even a shot of fifteen-year-old Anne holding up the dress she had come to Green Gables from the orphanage in and laughing at how small it was. Are you trying to break my heart, show? Marilla cried and I have to admit, I sniffled a little, too. Many of my friends talk about how now that the Harry Potter movies are over, so are their childhoods. I don't quite feel that way, since I think that that series ended with the books anyway, but something about watching Anne grow up really hit home. And I'm just the growing up one. I can't imagine how my mother would feel, especially seeing as she's about to send my brother off to college, too.
• Gilbert is growing up very nicely indeed. (Note to self: He's fictional and still a teenager, at least in this story. Stop thinking what you're thinking at once!)
• I will never not love the "Unfortunate Lily Maid" sequence, in any incarnation. 
• Some pics from Akage no Anne:

Anne and Matthew

Marilla. Strangely, whenever an important character is introduced, they are surrounded by a flowery frame, as seen above. I think this is probably a Japanese thing.

Anne and Diana, making their vow of friendship.

Young Gilbert

Why so adorable, Gilbert?

Older Anne.

IntenseDebate and Further Thoughts on Deathly Hallows (Mostly the Book)

Hey everyone! In honor of Wordbender's first birthday, I've installed an easy-to-use comment system called IntenseDebate. While you are free to sign up for an account with them, I chose to enlist their services in the first place because logging in to leave comments is not required. I love hearing from people who read this blog, and now you can do it simpler than ever before! You don't even have to leave an email address. Please give it a try!

In other news, I'm still mulling over Deathly Hallows in my mind, and this morning I came to a realization. This isn't a movie spoiler because it applies primarily to the book. Four years ago when we all read it for the first time, I heard a lot of criticism to the effect of, "Harry and Voldemort's final showdown is anticlimactic! All they do is talk." Which is fair, and something I thought at first as well. But then it hit me: Harry and Voldemort's confrontation is anticlimactic because it's not the climax.

Stay with me here. In past Rowling interviews, I've heard her refer to the scene in the Great Hall as the denouement. This struck me as odd, but I figured she meant to say climax and had just misspoken. Now, though, I'd like to instead posit that everything after "The Forest Again" really does constitute the denouement, or the falling action. The climax is when Harry gives himself up, intends to die, and doesn't.

I think we've been trained to expect that a final showdown is automatically the climax of any piece of fiction. Certainly I think that's the route the film went with, hence all the gratuitous spell-casting and flying around Hogwarts. Take a look, though, at how Rowling builds tension throughout "The Prince's Tale" and especially "The Forest Again." Harry believes he is heading to his death, and I firmly believe that his walk through the Forest is some of Rowling's best and most emotional writing of the series. He thinks of his friends and of Ginny. He longs to have just a few more minutes to live, to experience. There's a note of finality to everything he says or does. I remember reading this chapter the first time, and feeling surprisingly angry. I was upset with Rowling for killing Harry off, when there was so much more I wanted for him. But I believed her. As much as my entire brain was protesting, once Harry accepted that he would have to die, so did I. So the chapter builds to the moment where Voldemort strikes Harry down, and it really does feel like a climax ought to. Examples:

"At that moment he felt that nobody mattered but Voldemort. It was just the two of them."
"Harry looked back into the red eyes, and wanted it to happen now, quickly, while he could still stand, before he lost control, before he betrayed fear."


Then, of course, Harry is hit with the AK. I remember feeling completely and utterly shocked. It really is one of the most important moments in the series, and rife with Christian symbolism. Indeed, if one looks at the Bible as literature (as I do, while also seeing it as its own Truth), what can the climax of the Gospels be other than Jesus's death on the Cross?


After this point in the novel, while there are exciting, tension-building moments (Molly and Bellatrix, Neville and Nagini), Harry has cleared the most significant hurdle. Sure, he does need to confront Voldemort, and explain. And there is something of a secondary climax, in that moment in the Great Hall where Voldemort is undone by his own killing curse just as the sun rises, and Harry catches the Elder Wand. But from "King's Cross" onward, we know Harry will come through this okay. "The Flaw in the Plan" resolves plotlines and finally puts an end to Voldemort, but this is characteristic of denouements. Much like in Goblet of Fire, where the climax lies firmly in the graveyard, but there are still exciting moments to come, like the revelation of Moody's true identity. Harry has faced down death with love, and won, and by the time he and Voldemort come face to face again, he knows it. Hence all the talking. This doesn't need to be action-heavy (although we do get some of that). We just need to understand as Harry does.


A lot of people hated the epilogue. Even I remember being a bit put-off by it on my first read. I think this is partially because, particularly if you're looking at the final showdown as a climax, you haven't really had time to catch your breath before a drastic time jump forward and a sudden change in tone. There's still probably some improvement that could be done there. But if you're looking at "The Forest Again" as the climax, I would argue that the epilogue's placement and setting are more natural. The themes of parental love, forgiveness, and family are all present in that chapter, and they're certainly present in the epilogue. In "The Forest Again," Harry is just starting to grasp the impact of Snape's actions; by the time the epilogue rolls around, his feelings have come full circle, and he's come to respect Snape's sacrifices so much he names his son after him. Lily and James stood beside Harry until the very end; now another Lily and James bring Harry comfort and happiness. Ginny, the last subject of Harry's thoughts before death, is now his loving wife. The epilogue also represents what Harry was willing to give his life for: a better future for a new generation. Teddy Lupin, whose story intentionally mirrors Harry's, has not had the same childhood full of pain and angst. He's now a young man in a loving relationship, who comes by his godfather's house for dinner several times a week and is adored by Harry's children. The Potter and Weasley children have their whole lives ahead of them, full of possibility and promise. Thanks to Harry's bravery, the worst anxiety Al and Rose have to face is what House they will be put into. Perhaps it is a bit cheesy, but it's also really powerful. Harry's journey and drive to do the right thing has given him exactly what he always wanted: a family.


Well, this started out as one realization and turned into a defense of the epilogue, but I think both points are valid. I might do another post tonight on my mental picture of the characters, since I'm on such an HP kick, but in the meantime, let me know what you think in the comments!

Once Again, J. K. Rowling Makes Me a Blubbering Mess

The premiere of Deathly Hallows: Part 2 took place today in London. Confession: I like the films and will watch them continuously, but I'm actually pretty indifferent to them. However, I am definitely not indifferent to J. K. Rowling, and, as with her dedication in Deathly Hallows the novel, she is stunningly talented at making me cry. She was asked to give a speech at the premiere (along with Dan, Rupert, and Emma; you can see the entire collection of speeches here), and, well, just listen:



I lost it at the point when the crowd started shouting "Thank you!" back at her. I've said it before and I'll say it again, but these books really do mean everything in the world to me. If it weren't for Jo, I would have lived a life without Harry Potter. I just can't imagine it. And having seen as many of her interviews as it is in my power to find, I can say with all the conviction I can muster that the success and good fortune that have come to Jo through the series are 100% deserved. She seems so generous, kind-hearted, and down-to-earth, and she is absolutely my hero. If a simple speech at a premiere could get me this worked up (sobbing my heart out in the middle of my little sublet, really and truly), I don't even know how I would be able to say one syllable to her without bursting into tears. You are amazing, Jo.

How I Spent My Fourth of July

• Mostly, working. Mira asked me to come in today, so I spent my afternoon playing with the boys. They're fun to be with, so I'm certainly not complaining, but the walk over there and their boundless energy really wore me out.
• Eating pancakes. Hillary and Lauren invited me over for their Independence Day dinner, which consisted of raspberry-blueberry pancakes with whipped cream (and salmon, but I don't eat fish). It was nice not to have to cook, and even nicer to hang out with them and their friends.
• Playing the Sims 2. I'm going to need to institute some serious population control methods, goodness gracious. That, or I'll have to consolidate a bunch of households. More than ten families on the rotation is a bit too much to handle.
• Listening to, but not watching, fireworks. This is only the second Fourth of July in my memory that I didn't go out to see fireworks; the first was when I was living in Costa Rica ten years ago and the only place having a fireworks show in San Jose was the American embassy, which our lack of a car and/or political connections made difficult to work out.
• Cowering through yet another thunderstorm. I don't hide under the bed like I used to when I was five, but believe me, I'm following Julie Andrews's advice and thinking of my favorite things the entire time. Even twenty-year-olds need coping mechanisms, okay?

Playing Poker with Graham Crackers

What a great day! Sara and I got up around eight in the morning and I made breakfast, which was scrambled eggs and fried potatoes (so healthy, I know). It was the first time I tried making fried potatoes on my own and they turned out quite well, though they took longer than I had anticipated. We then went to the farmer's market after spending an absurd amount of time waiting for the trolley. There we purchased eggs and strawberries from friendly Mennonites, bought unusual fruit popsicles, and perused an excellent used book store. Then we headed back to my place for lunch.

Here I would like to make a public service announcement, since neither Sara nor Matt had ever heard of them before:

This is a fluffernutter. It is a sandwich comprised of peanut butter and marshmallow fluff. It is one of the most delicious substances known to humankind. If you were not exposed to this as a child, you were either deprived or allergic to peanuts. The latter is excusable. The former is not. This is my childhood in sandwich form. Try it. You will not be sorry.

Ahem. Anyway, Sara had her first fluffernutter ever, and of course she liked it enough to immediately make herself a second. Vindication, you are a wonderful feeling.

Matt came by shortly after we finished our sandwiches, and we all headed out to Carter Mountain to enjoy the beautiful, if hot, day. Peach-picking was over for the afternoon (no loss to me, really, because I don't like peaches, but Sara and Matt were a little put out), but we were allowed to walk through the orchard and enjoy the view. It is quite something to see Charlottesville from atop a mountain. I'm kicking myself for leaving my good camera at home, but I did get some decent pictures from my phone.

We got back in plenty of time to veg out before dinner, so we watched a West Wing and then decided to play poker. None of us is the gambling type, but poker doesn't really work if you don't have some kind of chip. I dug around in the kitchen and came back with the leftover graham crackers from my pie-making exploits earlier this week. What followed was the most bizarre game of poker I've ever played (in my very limited experience, of course). Sara lost all her graham cracker bits in due course, so we let her play with some of the Mennonite strawberries so she could stay in the game. I got a straight in the first hand of the game, without having to exchange any cards. I think Matt won, but after Hillary came by a bit before seven we all lost interest.

With Sara's help I got the food ready (although evidently I didn't leave the rice and beans in the oven long enough; my microwave is kaput and I don't really know how to live without one). I had made salad, rice, and beans the day before; Hillary brought fajita vegetables. David arrived right on time, and we tucked in without further preamble. Like I said before, I wasn't happy with the temperature or quality of the rice and beans, but I got a lot of compliments on them, so even if they were just polite, I was pleased with the reception. After dinner I brought out the pink lemonade pie with my first attempt at graham cracker crust, and that met with tremendous acclaim, to my surprised delight. I was worried the crust wasn't right, because the YouTube video I watched explaining how to make it told me the graham crackers should be sand consistency before I added the margarine, but I just couldn't make it that small. But everyone really seemed to enjoy the pie, and the crust was unexpectedly delicious. Success!

We chatted good-naturedly for a while, exchanging stories about summer jobs, our classes, and bad 90s music. It came to light that Hillary had not yet seen the first half of Deathly Hallows, and since I happen to have it out from Netflix, I suggested we remedy this at once. This was met with approval, so we all settled in to watch. David left around eleven, with about an hour to go in the movie (understandably so; it was late and he lives farther away than Hillary does). The rest of us at least stayed in the living room, although in various states of awareness; I think Hillary and I were the only ones that didn't sleep through at least some of the movie. I avoided that ridiculous dance scene by doing the dishes but had to be back in the room for "The Silver Doe." The movie finished just before midnight. Hillary said that she had enjoyed it far more than she expected to. After she left, it was obvious that my houseguests weren't about to stay up much longer, so I put away the leftovers, distributed pillows, and turned in for the night. It was a pretty fabulous evening. I'm glad to have had experience playing the hostess for pretty much the first time, but mostly it was just great hanging out with friends. Right now, I'm nearly perfectly happy.

Jo Rowling, The Things You Do to Me

Technically I am an adult, but I'm still not sure it's a good idea to foist me and my decision-making skills upon the world. Maybe this is why I still have at least two years of college to go. Case in point? Last night, I was seriously considering not sleeping at all, despite the fact that I live on the East Coast, so I could have had plenty of rest if I had gone to bed at my usual time, and I have to look after small children at work today, so it's probably a good idea to have had a decent amount of sleep. Instead? I Skyped with one of my best friends for about three hours and finally decided I was tired enough to try to sleep just before four in the morning. Responsibility, I has it.

My Potter obsession being what it is, I was still up well before my 6:45 alarm, but thankfully the half an hour before the announcement seemed to fly by. The countdown ticked away, reminding me of book-release days and entire stores full of people eagerly chanting with the last ten seconds. I waited for the video to load (the Internet in my apartment makes YouTube work like molasses), took a deep breath, and hit play.

I have to admit, at first blush I was a little underwhelmed. Jo (who is my hero forever and always, don't get me wrong) was incredibly vague, and the second she said the word "October" I headdesked (or headpillowed, as the case may be). I'm still not sure it was worth all the buildup of the past week. BUT, once I resigned myself to the fact that I'm not getting Pottermore until the fall, and got over the impression I had that the site seems geared toward a younger audience than my generation, I really did start to feel excited. I don't really care about getting Sorted and going to Diagon Alley, to be perfectly honest, but I am so thrilled that we're getting new backstory. Jo is now saying a physical encyclopedia may not happen, which leads me to believe she'll be putting much of that material on Pottermore. In which case, be still my heart. In particular, apparently we're going to hear about young McGonagall, which is incredibly exciting to me for reasons I don't quite understand. Then again, McGonagall is one of my favorite characters, especially among the adults, so perhaps it's not that surprising that I'd love to find out where her awesome came from.

Anyway, here, I think, are the takeaways from this morning's experience. 1) Aida, seriously, stop losing your mind over J. K. Rowling announcements. 1A) Except they're J. K. Rowling announcements. That's asking rather a lot. 1B) Okay, but sleep is important, too. Even if you don't have to be at work until one. 1C) Sleep or Harry Potter? Come on, we all know the answer to that one. 1D) Harry Potter, OBVS. But next time, go to sleep before three in the morning, yeah? 1E) Yeah, I'm basically going to be a zombie today. No big. OMNOMNOM BRAINS. 2) Expectations versus reality. Expectations versus reality. Expectations versus reality. 3) Think of the children! Don't forget that, as much as it drives you crazy when anyone dismisses HP as a series of "kids' books," you were a kid when you fell in love with them. There are worse things than Pottermore being skewed to a slightly younger audience. 4) Wow, this entire paragraph is full of stream-of-consciousness rambling. Oops.

Okay, time to either try to go back to bed or wake myself up with a shower.

East Coast Heat

Having now been a resident of Virginia during the month of June, I can personally attest to the ferociousness of East Coast heat. When I was in early elementary school my family lived in Massachusetts, so I did experience humidity firsthand then, but life in the California desert really stomps the humidity tolerance out of you. I would hear people complaining about 90-degree temperatures during my first year and laugh, because it can easily get up to 115 in El Centro during the summer. However, after having waited eight minutes in direct sunlight for the bus today, I will concede my superiority in this arena. Sure, it only gets up to the 90s at most (maybe low 100s in July), but the humidity is killer. Not only was short hair a great idea for a Virginia summer, but I'm also very thankful I keep a water bottle in my bag at all times. Goodness gracious. I don't know how people live through summers like this on a regular basis. Also, many Virginia homes don't have air conditioning. I didn't understand this when I first came to college here, and now I really don't understand. It's not terrible in my apartment, but I'm almost always at work during the hottest part of the day anyway. I don't think I could handle humid-heat if I was at home at two and didn't have air conditioning. Wow.

We had another awesome thunderstorm today! I was outside playing with Mira and the boys and we started to feel some drops, but we didn't go in for about ten minutes. Once we did, though, the heavens opened up and it poured. These are the life experiences you miss in El Centro, California. It was nice to just sit in the playroom and listen to the rain (when I wasn't having to chase after six-year-olds to pull them out of it, of course). When I was five I was terrified of thunderstorms, and while I've gotten over it for the most part, I'm still a little spooked when the thunder gets really loud. Neither of the kids I'm looking after are fazed at all by storms, though, so I have to be a big girl about it. That's okay. I'm sure I'll have ample opportunity to hone my thunderstorm composure throughout the summer.

Pottermore in less than 36 hours. So ecstatic!

"Breathtaking"

For those that don't know, I am a Harry Potter fanatic. My grandparents gave me a boxed set of the first four books as an early Christmas present during my family's Thanksgiving visit in 2000, before we moved to Costa Rica. I had read the first three chapters of Philosopher's Stone (the proper title) back in third grade, but I wasn't interested in reading a book with a boy as the main character. Yuck. However, ten-year-old Aida rationalized that that boxed set had probably been rather expensive, and her grandparents would probably appreciate it if she gave the books another try, since it was a special gift and all. Chapter Four is when Harry finds out he's a wizard. I was crazy about magic and witches and anything to do with the fantasy genre when I was in fourth grade (and I was a voracious reader, even then). Needless to say, I was hooked almost instantly. I just didn't know that ten years later, I would be equally, if not even more, obsessed.

The Harry Potter books are important to me. Looking back, I don't know if I can adequately explain how I grew to love them so dearly. J. K. Rowling is not Shakespeare, but when I was ten years old her weaknesses as a writer (of which there are very, very few, though I will grudgingly admit they do exist) didn't matter to me. I think, whatever you may say about her writing, Jo Rowling is a master storyteller. She knows innately what readers will find gripping. She takes care with her planning and her details. She does foreshadowing better than any other author I've read. Most of all, she creates characters that feel real, that you love and you worry about. I know that there are several legitimate criticisms one can make about the series, but obviously it struck a deep chord with readers worldwide, especially (though certainly not exclusively) those of my generation. Nearly everyone I know has read and enjoyed the books, or at the very least has seen the movies (I am judging you right now if that is the case. Not acceptable. You needed to be reading the books yesterday). Clearly I'm not the only one that feels this way, although I probably feel more strongly about it than most people do.

I'm rambling, I know. I guess I want to explain myself so you don't think I'm crazy for basically imploding with anticipation at this new website: Pottermore.com. I've been involved with Harry Potter fandom for years (when there aren't enough obsessed dedicated people around you, you search them out yourself). Part of the reason I'm dying to meet Jo someday is that she maintains this fantastic relationship with the online fan community. She understands our devotion to the series and genuinely seems to care about us and what we want (and yet she still sounds incredibly nice and down-to-earth). Her official site, jkrowling.com, became a great source of speculation in those pre-Half-Blood Prince and pre-Deathly Hallows days. She provided background information on beloved characters, gave us hints about what might happen, and made both hilarious and insightful comments on the occasional madness that is Harry Potter fandom. There was a mysterious locked door on her site (now locked again for the first time in years!) that would open every so often, with a fun, if sometimes frustrating, series of puzzles to solve. A particularly interesting tidbit of info or news would be revealed at the end once you made it through. It was all done in a thoroughly British and Jo-like manner. Her site has been largely defunct since December of 2007, however (everything is still there, but she hasn't updated it properly in years), and while the general consensus in fandom was that she was taking a well-deserved break and working on other projects, we missed the days when new things were posted every month or so. Jo did promise to release a Harry Potter encyclopedia at some point, but there was no reason to believe she would be finishing it soon.

Then, yesterday afternoon, my favorite fansite, The Leaky Cauldron, announced that Jo had a surprise to unveil. There was some fun business with coordinates and clues on various fansites, all organized by Jo, and then a cryptic Twitter account, YouTube page, and webpage were launched. The result? Pottermore.com. I still have no idea what it's about, and neither does the rest of fandom. Leaky has a particularly good relationship with Jo, and their webmistress, Melissa, posted that she was given a sneak peek and Pottermore is apparently "breathtaking."Of course, the rest of us don't get to find out what it is for SIX ENTIRE DAYS. I am not a patient person. I know I will survive, but the suspense is maddening. Everything about Pottermore has Jo written all over it, which invariably means that my expectations are sky high. There's a lot of speculation going on at the moment. Some people think Jo might be releasing on online version of the encyclopedia (which I would be thrilled about). Others think she might be introducing an HP-themed social networking site (I guess that would be cool). Still others think she's going to create an HP online role-playing game, or MMORPG. Which ... no, just no. I mean, I get that some people dig that sort of thing, which is fine, but I would be massively disappointed if that's what she has planned, as I suspect is the case for a lot of people. There's just too much hype for it to be something with as limited appeal as an MMORPG.

So, yeah. tl;dr, I know. But this is basically defining my life for the next few days. I'm burning with excitement and need to express it somehow, so blog it is. This is the Harry Potter nerd I am. Learn to love it - or at least live with it. :)

Fruit Salad, Veronica Mars, and Thunderstorms

Apparently Charlottesville is thunderstorm central in June. Today we had an especially good one. The rain was pouring down, the thunder was very loud, and Hillary told me that the power went out at the AFC. No tornado warnings this time, though. Thank God.

I had a pretty nice day. I went to church, hung out at the Cottage with Annie, Aaron, and Patrick, went home, and spent my afternoon catching up on Wait Wait ... Don't Tell Me!, playing The Sims 2, and making fruit salad. I love getting to choose my own fruit (this time around, I used strawberries, bananas, oranges, and grapes). I picked up some marshmallow fluff at the supermarket on a bit of a childish impulse buy, so I was looking for ways to use it other than making fluffernutters (although I had one for breakfast on Saturday and it was delicious). One recipe I found on the Internet recommended combining it with cream cheese as a dip or dressing for fruit salad. To mix things up a little bit, I bought some honey pecan cream cheese at Bodo's and used that instead of plain old Philadelphia. Hillary came by for a chat tonight and sampled it - according to her, we have a winner! I liked it, too, but it's always good to have a second opinion.

I'm really enjoying my experiment in adulthood, apart from spending ridiculous amounts of money on groceries. It's actually very nice to live on my own and discover what my solitary habits are. Obviously I knew some of them way before I started subletting, but it's different. Even in the dorms there are always people around and you don't have to cook for yourself if you don't want to. Here I make my own food, set my own schedule, and follow my own pursuits, which is both liberating and a bit overwhelming, to be honest. Granted, I've only been subletting for four days, so we'll see how I feel at the end of the summer. Or, you know, in a week.

Finished season two of Veronica Mars last night. I was unintentionally spoiled for the ending, but enjoyed the reveal nonetheless. I do think season one was more compelling overall. Well, clearly; I tore through season one like nobody's business, and it took me well over a month to get through season two. I've since watched the first few episodes of season three, but I'm definitely not as enthusiastic about it, partially because I've heard there's no real overarching mystery plot this time around, and that's why I loved season one so much. Oh well. It's still not bad television, and I loves me some Logan/Veronica (although Logan is kind of a jerk otherwise), so I'll keep watching.

Reading Diana Wynne Jones again. She was such a great writer. I love her style and her characterization (well - I have some things to say about a particular character in one of the Chrestomanci chronicles, but that's for another day). I'm sorry that A) I haven't read more of her books, and B) I never got to meet her in real life. I never got to meet Madeleine L'Engle either. Fingers crossed that someday I will get to meet J. K. Rowling, and personally thank her for how much her books have meant to me. Not even kidding, that is probably one of my top five goals in life. Harry Potter is serious business.

Moi, une artiste?

I don't have a lot of time for a lengthy post tonight, so I decided to show you some of my artwork! I'm not very good at drawing freehand yet, but I'm decent at imitating reference pictures without tracing. Here are a few samples of my sketches over the years:

Kim Possible and Ron Stoppable, c. 2007. I was really into KP during my sophomore and junior years of high school and ended up drawing quite a bit of fanart. It helped that the character design wasn't incredibly detailed or complex.

Ginny Weasley, from around the same time. Her eyes are way too high on her face, and her lips are too poofy, but I rather like the freckles and the hairstyle.

Ron and Hermione, also from my high school years. I think I did a better job with Ron than with Hermione, which is strange, because I usually find women easier to draw than men. I just see a lot of imperfections with both, now. I do like Hermione's hair, though.

Now for some more recent drawings (this semester):

Rapunzel from Tangled, the day of the DVD release. My first drawing in well over two years. Imitated from a coloring book picture.

A motivational drawing on my whiteboard calendar. Katara, drawn about 2 AM this morning.