I have a lot of misdirected enthusiasm. I babbled incoherently to my mom for roughly twenty minutes because Bastille is going to be giving a concert near me. I freaked about the Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them movie to my friend who doesn’t care about Harry Potter because she just happened to be there when I found out about it. But it was last night that I realized I really need to start learning my audience.
Me: DUDE YOUR SCHOOL IS GOING TO THE FUCKING ROSE BOWL!
Tara: I would not have even known that was a game that was happening had it not been for the nonstop screaming that is going on outside my window right now.
Me: I’ll bet everyone is going apeshit.
Tara: It’s been ten minutes and it’s still going.
Tara: And like three sirens have gone past.
Me: You guys haven’t been to the Rose Bowl in like twenty-six years!
Tara: That’s exciting I guess.
Me: And you’ll probably be playing the Stanford Christmas trees or whatever the hell they are, so it’s going to be a GAME.
Tara: …Rose Bowl is football, right?
See? I can be a Michigan Wolverine and still bleed green. I grew up a State fan! I just happen to go to, you know, the other school. Besides, we have a common enemy. You should have seen this coming, though, Buckeyes. No team as awful as ours should have gotten that close to beating you. I mean, jeez.
I have now asked my entire immediate family what they would like for Christmas. The results were about as I expected. My brother Alex said, “Like… stuff,” which was actually the most helpful and specific answer of them all. My mom said, “Nothing,” and my dad didn’t reply to my text.
FINE. Have it your way. You’re all getting Harry Potter wands according to your distinct personality traits. Don’t say I didn’t warn you. ‘Tis the season.
Tara had a date the other night, and I said to her, “Should I send you possible topics of conversation all night just in case there’s a lull?” to which she said, “Do it.”
Tonight started off simply.
Tara: I just saw what you reblogged on tumblr.
Tara: “I think you can tell a lot about a person by which death in Harry Potter hurt them the most.”
Tara: So which Harry Potter death hurt you the most
Elodie: Siruis. You?
Tara: Sirius, and also Fred.
Elodie: That really is a great question.
Tara: It is. I’m going to ask everyone I know that question now.
Elodie: Hahaha you should
Trust me when I say that it started off as a halfhearted suggestion. A joke, if you will. A joke that mushroomed into something more. The next two hours were frantic, to say the least, as we each texted and/or Facebook messaged at least fifteen people.
Elodie: I just asked Ace, he says Dobby.
Tara: Melissa says Fred.
Elodie: I’m going to ask Liam.
Tara: My roommate said Fred also.
Elodie: Liam says Dobby.
Elodie: Then he said “HOLLAH,” so I think that conversation is over.
Tara: You can’t really go anywhere from there.
Elodie: Carmen says Sirius too.
Elodie: I’m going to ask Calvin, and here’s how I’m going to phrase it: “You’re the worst texter ever but I have a question and it is URGENT.”
Elodie: I mean, you’d answer that right?
Tara: I would.
Elodie: Why aren’t people getting back to me faster? It’s 9 p.m. on a Friday night, what the hell could they be doing.
Tara: Who the hell has plans on Friday night
Elodie: Freaks, that’s who.
Tara: And we pride ourselves on being completely normal.
Tara: Even my mom isn’t answering me.
Elodie: Shit Calvin texted me back. I didn’t think that would actually work. Now he’s probably expecting an actual serious question like “HOW DO YOU PERFORM A TRACHEOTOMY THIS IS QUITE SERIOUS.”
Tara: Though texting him that mid-emergency would be kind of a long shot. Valerie says Sirius.
Tara: AND SO DOES MY MOM. YES.
Elodie: I should ask my mom. Although she’s only read up to Goblet of Fire.
Tara: All she could really say is Cedric then.
Elodie: UM EXCUSE ME
Elodie: I THINK YOU’RE FORGETTING SOME CRUCIAL CHARACTERS
Elodie: Quirrell. Two unnamed unicorns. The Serpent of Slytherin.
Tara: I apologize.
Elodie: Oh my God my mom just asked what I was doing, and I said, “Texting people about Harry Potter, it got out of hand,” and then I explained, and she said, “For me it was Sirius and Dumbledore.” And I was like, “Mom, you haven’t read those books, and I’m 80% sure you haven’t seen the movies, how could you possibly know that?”
Elodie: And here’s what she says: “I’m not sure. I just know.”
Tara: SHE KNOWS WHAT’S UP
Elodie: Kathryn says Dobby.
Elodie: Calvin says Dumbledore.
Tara: …Should we be keeping like a running tally?
Elodie: That would’ve been a good idea.
This conversation went on for a really, really long time. Ultimately, however, most people said Sirius, or Dobby. No one said the Serpent of Slytherin. What say you?
I have had a smattering (okay, okay, a copious amount) of real, actual crushes on real, actual people. (Joseph Gordon-Levitt. Cough.) But I also frequently develop those massive obsessions with fictional characters that are only slightly less attainable than JGL. Come on, this is the Internet. We all know that feel.
I present to you that list:
1. Sirius Black
2. Fred Weasley
3. Kartik (from the Gemma Doyle trilogy)
4. Bernard (from The Santa Clause. I went through this phase from approximately the ages of 10-16, and I never truly grew out of it)
5. Jack Sparrow
6. Flynn Rider
7. Sayid (from Lost… until that last season, he was literally the only character that didn’t throw all logic out the window at the slightest provocation. Also those EYES)
8. Rudy Steiner (The Book Thief)
9. Sawyer (also from Lost. Good God)
10. Sam (Dulé Hill’s role in Holes… I don’t know why I picked the most obscure minor character to develop a crush on when there were loads of perfectly good juvenile delinquents to choose from, but the heart wants what the heart wants)
11. Finny (from A Separate Peace)
12. Enjolras (from Les Misérables)
…And what do they all have in common? They all (spoilers. Seriously, turn back) DIE, in some form or fashion. I didn’t even realize that until I was about halfway done with this list! Jesus! They all die! What’s up with that? With the exception of Bernard the Head Elf, because The Santa Clause would have taken a bit of a dark turn if THAT had happened. But you know what? I consider him dead. He’s dead to me, because where the hell was he for The Santa Clause 3? Scheduling conflicts, my ass. Scheduling conflicts TOYING WITH THE HEARTS AND MINDS OF IMPRESSIONABLE VIEWERS, more like. Thanks, Bernard. You’re a god among men. (No, really. You are. I didn’t mean any of that. Let me love you?)
I am one major test and two essays away from Thanksgiving break. Then it’s smooth sailing to THE CHRISTMAS MUSIC THAT HAS FOR SO LONG ELUDED ME!
I feel like I could write a book about the combined shenanigans of my hall mates. There was the microwave incident, for one thing. But there’s more. A group of them gets together every night, and they actually coordinate four-part harmonies in the showers. Yeah. I do not kid. They huddle outside the communal bathroom and say, “Is everybody here? All right, let’s do it!” and they each snag separate showers and start singing. And I’ll be brushing my teeth while they all sing “Danny Boy.” Do they sound good? No, they do not sound good. This might be because the acoustics are terrible. I don’t want to judge on their actual singing voices, because songs are regularly interrupted by flushing toilets.
As we round the corner into the second semester, I’m trying to pick classes, and French is literally chipping away at my soul. Hey, want to take a class about the trials and tribulations of Harry Potter? No, I’m sorry, you’ve got French at that time. Care to take an actual, literal class about video games and why they’re so much fun to play? Too bad, you have French. Don’t bother trying to take anything that caters to your specific interests. Why? Because FRENCH. Gah!
BUT STILL. Fourteen days until December! Two weeks! TWO WEEKS! A fortnight, if you will! A freaking fortnight!
Today I was faced with a moral dilemma the likes of which I’ve never faced before. With a ticking clock staring me down, I was forced to decide… am I really willing to spend twenty-four dollars of my hard-earned cash on a Golden Snitch necklace?
The answer, after an hour of agonizing internal struggle, was yes.
Okay, I know I already planned an elaborate wedding. But when that marriage falls apart I’ll go with this Harry Potter-themed ceremony of splendor and awesomeness. If my fiance does not approve, then he is not the man for me.
My college classes are as follows: Creative Writing (the only open slot was at 8:30 in the morning, and I jumped on it like it was a three-course meal and I was a starving refugee), French (and not just French, but intensive French… it practically takes up my entire life. People in this place are very into languages… I heard people saying things like, “Well, if I’m proficient in Japanese by next semester, I’d like to take up Lithuanian and have at least eight languages under my belt by graduation…” which kind of blew my I-took-this-class-because-it’s-a-requirement mind), and African-American Literature (which, to be honest, was way down the list as my eighth or ninth choice but I’m looking forward to it nonetheless).
This college has a Quidditch team. I like to think I’d make a good Beater. Realistically, though, I probably have a future as a fourth-string Chaser who only gets play time when we’re 400 points ahead and the other three are so exhausted from scoring so much.
You haven’t seen it yet? Why haven’t you seen it? Buy a ticket! Grab some popcorn! Put on a pair of wizard shorts and get a move on!
At 11 PM, a kid dressed as Dumbledore ran up to the front of the theater and screamed, “ONE HOUR, MUGGLES!” at which point everyone just went apeshit. I have a long, long history of ruining books and movies for people, so I’m making an honest effort not to do that here. Just know that I am not a Snape fan. I never have been. Yesterday, however, Alan Rickman made me a Snape fan.