What Next?

And done! Never fear; spoilers are well-delineated below. Here, all I will say is that it was everything I had hoped it would be – incredible, shocking, absolutely fantastic, and a fitting end to the series.

I was struck yet again at how much of an epic it really is – how it's not just about this one book, or any single book, but the amazing scope of all seven together, spanning seven years and hundreds of characters and an entire world of details. Just...wow.

I am experiencing some sadness that it's over. I had to keep reminding myself of all the other great books that would be written in coming years, and all the great things that I haven't ever read (though as I do love these books so much, the thought also occurred to me that maybe THIS particular epic really is the very best thing I will ever read in my entire life).

And I might have liked to savor it more. However, with the threat of spoilers dogging me at every turn, I felt I had no option but to read it within the first 24 hours, out of sheer self-defense. And so I did, and 100% spoiler-free did I remain. I'm so glad that I did, too...so glad that there were points where my jaw literally dropped with shock, that I experienced the whole thing as it was intended. (The way that maybe one day, twenty or thirty or fifty years from now, some kid will happen upon the books in a library with no idea what they're about. Imagine how that would feel, to read them with no preconceived notions and like they're your own special discovery.)

With that in mind, if you haven't read it yet – even if you haven't read a single Harry Potter book yet and have been wondering what the heck I'm talking about, just in case one day you can be convinced to try them – stop reading now. Spoilers are below, after this picture of vintage Baby A (circa September 2006) and a lot of non-spoilery blather about how I'm all tired and stuff.


I don't know that I have a lot of coherency left in me to discuss it with any degree of eloquence or accuracy or thoroughness. I almost killed myself with work in the days leading up to the release just so I wouldn't have to work all weekend. It was almost comical how this weekend, this (to me) most important weekend of all weekends all year, is the one that would have been my most work-filled ever. And just when I thought I was done on Friday at 7:30 and ready to head off to my Harry Potter party, I ended up having to run around town like a fool trying to convince various people to do something for me. (I can't give the details, but let's just say that while I behaved within the bounds of professional ethics, I nevertheless had to do things that should more properly be in the purview of a private investigator than my poor little self, who is almost devoid of all ability to engage in subterfuge but who CAN cry at the drop of a hat, and who mobilized said talent to great effect.)

Long story short, I have slept about ten hours total in the last four days. So I'm really, um, whaddaya call it, that thing where the sleep would be good and all?

Aaaaanyway, I finally made it to Harry Potterapalooza and happily procured my book at midnight.

And then I read and I read and I read and I read. I stopped to sleep, and then I meant to read some more but Baby A was there so instead I swam and hugged dollies and read aloud stories about Christmas fairies and watched Premonition, which is a really crappy movie that has nothing to do with Baby A except that she was there...and then finally I read and read and then it was morning and I was still reading.

Basically, this means that I read the entirety of the book between 1-5 a.m. Saturday and 1:30-6 a.m. today. Which means that I read the whole thing, but in a fog of the not-quite reality that accompanies severe sleep deprivation. Strangely, I think that may only have enhanced the experience; in that dreamlike state, feeling emotionally raw from my week and really the last few months to begin with, I really felt it. I cried in several places...God, the death of poor Hedwig in frigging chapter 3 really got me (death of pets being a sore point for me on a good day), but wow, when that happened, it really drove home to me that J.K. Rowling meant business – all bets were off, and this was it...the book where the things that don't happen in books that feature beloved characters CAN and DO happen.

That was my sense of the whole book, in a way. I wrote once before about Spider-Man 2, and how I loved the way that it broke the rules and went to places that superhero movies aren't supposed to go. I think the same was true of Deathly Hallows. You're not supposed to kill the pet. You're not supposed to have a hero who, for the first third of the book (or more) has no idea what to do and is almost paralyzed into inaction by that fact. You're not supposed to maim and kill central characters. And you're definitely not supposed to kill off the hero, but for a while there...for just a little while...I really thought it was going to happen, and my heart raced and my stomach churned as I tore through the pages.

I was blown away by the complexity of the plot and the characters, and how masterfully done everything was...every loose end, every stray character, everything that might have niggled at me had it not been addressed, was highlighted and drawn to a satisfying conclusion.

I still have questions. I'm interested to read others' takes on things (after I post this, I plan to zip off and read what others have to say, since I didn't want their views to color mine before I had a chance to say what I really thought). I also didn't want anyone's dissatisfaction to impact my wonderful feeling of WOW, since I'm sure they will have at least some valid points, but for now I'm just happy. And one day I'll read the entire series again, and I'm sure I'll pick up things in book 7 that escaped me this time – but that won't be for a long time. I don't want to "use up" the books, if that makes any sense.

I'll probably have more to say about it, especially once I've gotten some sleep and stop seeing things at the edge of my vision that aren't really there. Until then, I can only say that it was everything that I needed it to be.

Happy Harry Eve

Harry Week continues, and I find that, alas, I was forced into my media blackout prematurely. I ran across a headline on Tuesday that said the book had been leaked, and that was it for me. Thus, I know not what antics Britney indulged in...which anorexic personality is pregnant...oh, yeah, and I don't know what happened in Iraq either. It's a painful thing, this living without the Internet. But at least I remain spoiler-free.

Anyway....to celebrate this holiest of occasions, I thought I would resurrect a post from the days of yore, in which I gave my Very Important Predictions of what would happen in book 7. You can read it and delight in the acrid whiff of bar-fear that permeates the post...plus you can mock me for being so very, very wrong. AFTER this weekend. SPOIL IT FOR ME AND DIE!

"There's Something About Harry"

Originally posted 6-27-06

So J.K. Rowling is coyly suggesting she may kill off Harry Potter in the last book.

Is this really such a shocking statement? I think there are a few things we can readily assume about the final book, things that numerous people before me have proposed (let's call them "stipulated facts," my fellow Bar sufferers):

1) Voldemort will be defeated.

2) Harry himself is a Horcrux.

3) All of the other Horcruxes will be eliminated, leaving Harry as the only thing preventing Voldemort's final demise.

4) This raises at least the possibility that Harry has to die in order for Voldemort to be defeated.

So the fact that J.K. Rowling would drop hints about this isn't really earth-shattering news. That final "fact" will be the true conflict at the center of book 7.

She has stated outright that two characters will die, and let's go ahead and presume she's not including Voldemort himself in that body count, or any other previously established Death Eater (previously established = understood to be a Death Eater as of book 5).

I'm voting for Snape to be the main victim -- redemption, double-double-crosses, sacrifice, yada yada yada. (Do I need to fill in the details? Surely everyone's heard it all already). Rowling says there's a character who "got a reprieve." That could be Snape, but I'm predicting not.

In fact, I kinda think there might be another redemption/sacrifice blah blah blah plotline involving Draco Malfoy -- and he might be the one she's referring to.

That leaves one other main character to be killed off. Harry? Maybe. But I'm guessing not. I'm sure that prospect will be a major part of book 7, but in the end something (involving Snape??) will intervene. So it could be any assortment of others -- one of the favored teachers, one of his friends, one of the Weasleys? Do any of these count as main characters?

I'm thinking not Ron or Hermione, because their cute little romance has been building through all the books and I don't see it not reaching fruition (but might be a possibility nonetheless).

If I had to vote, I'd say the second victim will be Neville Longbottom...he's been tied to Harry from the beginning (as Voldemort's could-have-been nemesis if circumstances had been different), and it seems likely he will play an important role in the end.

But the thing that I know will make C want to throttle me is that I think the book would be A LOT BETTER if Harry really does cash in his chips. The most honest, most heroic ending would be for him to come to terms with and MAKE that sacrifice -- and not to have some absurd deus ex machina resolution at the last minute. For me, it's that kind of painful, all-too-realistic tragedy that makes a book truly great instead of just pretty good. It's the way that The Lord of the Rings doesn't really have a happy ending, if Frodo's struggle is the heart of the series. (And it is. So there.) Heartbreaking. But excellent.

I'm all for it....

If only I could devote this kind PASSION to studying for the bar. I could totally ace the Law of Harry Potter question!

Happy Harry Month

If you just said, "Harry who?" stop reading now.

I saw the movie last night. I really enjoyed it, except for the part where the movie theatre informed me that the margarita machine was broken. "For the whole night?" asked I. "Yup," replied they.

I tried boycotting the margaritas, but then I discovered that my constant margarita-at-the-movies consumption has forged an indelible link in my mind between the act of movie-going and the art of margarita-drinking. It just isn't a movie without a margarita. And so, within the first twenty minutes, I crumbled and got the disgusting margarita on the rocks. It was, you will be unsurprised to learn, disgusting. So that part sucked.

But the movie itself, well, I liked it. I'm trying to decide if I really like it, or if I just like it because it's a Harry Potter movie and I'm at a point now where I don't much care if it's particularly GOOD or not, or true to the books, so long as it is a movie that features a character named Harry Potter.

I used to care a lot that the movie was just as I imagined it when I read the books, and that it included everything from the books that I felt was important. Lately, though, that just doesn't matter anymore. The movies to me simply aren't the essence of Harry Potter, so I find I can appreciate them for whatever it is that they are.

This is in contrast, say, to something like the Lord of the Rings trilogy, which to me IS Lord of the Rings, never mind that I had first read the books. It's perfection and the "reality" of that fiction, whereas the Harry Potter movies are to me just a representation of the reality – it's in the books only that the world is "real."

That being the case, I can't get myself too worked up over the fact that this or that character was left out, or that things didn't happen quite the way they were supposed to. I liked it, and I was well entertained for the time I was there. I could even be persuaded to return, especially once that dang margarita machine is fixed.

*************

In other news, I will soon be entering total media blackout. No more Internet, no more CNN, no more reading of newspapers and magazines. I do not care to know how the seventh book ends until I read it myself, thank you. And no, I do not think it is cute to "jokingly" inform me that X happens, and then laugh and say that it doesn't, so it was okay to joke about it (no, it's not okay, because then I know what DOESN'T happen, which is almost as bad as knowing what DOES). This is a complicated way of saying that I won't be reading your e-mails either. You jerks.

It looks like there's about a 70% chance of work next weekend. I can't convey in mere words the depth of this particular tragedy; all I can do is hope it does not happen. Unfortunately, the ugly thing from hell that doesn't go away and then goes away and then comes back to me to do stuff very urgently deadliney deadline do it now...may very well be back on my desk at the end of next week, which will leave me with no viable choice but to work until it's done. I'm doing what I can to prevent that – worked this weekend to get it back to the other side as quickly as possible, in the hopes that it might return to me on, oh, Wednesday, instead of Friday, and I'll work nights next week too if I must.

See, the problem is that I work with these people who are almost, though not quite, as nerdy as I am. They will all be reading Harry Potter next weekend, and they will arrive in the office bursting to discuss it. They are also mean, so they will not hesitate to RUIN it for me if I was unable to read it due to WORKING so that they could sit at home reading.

So I think that, if the worst happens, I will have to stay home "sick" as soon as I get rid of the project from hell.

Either that, or I will work with my door closed and hang a strongly-worded sign regarding the wrath that will befall any who dare to spoil Harry Potter for me.

The latter path is fraught with peril...I can't help but think of that episode of Friends where Ross is fired after he leaves a rage-filled note to warn off a lunch thief. The spiteful bile that would pour forth from my pen into such a note would virtually guarantee a similar outcome. Which would mean that I'd have all sorts of time to read the book, so maybe there's something to that....

*************

I was excited to see a preview before the movie for The Dark Is Rising. My friends, if you are unfamiliar with these books, I beg of you not to judge it by that preview, which made it look...hm...just a little bit cheesy and derivative. And I beg of the filmmakers not to actually make the movie cheesy and derivative.

First of all, The Dark is Rising WAS first of all. As in, years and years before Harry Potter arrived on the scene. If it looks like yet another tired Harry Potter ripoff, I assure you it is not. I thought that maybe HP was inspired by it – J.K. Rowling says no, in the general sense that nothing inspired her books, but I wonder if she didn't read those herself when she was a kid. Regardless, there's a vast gulf that separates a ripoff from an homage, and though there are similarities between the two series, they definitely are both wonderful in their own unique and distinctive ways.

Second, it was in fact MY Harry Potter, as in the fantasy series that I loved when I was a kid. I would have just about died of joy if this movie had come out when I was 12 – I still remember a fantastic dream I had right around that time in which I turned on the TV, and there it was. These books are good. They're really, really good.

So please, if you like Harry Potter, give it a try. Read The Dark Is Rising first, even though it's not the official start of the series. Read it before the movie comes out, because I think the movie may not nearly do it justice. (Was I already buzzed on the non-frozen margarita, or did they portray the main character – a British boy who was not actually, and maybe never had been, young – as a skateboarding-riding, hormone-driven American teen...with a sidekick? Why, God, why?)

Had a very good week. Am starting to feel cautiously optimistic that maybe "the situation" won't blow up in my face after all.

Plus I got a day off work, so what's not to like?

I've been spending a lot of time in the pool lately. I typically go over to my parents' house, where the pool is heated and stepping in is like wrapping myself in a silk blanket fresh from the dryer.

But sometimes I use my own pool, which is not heated and therefore feels like the icy wasteland that dwells in the hearts of evil men and bar examiners. It's so cold that it's impossible to simply step in gradually, because if you do you'll never make it, plus your prolonged and agonized shrieking will frighten the neighbors. The only option is to simply launch yourself in, get the shock over in one brutal swoop.

As much fun as it is to have friends over to swim – and I wish people would come over more often – swimming alone is a uniquely hedonistic experience. It's a bit like meditating, even more so than walking the dogs alone (where a certain amount of attention must be directed to the dogs and the traffic and the potential psycho killer). I think about everything while I'm out there, until eventually I think about nothing except the feel of the water around me.

Oh, and the sound of my little white dog yelping from the side of the pool. He thinks I'm drowning.

Raindrops Falling on My Head (and I Love It)

It's been rainy here...rainy for weeks on end, day after day.

It's a nice break from the usual summer, which features no rain and blazing sun and blistering heat. I could really get used to this...maybe I should move to Seattle? Is this what it's like in Seattle in the summer? Never having actually BEEN to Seattle, I don't know. But it rains a lot on Frasier, which I may have mentioned is the very best show ever.

The other day I was watching it, and suddenly instead of Frasier I was watching CSPAN. The cable company had said they would shuffle the channels, but that was so long ago I thought they'd changed their minds. Or at least I thought they wouldn't have the audacity, the NERVE to switch it right smack in the middle of Frasier. Frantically, hands shaking with urgency, I tore through the new channel listing in search of my sweet Frasier. And then I found the new location, but I couldn't watch it because the cable box hadn't been updated to recognize new channels. Damn you channel 12! Why do you torment me so?

So that really sucked.

Meanwhile, there's lots of rain. On Frasier and on my head.

The Slowening

Has anyone else discovered that as you become more proficient, it's actually taking you longer to do the same tasks?

I'm wondering if that's another thing that's unique to my (obscure) field. When I started, it made sense to use other people's work as a template (by which I mean, I'd change the pertinent facts but leave the rest exactly as I found it). I was almost religious about it – I felt even a tiny change was too risky, like the way that the original was written was the absolute epitome of legal perfection in all ways.

That was, of course, ridiculous. Yet I only recently became comfortable changing things up. I was probably hurried along my way when the recipient of one of my glorious works mocked it online, but that's a story for another day.

The point was valid – there are things in the templates that are clunky, outdated, or otherwise undesirable, and I've started making those changes. Sometimes I just start entirely from scratch. Which means that the five-page piece of prose that once took me two hours now borders on eight, much to the chagrin of...nobody, it seems, since I haven't heard a peep about it. They used to express amazement at how quickly I once did things, especially since they were so pleased with the work product (what amazed me was that people seemed not to recognize that I'd just used their own previous work virtually verbatim).

At least now I will fully deserve any further online mockery someone might see fit to bestow upon me.

Awooooooooooo

Today was the Solstice. I celebrated by getting all drunk. At a firm event.

Actually, I forgot all about the Solstice, but it totally worked out great what with the inebriation at work, 'cuz I was able to sober up in my office while surfing the Internet (which informed me that it was the Solstice), and it was still light outside when I was finally able to leave.

Sweet synchronicity.

Still 100% Alive

I'm not dead; just dealing with bad juju. If the bad juju turns into even worse juju, whither this blog I know not. One hopes (and by one, I mean ME) that the future holds good juju and mojo and even some mocha OR perhaps a splash of jumanji. But all that is, alas, out of my hands.

P.S. I hate coffee.

Untameable

An unexpected issue with the short hair has been my inability to pull it back out of my face. It was supposed to be long enough to at least get my bangs out of the way, but it's just a little bit too short in some layers for that to work.

Meanwhile, I've noticed that headbands are making a comeback. I have fond memories of my headband-wearing days of yore, so I figured it might be a solution to my little problem. I ran to the store, and in typical excessive fashion, bought 3,923 of them.

And so it was that, my heart alight with joy, I placed the sacred band upon my head.

All looked good. For a minute.

Then, slowly at first, then faster and faster, my hair began to appear from underneath the headband. The band trembled, fought valiantly, but soon began inching up off my head.

Finally, with an audible SPROING, it popped off and went flying, narrowly missing my little dog, who ran off crying.

Sigh. Anyone want 3,923 headbands?

Chop-Happy

After months of threatening to do so, I finally chopped my hair off. It feels great. It looks maybe not so great, but I really don't care.

Below please find a highly accurate pictorial representation of this process:

Before: Note the slumped shoulders and frowny face from all the heavy heavy hair.

After: Now bald, leaving head so light and airy it floats right off my body.

The best thing about it is the way that people react. It started at the salon, where the stylist kept asking me, very sincerely, "Are you SURE you want to do this?" as if I'd asked her to serve me up a suicide cocktail instead of just cutting some hair.

It's even better at work, where people seem to think dramatic haircut = crippling mental crisis. They look at me with concerned eyes and ask, delicately, "Is everything...okay?"

I assured them that I've gotten haircuts like this several times in my life. In fact, it seems like I'm only happy with extremes...I like REALLY long hair or REALLY short hair.

Which got me to thinking...maybe they're right. Maybe I really do have some kind of weird mental illness that makes me cut all my hair off.

If I do, it's all my mom's fault. (Isn't everything?) You see, it all started when I was 4. I was 4 and happy and had long princess hair and was a complete girly girl. I had lots of little girly girl friends, and the one I admired the most was the girliest girl of all. Her mother doted on her and bought her precious porcelain dolls and dressed her in perfect little dresses and spent hours on her perfect flowing hair. I imagine she ended up in rehab by age 14, but boy, I bet she looked good doing it.

Anyway, so there I was with all this curly girly girl hair that my mom had no idea what to do with and struggled every morning to brush. (Hint: it's called conditioner. Use it.) She decided the best thing to do would be to have it cut very short, and so she made it happen.

Oh, you can't imagine the trauma. All my hair, gone. The very core of my sense of self, violated. I cried and cried and for the first time in my life hated my mother in the way that a teenage girl hates her mother, filled with a sense of betrayal and rage that I, obviously, never forget.

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So you see, it's a little bit sick that later in my life I took a liking to repeatedly growing my hair really long and then having it all chopped off.