powerofthebook

King of the Hill Weighs In...

2012-06-19T02:50:52Z

Doing an excellent job on the issue, King of the Hill tackled the "V-word" debate in its second episode, over a decade ago. The episode comes to a great conclusion, where substitute teacher Peggy finds the courage to teach sexual education and talk openly about processes of the body, and opens up a lot of the hypocrises. This, however, is the best clip:

http://youtu.be/IjHLNdWiHl4

Roommate advice, anyone?

2011-12-04T17:48:58Z

As I'm back in school, I'm living with three other girls. I've been doing most of the cleaning since I got here, and recently won a small victory when the other girls actually loaded the dishwasher with their own things and took out the trash for the first time since June. I'm a messy person, I'll admit it, but the areas that I share with other people, I like to keep clean.

Unfortunately, I've got a bit of a dilemma. One girl brought back a huge bag of kimchi back from home, and left it on the counter. I realize a lot of people like this dish, but folks, the odor is very pervasive. I close the door to my room, and the smell of fermented cabbage is there, too. Is there a gentle way I could bring this up?

NO!

2011-11-15T05:23:24Z

NBC Benches 'Community'

And yet the searingly unfunny 'Whitney' and 'The Office' are coddled and kept going? What the hell, NBC?

I May Have a Problem...

2011-09-12T18:32:33Z

So I went to the library this morning to drop off something that was due and to pick up a requested work. I work at that library, and I knew the guy that was charging/discharging my items.

As I was setting off to go, he called back. "Say, do you know you have 110 items checked out?"

I stammered for a moment and managed to squeak out: "I knew it was a lot, but I never counted through my online account."

Silence. "I'd appreciate if no one knew too much about this."

"Oh, I wouldn't worry," he said, shrugging. "You're a grad student, and this is about average."

Tell me, is there a Bibliophiles Anonymous group I can attend?

Iguana on the Loose! (not a joke)

2011-08-09T03:05:06Z

Remember our little adoptee kitten, Bella, who passed away last year? Well, Mom took in a ginger kitten from her best friend in the neighborhood, the one that runs a secret cat and dog rescue. Though it was intended to be a temporary move, Clarence "Clancy," as he is now called, is pretty much a permanent resident. Mom and her friend have since become the neighborhood and town rescue team, looking for lost animals and trying to get them back to food, water, and shelter. Some of their rescue efforts resemble stakeouts, trading naps inside the car while the other watches for cats to arrive in a baited area. They've had some excellent successes and a few disappointments, and frankly, I think they'd make a good odd-couple sitcom, running around each week on a new animal rescue adventure.

Until this week, when it came out that there is a four-foot long iguana running loose in the neighborhood. The family who lost the iguana actually did so about a month ago, but didn't tell anyone, leading Mom and her friend to wonder if they were trying to get rid of the creature. The lid was blown off the story, however, when another neighbor was outside weeding her garden, and looked up into the eyes of this rather large reptile.

After a change of clothing, this neighbor composed herself and took a picture of the iguana. She even tried to catch it, though it was having none of it, and the neighbor was rather reluctant to touch it, and it ran away. She took the picture over to Mom's friend, who thought she remembered that someone in the neighborhood had an iguana. They owned up to it, and claimed they'd been looking for it. Mom's friend offered to help, and asked about catching the iguana, whom, she has been informed, does not hesitate to bite.

So Mom and her friend have set several dog traps in the area, baited with bananas. Jury's out to see how many raccoons and opposums they'll catch instead. There's also something of a clock on the situation, since iguanas can't live outdoors if it gets below a certain temperature. Given that it's August, things will be changing soon. Hope they catch him...just catch him carefully!

NEVILLE LONGBOTTOM RULES! (also, I'm still alive!)

2011-08-06T05:55:29Z

First semester of working on my masters' degree is over! (well, I still have one learning reflection to go, but that's not due till Monday!) It is completely and utterly awesome. I always felt a little out-of-step in working on my mass communication degree, like I didn't completely belong there - everyone else seemed to be on a wavelength that I could never quite reach. It was different on the job, of course - I liked working for the papers in New Hampshire. I have nothing but utter contempt for the one I left in May.

As soon as I met the other LIS students, though, it was like that moment in AVPS: "Where have you been all my life?" "In a cupboard, under some stairs!" Two of my courses were online, and while I miss the in-class experience, I really look up to a professor that teaches from her home in California (and whom I'm hoping can help guide me through reference and potential future jobs!) I even managed to pick up some extra work helping the undergraduate library convert its extensive collection from Dewey to LC. And the libraries here, oh my God. I swear when I went into the Main Stacks, where they keep several million volumes on ten floors, folios and books from the 18th century, dark and with little light, like a setting from "The Historian," I swear I could have cried. Not only that, but they have dozens upon dozens of other smaller libraries scattered throughout the campus, with specialized collections. I'm the luckiest girl in the world. And my room is filled with books! (not that I have time to read much outside of schoolwork!)

Finally, though, I got to see the last Harry Potter movie. Had a huge presentation due on the morning of July 15, so waiting in line to see it at midnight, as appealing as it really did sound, was not a reality for me. Neither was finding the time to go see it until exams were mostly over.

My big impression? This wasn't Harry's movie, this was Neville's movie. And it rocked SO HARD. It wasn't just Neville being a total badass in killing Nagini and saving Hermione and Ron as Harry dueled with Voldemort, allowing him to kill him. It wasn't just him leading the Trio home to Hogwarts. And it wasn't just him willingly acting as the bait to get the Death Eaters on the rigged bridge. (Nice work, there, Seamus) It was showing that Neville had grown into both manhood and leadership. The part where he limps forward and the Death Eaters all burst into laughter at him - it's so representative of Neville's entire life. Everyone, even his friends have laughed at him. And yet, Neville makes what is arguably the most motivating, heart-warming speech in the film, reminding everyone that they've lost friends, but that's okay - they're still in their hearts, and it's one more reason to keep fighting. And then he flourishes the Sword of Gryffindor. And I love him all charged-up with success after the bridge - "I'm going to go tell Luna I love her!" - to be followed by the two of them sitting somewhat awkwardly together after the battle.

Things I really liked:
- Hermione as Bellatrix, especially her wobbling around in those insane heels
- The scene inside Bellatrix's vault - they really got the "drowning in treasure" effect right
- Hermione freeing the Gringott's dragon and the three of them holding on like mad as the dragon takes its revenge on the goblins - SPEW's founder has officially gone the "House Elf Liberation Front" route.
- Neville's arrival, and the arrival of the Trio into the Room of Requirement - the hugs and the snark. Ron and Seamus taking a moment to snipe at each other is especially hilarious.
- That moment, as the Malfoys grimly survey Voldemort's mass murder at Hogwarts, and you see the resolve in Narcissa's eyes, the little look back at her family
- The arrival of the Order of the Phoenix, especially when McGonagall jumps in front of Harry and duels with Snape, then takes charge of the school and its defenses like she's done this a million times before. Her little moment of glee with Molly was wonderful, as were the other professors standing up to cast protective charms over the school, right down to Slughorn, who finally chose a side. Also love that McGonagall even finds a teachable moment - telling Seamus to put his explosive talents to use. Ten to one that kid goes to work in demolitions.
- "Harry talks in his sleep." HA!
- Luna shrieking at Harry. Someone needs to, and someone finally needs to take Luna seriously.
- The Death Eaters standing on the hill with Voldemort - put me in fond remembrance of the movie version of the Battle of Helm's Deep. Wonderful cinematography.
- The Room of Requirement fire was awesome, especially the Cornish pixies hanging about, and Ron screaming down the corridor.
- Voldemort slapping Lucius Malfoy - when the Dark Lord doesn't even want to waste an Avada Kedavra on you, you know you're in his contempt
- Snape's death scene - Alan Rickman has consistently hit it out of the park with every movie, and this was no exception
- Snape's memories - putting aside the fact that Young Lily had brown eyes, not green, that whole sequence was really affecting. Those tears when he finds Lily's body...
- Hermione kicks Greyback's tail (poor Lavender, though)
- When Hermione and Ron meet Harry before he gives himself up to Voldemort. Hermione's denial, her plea to go with him - it's a wonderful nod to the bond of the friends
- The scene where Harry meets the shades of his parents, Lupin, and Sirius - probably some of Radcliffe's finest acting
- All of the Neville bad-assery
- The fact that Malfoy really hesitates before going over to join his parents. As much as he loves them, you can see the battle inside his head. Add to that Draco's look of terror when Voldemort embraces him. Some people have pointed out that the Malfoys hightailing it out of there before battle's end isn't the way the book goes, but the sequence of events is changed in the movie. Given that there's more of a break in action after Harry reveals himself to be alive, it's entirely plausible that Voldemort would figure out that Narcissa lied, and kill the Malfoys in one fell swoop.
- Harry hugging Hagrid. Hagrid didn't have much to do in this movie, and he's been quite important to the story up until the last book
- I did like seeing Draco hugging his son in the future - he's actually smiling instead of sneering - while I'm not a fan of this scene in the book, I do like how they presented it. Yes, I can look over the fact that the young actors don't completely look as old as they actually are, let alone in their mid-thirties.

Things I didn't like so much:
- When your friend who has acted like bait for Death Eaters is clinging to the bridge like Gandalf in Moria, don't just stand there, idiot children! Go help him!
- The Harry/Ginny kiss. It just seemed kind of off - and no, I'm not coming from a shipping perspective.
- Harry's blithe use of an Unforgivable with no real discussion of 'necessary evil' and all that
- The whole Aberforth scene - if you don't have the time to let him explain the whole story, don't get into it at all. I did like Cieran Hinds, though.
- The Grey Lady scene. Helena Ravenclaw's temper tantrum is more than a bit drawn out
- Hermione destroys the Hufflepuff Cup Horcrux, no problem. When Harry destroyed the diary, its spirit tried to kill him. When Dumbledore destroys the ring, it kills his hand and gives him a death sentence. When Ron destroyed the locket, it tried to turn him to its side, playing on his vulnerabilities. The diadem is destroyed in a tremendously dangerous firestorm as the Trio decides to save Malfoy and Zabini's lives and risk their own, Neville has to face all his insecurities and fears to kill Nagini, Harry has to die to kill the one in him. When Hermione destroys the cup...there are some waves? Very anticlimactic, especially in something that I'd pinned a lot of hopes on.
- Fred's death. Not just because I like Fred, but because we didn't see it - only the aftermath. Seeing Fred die in front of them really made the battle that much more real in the book, and it's kind of glossed over here.
- Molly and Bellatrix's duel. It's abbreviated, and instead of just Avada'ing Bellatrix, Molly does something to make her explode? WTF?
- Ginny totally poaches McGonagall's "No!" at the sight of Harry's body
- Ron and Hermione glowing, holding hands, looking like they've come in from snogging when Harry meets them in the aftermath. THERE IS A TIME AND A PLACE, RON WEASLEY, AND AN HOUR AFTER YOUR BROTHER HAS DIED IS NOT ONE OF THEM. Seriously, I found that off-putting, though I've never been a fan of the Ron/Hermione ship to begin with. (I'm more of a Hermione/Anyone besides Ron shipper)

The Details - Parts V and VI

2011-04-04T01:57:46Z

"The Details"
Fandom: Harry Potter
Timeline: Set between books 6-7
There's a quiet battle of wills during summer break, as Hermione struggles with an impossible decision, and Helen Granger struggles to find out what's bothering her daughter. I've chosen Helen and Hector for the Granger parents' names (why not?).
Pairing: Hints of R/Hr, a tiny nod to D/Hr (because I couldn't help it)
Rating: PG

Normally, it takes a day’s worth of arguments to draw Hermione out on a clothes-shopping expedition, but she’s uncharacteristically docile. They take the Tube over to Tottenham Court Street, selecting a few random women’s clothing shops.

As they examine the more formal wear, Helen observes that Hermione isn’t very interested in actually shopping. As she chatters on about studies, talking only in the broadest of terms while they’re out among Muggles (a term Helen has some trouble accepting), her daughter is really doing her best to keep them in the backs of stores that they enter, keeping one eye to the windows.

Was she afraid of running into someone here?

Hermione has an inordinate fondness for blue, and it’s a good shade on her, Helen thinks. Unfortunately, she’s ignoring several fetching dresses because of this. That’s what she’s here for - pulling her daughter back from any unwise decisions. A good thing, too - Hermione’d been set to go on an A-line gown that did nothing for her figure.

“Hermione, dear, you’ve got such a lovely figure,” she tells her patiently, watching her daughter evaluate herself in the dressing-room mirror, noting with dismay that her daughter‘s wand is sticking out of her purse. “Don’t be afraid to show it off.”

“I’m just trying to think about what’s appropriate at a wedding.” Hermione fusses with the sleeves of the citrus-colored dress she’s wearing, completely unsuitable for her complexion. “I don’t want to show too much. Most of the people there will be wearing dress robes.”

Helen feels her patience begin to slip. “Should we go to Diagon Alley, then?”

“No,” Hermione pouts at her image in the mirror, the resemblance to a five-year-old more present than ever, in Helen’s eyes. “I’m Muggle-born, and I want to emphasize it there.”

“I don’t know exactly what’s appropriate where you’re going,” Helen replies, obligingly using their euphemisms for the Wizarding world in public. She finds the term Muggle slightly offensive, even on her daughter‘s lips. Couldn‘t they just say non-magical folk? And why did Hermione want to make a stand instead of blending into the crowd of wizards and witches? “I do know, however, that that dress makes you look like a cream puff.”

Hermione’s face drops, and Helen raises it with a finger under her chin. “Get this thing off,” she said, unzipping and unbuttoning the fastenings, helping her step out of it without crushing the stiff crinoline under the skirt. Hermione immediately reached for the next one on the hook, a pale blue number, but Helen seizes her daughter by the shoulders and turns her to face the mirror in her underthings.

“Look at yourself,” she says, touching her daughter’s waist, feeling the unnerving presence of ribs pressing against her skin. “Hourglass figure. Gorgeous skin. Beautiful teeth. Legs that go on forever. Hair that‘s gotten heavy enough to stop being bushy and run more to curls.” She pauses, nudges her daughter in the shoulder. “A chest and arse that makes more than one fellow stammer.”

“Mo-om!”

She smacks her daughter on the arse lightly. “Let me pick one. No, trust me, and see what I mean.”

Helen steps out of the dressing room quietly, glances around the racks of gowns for cocktail parties, teas, formal occasions. She’s swimming in a sea of jewel-toned chiffon, satin, silks, trying to picture her daughter in one of them. Some girls would look at this like a feast - to Hermione, she knows, it’s intimidating.

Her eyes catch on a fetching little gown the color of spring violets. Floaty material, a subtle amount of cleavage, an emphasis on the waist - not witch material.

Helen’s fingers pause while fingering the fabric. Witch. My daughter’s a witch. It was easier, she knew, to think of Hermione as a skilled conjuror, an enchanter, a potions-brewer, charming in more than one sense. The word witch carried so much other weight. There were subtle politics around this going on in Hermione’s world, she knew - but she had a funny feeling that Hermione was concealing the extent to which these politics affected her.

She should really write to the Headmaster - but then she remembers that he’s passed. Hermione hasn’t said another word about it since she came home. Helen hadn’t realized until recently how limited her access was to her daughter’s world, and just how much Hermione was going it alone.

Checking the size on the tag, she brings it back to the dressing room. Hermione’s face goes a bit rigid.

“Mum, you know I’m hopeless in purple.”

“This isn’t purple,” Helen said relentlessly. “It’s lavender.”

Something about statement this catches her daughter’s attention, sharpens her focus, and she lets Helen help her don the gown without complaint. Helen smoothes the fabric around her daughter’s waist, then stands back to admire the effect, hand over her heart and smiling at how well Hermione has blossomed out.

Hermione cracks an odd smile at her own reflection. “Too subtle for him to get the message. I wonder if that’s a good thing or not.”

Helen decides not to ask. There are too many mysteries about her daughter nowadays.

***

Sometimes, sitting alone in bed at night, poring over the charm again and again, Hermione wishes she could talk to Draco Malfoy.

Not that she thinks they’d get very far in conversation. Even without the whole Pureblood-Mudblood caste issue hanging between them, they’re both very stubborn people, and it would take a lot to drag any worthwhile conversation out of him. Like a good Potions experiment, though, she wonders what he would be like to really argue with. He’s quick with a retort, she’s good with a parry and thrust, they‘re both at the top of their class - if they could refrain from name-calling, he might actually have something interesting to say about this.

Oddly enough, of all the people at Hogwarts, he’s the one whose situation she can most relate to. The few other Muggle-born students have mostly been able to get themselves and their families out of the way, convinced that the danger posed by Voldemort is real and will come for them. Others, with pureblooded or half-blooded families will be aware of the danger and have taken their own precautions and defenses.

Hermione’s parents still regard the Wizarding world as not particularly powerful. Those troubles were far away, belonged to other people, wouldn’t reach them. She knew they felt they could still protect her from most things.

Draco’s parents walked right into the heart of that danger, thought they would be safe under the wing of the dragon, would in turn protect their son. Voldemort turned right around and held their lives hostage to their son’s efforts. Believing that they could always stay on the winning side of history, they’d doomed their son to a terrible choice in order to protect his family.

Hermione remembers the desperation in those keen grey eyes during the last year, the circles bagging the normally taut lines of his face. She hadn’t believed Harry’s theories, but she could tell that something heavy was weighing on Draco, so much so that he forgot to be horrid to her - not that he was ever nice to begin with. Still, she could see the new maturity in his eyes as he knifed, shark-like, through the throngs of students at Hogwarts. She looks in the mirror some mornings and sees the echo of Draco’s struggle etched in her own face. Can I do this to protect them?

He tried. Got all the way to the very moment…then could go no further. Even to save himself and his family, Draco Malfoy could not become a murderer.

She wonders what he’s doing now. Have they tattooed him? Is he helping to kill innocents - willingly or not? She wonders if he’s as frightened as she is - and realizes that he is, and probably more so.

Can she do this? Can she afford not to?

The specter of Gilderoy Lockhart haunts her waking hours. Smiling vacantly, signing autographs to those visiting St. Mungo‘s, as if the motion was so locked in his muscles that even his blank brain could remember it, he was without a hope of remembering who he used to be. The family whose memories had been obliterated for the Quidditch Cup, muttering vaguely about Christmas after so many charms had been performed on them. Hermione shuddered at the casual regard those in charge had had for the disrupted lives of the Muggles.

It can go so horribly, horribly wrong. She needs laser precision with this charm, not the usual regard for Muggles’ lives, routinely given with all the meticulousness of a shotgun blast. So many intricate details, so little time to understand the web they create.

She can’t bear to do this to them, to rob her parents of what is so intrinsically a part of them - what makes up their very selves. They’d always been a unit of three as long as she could remember - Mum, Dad, and Hermione. Now she must make the break complete, in order that they can all continue on.

Her friendship with Harry is the big strike against them - otherwise, they could possibly scoot by, unnoticed. Thanks to Rita Skeeter (though she doesn’t doubt that the Death Eaters would miss this detail even without Skeeter’s help), her association with him is well-known. Where she is, he is certainly somewhere nearby. Hermione does not regret her friendship with Harry in the least - knows that she needs him as much as he needs her. It does, however, mark her with a bullseye - and those she loves.

Even without Harry’s friendship, The Daily Prophet is beginning to hint at dark things in store for Muggle-born witches and wizards. Hermione’s knows - if Voldemort gets control of the Ministry, the Muggle-borns will be systematically rounded up. Hermione would have had to deal with this sooner or later, and if she’s going to go off Horcrux-hunting with Harry and Ron, she needs to do this soon.

Hermione’s thoughts break off as a flash of silvery white light surges toward the house. She fumbles for her wand on the nightstand before realizing that it is a lynx Patronus - belonging to one Kingsley Shacklebolt. A bit embarrassed, even though it makes no difference to the Patronus, Hermione raises the quilt over her to her shoulders, over the thin straps of her nightgown, as it approaches.

The lynx drifts through the walls to the foot of her bed, where it perches regally, looking at her. Crookshanks hisses at the intruder and leaps off of the bed. Hermione has only time enough to cast a quick Muffliato before the Patronus begins to speak.

“Good evening, Miss Granger. I have been informed that you wish to help the Order transport Mr. Potter to a safe house before his birthday -” when Harry’s veil of protection would run out, she knew - “It is extremely likely that someone will be killed in this attempt, and I wish you to know the risk you will be running. Ronald Weasley informs me that you are more confident upon a thestral than a broomstick, so this will be our mode of transport from the Dursley household to the safe house. Please be at the Burrow by noon on July 25. Please reply via Patronus - Arthur informs me that you are quite good at it.”

With that, the Patronus abruptly vanished. Crookshanks returned to paw at the diminishing vapor until he lost interest.

Hermione searched once more for a good memory - she wasn’t sure if thinking about the same memory each time would diminish its joy, and therefore its power. She steps away from the Wizarding world in her thoughts, recalls scuba diving as a child with her mother and father beside her, heart racing in joy at seeing the bizarre creatures beneath the sea. Good enough.

“Expecto Patronum!” she calls out, watching her Patronus take shape, winding and bobbing through the air in a transport of joy. Crookshanks, more used to this apparition, watches intently with his bright little eyes.

She summons the Patronus forward. “Good evening, Mr. Shacklebolt. I understand the risks, and I am ready to help the Order. Thank you for agreeing to my use of a thestral. I will be at the Burrow on the appointed date. Expeditus Patronum - Kingsley Shacklebolt!”

The Patronus speeds off, and Hermione decides that talking herself into sleep is no good - she’s got details to take care of. The list that’s sat in her bedside stand is pulled once more into her lap - so many things she’s got to make minute changes to, and can’t afford to leave out.

Getting up from where she sits stiffly on the bed, Hermione catches a glimpse of herself darkly in the mirror, could swear she sees a pair of grey eyes glittering with resolve and fear behind her. There really is no choice, she knows, and spares a brief hope that Malfoy manages to take his family and leap clear of all this mess in the end.

Hermione, however, now has a deadline.

I'M IN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

2011-04-01T15:53:19Z

(Not an April Fool's Joke!)

YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

The In-Between

2011-03-12T19:01:20Z

The In-Between
Fandom: Angel - Sometime in a happier Season Five, with Spike/Fred
Rating: light R, to be safe
A/N: Almost, but not quite the morning after for Spike and Fred. I've been in a romantic mood lately, for some reason...

He’s going to savor this. Likely won’t ever have it again, so he’s going to live every second. He’d call it something like “roses in December” - she’d call it “searing it into the neurons of your cerebrum - although that’s a very far-fetched metaphor and completely unlike what actually happens” - then lapse into a monologue where he’d struggle to keep up and eventually just wait for her to finish.

Every point of contact is brilliantly, vitally alive, a burning trail between the two of them. Her leg, warm and supple, presses pleasantly between his own, a reminder of passion replete - for a few minutes, anyway. His right hand, curled around the curve of her arse, holds her close - she feels closer to him than his own body, and he’s not even going to try to puzzle that out. Her hand, splotchy from chemistry experiments past, scarred by battle (and probably more science experiments) rests right over where his heart will never beat again.

In their cuddled position, her head pillowed on his shoulder, curly amber hair tickling his neck, he focuses on her muscles, soft under her skin, relaxed and trusting against him. She’s totally unguarded in sleep - no hint of tension or doubt. Not that there was any last night, but still - he’s learned not to trust in the morning after.

He flicks his gaze to the glow-in-the-dark alarm on her nightstand. If the diminishing darkness wasn’t already a clue, he knows his time is almost up. Won’t be long before she wakes, gets an awkward but kind-hearted look on her face…

All he wants to do is push back the sun, keep this moment alive forever, locked in that in-between of last night’s dream and this morning’s reality.

Against him, he can feel her sigh, shift her thigh against his. He tenses - here it comes.

Fred inhales deeply against his skin, rubs her cheek against his shoulder. “Spike,” she murmurs sleepily, moves her hand across his chest to hold him tighter. She slips back into sleep as easily as a breath, not quite ready to wake.

Spike feels a rushing inside him, almost like what he remembered a racing pulse to be like. He wants to get up and run to relieve this great swell of emotion, nudge Fred back into wakefulness with tugging kisses, make her cry out in joy until noon.

Instead, he relaxes, committing the moment to memory, but not studying upon it too hard. Content to experience and be experienced, he bends his head to press a kiss to her forehead. What would have felt like a greatly daring move only seconds ago is now the most natural of actions - to curl his arm about her waist, pull her tight to his chest, and sink back with her into dreams.

powerofthebook @ 2011-03-12T11:15:00

2011-03-12T17:16:04Z

An odd feeling wakes Helen Granger that morning, and she rustles around a moment for her dressing gown. Loosely belting it, she pads into the kitchen to brew that first cup of coffee - and the last of the day, after reading that report on acid erosion.

Finally able to practice magic in front of her parents, Hermione had kept them entertained with endless requests for transfiguration and charm-work. Tea was a lively affair, with bouncing sugar cubes, teacups that sprouted legs and dashed across the table, and crowned by Hermione’s successful transformation of the kettle into a turtle, who stood up on his hind legs and shrilly whistled “God Save the Queen.”

Helen couldn’t deny that there were definite advantages to having a witch in the household. Hermione’s charms could wash the dishes, clean the floors, and even repair broken items. Charming more complex Muggle machines - like the coffeemaker - required a level of ability that Hermione admitted she wasn’t quite up to yet, and probably were illegal anyway. She reminded them of the sweet Mr. Weasley who enchanted cars to fly in his off-time and was later fined - and nearly lost his job.

So, unaided by magic, Helen stands at the coffeemaker and presses down the button, waiting impatiently by the window, gazing out into the little garden. The rosebush is waving madly - did Hermione accidentally enchant it when she tried to repair her spell damage?

But no. Something’s out there…moving in the bushes. Helen’s finger slips off of the coffeemaker as she crosses to the door. Pulling her dressing gown closer about her, she cracks open the door.

“Hello? Is someone out there?”

The bush goes still for a moment, then a figure steps forward, pushing back the branches, walking towards the house.

“Hermione, what are you doing out there?”

“Hi, Mum.” Her usually immaculate daughter’s white dressing gown is mud-smeared, and there are small twigs and leaves stuck in her rumpled hair, withered rose petals clinging to her shoulders. The wand - Hermione’s third hand, Helen thought to herself - was clasped lightly to her palm. She straightened, and attempted to clean herself up. Helen stepped lightly down the stoop to touch her daughter’s face, comb out some of the branches, reduce some of her daughter‘s resemblance to Ophelia. “What were you doing, dear?”

“Setting up wards,” Hermione replies, and despite her daughter’s odd behavior, despite the fact that wards don’t sound like a good thing, this is the first time Hermione has talked to her this summer like she used to - as if she’s explaining a project, and not hiding anything. “They’ll chirp like a demented flock of canaries if an intruder comes onto the property. Anyone that we don’t admit into the home won’t be able to get in without us knowing.”

“You got up at five-thirty in the morning to do this?”

Hermione shifts, and the moment of honesty passes in her daughter’s face. Helen’s been her mother for nearly eighteen years - she knows. “I had some bad dreams last night. There’s word in the Wizarding world that a few of the werewolves that don’t want to be part of society have been on the prowl.”

“Around here?” The thought sends a chill up Helen’s spine. She’s only seen pictures in her daughter’s textbooks, but nothing is impossible now. Helen once spent an entire session fitting plastic molds between the molars of an eight-year-old as they watched The Little Mermaid. All she could think about was whether or not mermaids were real. (They were, Hermione said, but you wouldn’t want one to sing to you.)

“No, Mum. I’m just trying to be safe. But if it happens, you and Dad find me, and I’ll Apparate us all out to a safe area.”

“Apparate?”

“How wizards and witches usually travel. Here, I’ll show you.”

And with a quick look around to make sure no one’s watching, Hermione flicks her wand and disappears, only to reappear a moment later, with a popping sound, beside the garden shed.

Helen’s jaw drops, but not from the incredulity of the action. It’s one thing to see her daughter charm teakettles and recite the history of Elvish wars. It’s quite another to see how powerful she’s become.

“I thought you had…brooms,” she chokes out. Brooms, trains, buses, and Floo Powder - how many ways did they need to get around? Helen used to feel so knowledgeable and successful - lead practitioner at her clinic, top of her class, raising a daughter who bordered on genius. In trying to understand her daughter’s world, however, bring it into terms that she could equate with the one she shared with Hector, she’s so often adrift and at sea - helpless.

“We do, but I’m not good on a broomstick. Harry and Ron tried to teach me, but I just get too nervous at the heights,” Hermione replied, walking briskly back, examining her closely. Helen knows that Hermione knows she’s been thrown for a loop - but she’s willing to bet her daughter doesn’t know why.

“I can travel that way if I have to, but I really do hate it. Even flying on thestrals and hippogriffs isn’t exactly pleasant. This is much nicer.” Hermione reaches her mother, and begins brushing the rose petals from her shoulders. “Anyway, all I have to do is a Side-Along, and someone who can’t apparate can travel with me.”

“It’s like your…driving exam,” Helen finishes.

“Yes,” Hermione smiles. “Anyway, the whole wards thing? Just me taking too many precautions. I also needed to harvest some rose-petal dew.” She holds out a glass vial, in which a small amount of liquid quivers.

She’s not being entirely truthful, and Helen can tell. Hermione is already scanning the edge of the garden, and Helen can see that she’s wondering what she’s forgotten. It’s a familiar expression.

“Hermione, if a werewolf did attack, could you fight him?”

The question catches Hermione off-guard, but Helen watches her recover.

“Oh yes, Mum. The only competent Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher we ever had was a werewolf - a good one, Professor Lupin. If one came in, I could use a Stunning Spell on him, at least to knock him back far enough so that we could Apparate out of there quickly.”

Helen nods, taking this in. Then, the question trips out of her mouth, startling even her. “Would you have to kill him?”

Hermione turns pale, and Helen instantly regrets the question. But she wants to know - can her daughter raise her little wand and dispense death? Most parents would say no, but Helen knows her daughter better than this. If cornered, Hermione will fight her way out. If her friends were in trouble, Hermione never missed a beat in standing up for them. She would kill if she had to. Helen is actually glad of this.

“There’s a Killing Curse,” Hermione replies quietly. “I know how to do it, but I’ve never done it before. I don’t want to do it ever. I prefer just jinxing someone, or paralyzing them. Then I‘d do a Memory Charm so that they couldn‘t remember why they were after me in the first place.”

Helen reaches out and enfolds her daughter in a wordless embrace. She’s still so very small.

***

Because her mother isn’t exactly comfortable with enchanted knives in the house, Hermione takes the initiative, chopping celery and carrots to fry in the skillet. Beside her on the counter, a crackling radio plays. She’s not really listening to the Spice Girls crooning “Wannabe.” She’s waiting.

She wishes she’d thought of it earlier this morning, but she was so involved in getting the new potion started, she didn’t contact Mr. Weasley till later this afternoon. She also wishes she knew what form it would take, so she could give her parents warning. Then again, some warning was better than none.

“Mum, Dad?” They look up at her, smiling, each sprawled in an easy chair reading. “I’m practicing a new form of communication with other wizards, so don’t be startled if something silver bounds in.”

“Something silver?” Her father smiles, a bit boyishly. To him, the Wizarding world is one wonder after another - no dark spots. She can slide past him easily. Mum’s not so easily fooled, though, and since this morning, Hermione wonders how much her mother knows - if she’s been talking to Mr. Weasley via owl.

“A Patronus Charm,” Hermione explains, choosing her definition with care. “Sometimes, if you need to send a message, but you don’t want anyone else to read it, you send a Patronus with your message. Of course, you’re gambling on the possibility that the person you’re sending the message to is in the presence of someone you don’t want hearing the message, but it’s a little more secure.”

“It’s silver?”

Hermione backs up. “Everyone’s looks different, but they‘re all animals. When you learn to cast a Patronus, it can take the form of an animal that’s important to you. Something that has special meaning. I don‘t know what form Mr. Weasley‘s takes, so I didn‘t want you to take fright if a silver elephant or something runs through the living room.”

Dad smiles. “What form does yours take?”

“An otter. It’s quite playful.”

“An otter, you say?” Hector Granger lifts an eyebrow and looks significantly at Helen Granger. “What’s that say, dear?”

Hermione watches her mother fold her book against her stomach and look up at the ceiling, lost in thought.

“An otter,” she said quietly. “Very favorable among the Celts. A strong protector who helps others gain wisdom, who finds inner treasures or talents, faithfulness, and can recover from any crisis.” Her gaze fixes suddenly and sharply on Hermione, who feels exactly as she did as a naughty six-year-old girl. “They mean that you should enjoy life instead of enduring it.”

“And that, Hermione,” her father says fondly from his slumped position, “is where you get your head for detail.”

Mum smiles at him fondly. Hermione’s still watching her mother, wondering if she knows.

“Anyway, I’m putting the vegetables in. Dinner should be ready in an hour or so.”

But as she speaks, a small ball of silver light appears in the living room. Both of Hermione’s parents jump, but look up in interest. Hermione’s wand is already out reflexively, though she thinks she can pass it off as a necessary gesture for the little Patronus.

The silver blob moves, revealing the form of a dignified little weasel, who stands up on its hind legs to look at Hermione.

“Hello there, Hermione!” it cries out in Arthur Weasley’s jolly voice. “I’m happy to practice talking Patronuses with you any time. Just remember to call your Patronus over to you, give the message like you’re talking to that person, and say Expeditus Patronus - and then the name of the person you want it to go to. Send me one back to see if you’ve got the hang of it. Incidentally, are you coming to our little event soon? Molly and the kids are looking forward to seeing you!”

The little speech done, the weasel bows slightly, before vanishing as its silvery body into evaporating mist.

“Well!” her mother exclaims into the empty air. “There’s something you don’t see every day.”

“I like that Weasley bloke,” her father adds, grinning from the couch.

“What event did he mean, Hermione?” her mother asks. Something in Hermione wilts - she’d hoped her mother wouldn’t pick up on that.

“One of Ron’s older brothers is getting married in a few weeks,” she said carefully. “Since I’m a friend of the family, they’ve invited me over. I think Mrs. Weasley wants some help with the preparations, too.”

“Ah.” Hermione sees a speculative glint in her mother’s eye. “We’ll have to get you a new dress, you know.”

“Oh, Mum, I don’t…”

“Don’t ‘oh Mum’ me,” Helen smiles. “Your old dress robes won’t do for a wedding. We’ll get you all fitted out this weekend. Tottenham Court Road. What do you say?”

“All right,” Hermione gives up the fight before it begins. “No arguing about the cleavage, though.”

“Can’t hear you!” her father pipes up, holding his paperback to one of his ears.

“Right,” Helen smirks at her husband. “No arguing.” She pauses, with a look that catches Hermione off guard. It’s almost challenging, in a way. “Aren’t you going to Patronum Mr. Weasley back?”

Hermione bites back the reply that a private message is meant to be private, and regains a grip on her wand. She searches her memory - this is always a challenge. She can perform the charm all right, but it’s difficult to remember a really good moment that isn’t tinged with sorrow or regret in some way when one is facing down a fight with dementors. It’s even more difficult when her mother is staring at her, trying to figure out what she might have wanted to have a quiet word with one of the Weasleys about. Particularly when she did want to ask for some advice that she couldn’t in front of them.

Inside her, like an inflated ball rushing up through water, comes the feeling of absolute elation in her first year at Hogwarts. The morning after their fight with the mountain troll, when Harry motioned her to sit by them at breakfast, when Ron tossed her a roll with casual ease, as if she’d always been there. She’ll remember that feeling of acceptance within her like a golden bubble forever.

“Expecto Patronum!” It bursts out of her, with unaccustomed vigor, and the little otter wafts into being, swimming through the air in circles around her. It’s a strong one - she can feel the glowing warmth of it built from her memories. Before her parents’ wide-eyed expressions, she gestures the Patronus towards her, and it bobs over willingly.

“Hello Mr. Weasely!” she says to the otter. “Thank you for practicing the Patronus message with me - I think it will be very useful. I also have an interest in some of the charms you use every day in your job, and I might be looking for a bit more information on one. And yes, I’ll certainly be at Bill and Fleur’s wedding! Please give my love to everyone! Expeditus Patronum - Arthur Weasely!” she finished.

The otter turned a backflip, then swam off speedily in the direction that Mr. Weasley’s Patronus had come from.

“All right, then,” Hermione said, holding her mother’s eyes for a moment. “I’ll call you when dinner’s ready.”

Hermione returns to the kitchen stiffly, scoops up the vegetables, and begins to cook them in a little olive oil, cracked pepper, and dill. She thinks about the second cauldron steaming above her head, the new potion bubbling merrily beside the vat of Polyjuice she’s cooking up. Once the moon comes up again tonight, she’ll have to pour it into a bag and stuff it in the back of the refrigerator to freeze, praying that neither of her parents will find it.

Beside her on the counter, the radio chimes the top of the hour as the news program comes on. Hermione continues to stir the vegetables with a wooden spoon, listening carefully. There’s almost no point in reading The Daily Prophet anymore.

“Breaking news here in London - a grisly scene is unfolding as police discover five people dead in a Norbiton apartment. No official reports have been released yet, but an officer speaking on conditions of anonymity reported that the scene bore all the marks of a ritualistic murder and the possible use of explosives…”

Hermione reaches over and shuts off the radio.

She looks over at her parents, nose-deep in their books, and makes a decision.

YOU GUYS! OMG YOU GUYS! COMMUNITY!

2011-03-04T16:29:57Z

(okay, there's another reason I was hoping to post under that general subject line this month, but in case that doesn't pan out...)

Pics of an upcoming Community episode. And I am such a fan of that movie. Apparently Abed is, too.

(flaily arms!) And I thought they couldn't top a guest appearance by Levar Burton. Evidently, they can.

"The Details"

2011-03-03T06:46:46Z

When Hermione climbs into the back seat for the drive home, her mother knows that something’s wrong. Helen Granger is used to prepping herself with aspirin tablets on the ride to the station before listening to her daughter’s latest adventures in the wizarding world, but finds she‘s not so much in need of them on this trip.

Hermione first gives them a rundown on her friends - both Harry and Ron were fine, stars on the Quidditch team, dating girls in their House. Helen’s a little sorry to hear about that - she’d quietly hoped that her daughter would fall for the scruffy-haired boy with the strange scar on his forehead. The gangly Ron she’s less approving of, and of course, that’s the one that Hermione seems to be more inclined to. At least Ron broke it off with the other girl, she intuits.

Her exams follow after that - subjects that Helen tries to understand, but more often than not, just nods her head and smiles. Helen expected this, though - at some point, she knew her daughter was brilliant enough to take on subject matter far above Helen’s head. Ancient Runes, Arithmancy, Defense Against the Dark Arts - certainly not what she expected her to study, though.

When Professor McGonagall had arrived at their doorstep with news of what Hermione actually was, she imagined her daughter’s life as a misty sort of fairy tale, learning to enchant mops and chairs, brewing up potions in her cauldron. Instead, Hermione is learning how to defend herself against vampires, has befriended a half-giant, and, just last summer, finally admitted with a quiet sort of pride that she can immobilize and stun a wizard from a good distance.

After this initial exposition, though, Hermione seems to deflate, slumped against the car door, half-listening to her father’s diatribe on his presentation to the Dental Professionals Association. Helen catches glimpses of her daughter in the rearview window. She doesn’t look relaxed, just keeps scanning the skyline while making the appropriate noises.

“Hermione, dear, are you all right?” Helen turns around in her seat to face her daughter, and that’s when it hits her. Hermione is no longer a girl - she’s become a young woman. Always more mature than most, her eyes carry more weight than Helen can remember being normal for her age.

Those eyes now dart away, return to her mother well-masked - or did she imagine it? “Our headmaster died, Mum,” she says quietly. “You remember me talking about Albus Dumbledore? He passed at the end of the year.”

Helen remembers the energetic old man with the crooked nose, smiling back at her in Hermione’s strange newspapers. “Oh, Hermione. I’m so sorry. How…” she trails off.

Hermione looks to the other side for a split-second, and now Helen knows she isn’t imagining things. “In his sleep, Mum. We went to his funeral right before leaving Hogwarts. It was…beautiful.”

Helen waits for more details, but Hermione looks down into her lap.

“He was so kind to us,” Hector breaks in from the front of the car. “Dubbledore and that Professor McGonagall. Kept thinking they were trying to drag you off into a ruddy cult, Hermione, but he set us right. And look where you are now.”

Hermione is silent, and Helen wonders at her daughter’s lack of insistence on correct pronunciation.

“He was the greatest wizard I’ve ever known,” she replies quietly. Tears glimmer in her eyes, but they don’t spill.

Helen waits for the rest of the details to spill from her Hermione’s lips, but they don’t come. She’s about to press further, when Hector pulls into the garage.

“I’ll give you a hand with your trunk, Hermione,” he begins, but Hermione springs to action, pops out of the car.

“No need, Dad,” she replies, brandishing her wand with a flourish. “The restriction against underage wizardry doesn’t apply to me anymore! I can perform as much magic as I want so long as Muggles don’t see. Excepting you two, of course.”

Helen stands aside as she observes her husband, enthralled, watch their daughter magically lighten and float the trunk up the stairs, Crookshanks unhappily perched on its top.

The fairy tale had ended. Something has happened to her daughter, and she’s going to find out what.

***

Hermione’s not sure where to start. It’s not like there’s a manual out there for how to pack for a magical war or quest.

She’ll need a bag, inconspicuous in size, vast in carrying capacity, and light as a feather to carry. They may sell such things in Diagon Alley, but that’s no longer the safest of places for persons like herself. Camping gear, she might be able to borrow from the Weasleys. Clothes - she could pack a few for herself and for Harry and Ron, once they’d joined up at the Burrow. Food would present a more difficult challenge - they’d need it fresh, and she probably wouldn’t be able to carry an entire grocery worth of non-perishables in something the size of a purse. It’s far more important to take the books on Horcruxes - much harder to find those along the way than a few granola bars.

There are other considerations - what books to take? Histories of Hogwarts and of the wizarding world would be best if their intention was to go Horcrux-hunting. Anything that could possibly lead them in the direction of one of the artifacts was a clue to be eliminated or utilized. Unsure of what would be useful, she spends mornings and evenings thumbing through her collections, marking pertinent passages and transcribing them into notes to bring along. Though her access to the Hogwarts library is now unofficially over, Hermione made sure to nick several volumes from the library, along with Professor Dumbledore’s collection - Madame Pince will be horrified if she ever finds out.

Digging into her savings account, she also makes quick work in beginning a large batch of Polyjuice potion - her father complains about the smell until she conjures a fan to blow the offending clouds out a window. She passes it off as a project for Potions class, and even promises to let her parents try a sip. Unable to explain more potions, she decides just to send away for several options to Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes (getting an earful from the twins in letter form). Transfiguring her hair blonde and changing a few facial features, she apparates quickly one evening to Hippocrates Dungo Apothecary in Diagon Alley, purchasing the (hopefully unnecessary) medical supplies from the dizzy old pharmacist himself.

Finally, she practices her spellwork like a madwoman, accidentally tearing up one of her mother’s rosebushes with a Stinging Hex, Stunning insects in mid-flight, and even daring to try the Imperius Curse on a few unlucky beetles. She’d succeeded in commanding them to waltz across the garden stoop before the disgust at her own actions takes over, and she releases the curse, feeding them a bit of banana as an apology.

More than once, she thumbs over the materials for a Calming Concoction, her anxiety rising up and claiming her from dawn to dusk. Her dreams are troubled, and more than anything, she wishes she could talk to someone frankly about what’s going on.

Her mother watches her with a furrow in her brow, concerned. Hermione has always confided in her, even the things she thought her mother would never really understand. Thing is, stress for exams at Hogwarts is the same as it would have been anywhere else. Trouble with friends? The same. Her mother always knew.

And now, she can’t.

Hermione digs her fingernail into the page beside the Calming Concoction, drawing a small groove in the page down the list of ingredients.

The strain is becoming noticeable, and she snaps at herself to look like the old Hermione. The Hermione who would recite magical history for her parents to hear their wonderment at the thought of goblin battles and duels of witchcraft actually happening, who would share moving pictures of her friends and in the Daily Prophet for their perusal. She’s part of a place that they have always thought harmless and whimsical, and now she needs to block the harsh realities of that world from them.

Late at night (more like early in the morning), Crookshanks nuzzles into the small of her back as she stares at the window, looking blankly at the full moon. Somewhere, she knows, Lupin is docile and maybe curled up in the same way beside a contented, pink-haired Tonks, and the thought makes her smile. Just as quickly, though, her mind wanders to thoughts of Fenrir Greyback, and what he must be doing right now.

She leaps out of bed. She has details to attend to.

Oh, Show

2011-02-18T03:06:04Z

Community, how do I love thee? Let me count the ways...

Not only do you bring a solid thirty minutes of hilarity, you go out of your way to bring Levar Burton in as a guest star. As himself. Levar Burton, the first guy I ever had a crush on, as a five-year-old watching Reading Rainbow at school and "Star Trek: The Next Generation" with my father. I even named my Scottish Terrier "Geordie" in his honor. (The name seemed to suit more than Levar)

Then you have Don Glover, one of my latest crushes, sitting on the floor in a bathroom, crying hysterically as he sings the Reading Rainbow theme song.

This show is perfection. (And it had a hysterical ref to bringing back Firefly!)

Speaking as a Native Cheesehead...

2011-02-07T03:09:27Z

YAAAAAAAAY!

Ice Storm 2011

2011-02-05T04:47:17Z

Checking around on LJ - everyone seems to have made it through the winter weather all right, so there's that to be thankful for!

Ah, this wasn't anything compared to the New England Ice Storm of 2008. Now that was an ice storm to make one quaver. In the Midwest, though, there aren't so many trees falling down to make life hell. Not as much ice, either, in my area - only an inch or so. Granted, only the sheerest coating of ice can make life hell. The fact that it came in layers, however - ice, then two or three inches of sleet, then more ice, made it difficult to crack apart, especially on my car. Though I'd cleared the windows, I couldn't clear all the ice off of the car, so I kind of squeaked as I drove along. I was lucky - I only lost power for 30 minutes or so on Tuesday night. My editor lost her power on Tuesday and got it back this morning. Mom and I were trapped for several days on top of the mountain in New Hampshire, but we had the generator to rely on for some power. I need to stop telling that story at work, though, because I think my air of "I've seen worse" is starting to annoy others...

I kind of thought that I'd get to do more extensive coverage of the storm affecting the area - talk to people camped out in the shelters and warming centers - visit the police and fire stations, talk to hospitals about ice injuries. Unfortunately, we had to clamp down on paper size because of ads this week, so we could only squeeze in a smaller amount of copy, and it seemed more important to be directing people to the warming centers and shelters, and telling the extent of the damage (never when the power's coming back on, which is all people want to know and the one thing that power companies will never commit to in print).

I did, however, get some pictures from a mile-long penguin shuffle on the ice - only fell once.

An icy tangle.

I love the icicles hanging from the crowns of the faces on this church.

Embarrassed in court...by my Mom!

2011-02-01T04:30:49Z

So I was sitting in court during an hour of preliminary hearings this afternoon. Most times in court I don't bring my phone, for obvious reasons. Thankfully, I always have it on vibrate - though the vibrate setting is somewhat audible. As it happens, there was a bad case up for a hearing - at a bar, a man thought this one guy hit him in the head with a beer bottle. He got the wrong guy, but his aim was dead-on, and smashed the guy into the pavement. Four months later, he's still in a coma. The family appreciated the coverage I gave, and since I usually sit behind the State's Attorney, sat right next to me.

So the responding officer is giving his testimony in a courthouse that's completely silent.

"He was lying in a pool of blood from his head wound..."

Buzz...

"...corroborating witnessses?"

Buzz...

The warden escorting the inmates looks at me, annoyed.

Thankfully, it stops. Then there's that little chime that I forgot to silence. That's audible.

Five minutes later, I'm back into my groove, and the officer is talking about how none of the witnesses would come forward, save for one out-of-towner.

Buzz...

"Did she give a physical description of the assailant?"

Buzz... Then a litle while later, the chime. Now the judge flicks his eyes in my direction. My concentration is lost, I'm so embarrassed.

By now, I'm getting worried. People know not to call me during the work day unless it's an emergency. But I can tell the testimony is wrapping up, so I hold onto it for a little while. As soon as it's over, I step outside and listen to my voicemail.

"Hi honey! Call me back - there's a big ice storm headed your way!"

The next message says much the same thing, with the added remonstration that I stay off of the roads. I sighed, tucked my phone back into my coat pocket, and vowed never to bring it into the courtroom again. Since Mom's call wasn't urgent in my point of view, I stopped by the clerk to pick up a copy of the traffic and criminal call that I missed while in preliminary hearings. While I was thanking the clerk, I felt the buzz of the phone in my pocket. As soon as I was out the courthouse door, I answered.

"Hi, Mom. What's up?"

"Sweetie! Did you know there's an ice storm headed your way?"

"Yes, Mom. I'm just a reporter who wrote up that particular story at 6 a.m. this morning, and was taking pictures of people rolling new generators out to their cars. I'm only keeping a list of all cancellations in a document on my computer, and will be staying late through the first icing tonight to get the Tuesday and Wednesday papers as done as possible in case no one else can get there."

"But what are you going to do? You know, to prepare."

Sigh.

"I was thinking of buying an extra 24-pack of Diet Coke on my way home. Maybe some peanut butter."

"Be serious!"

"I am!" (I was - it's in my fridge now)

"Well, they say it's going to be catastrophic!"

"Mom, I'm a reporter. That's what we say."

"It was NOAA that said it! They said the power could be out for weeks!"

"So? Not like I can exactly outrun it. You and I got through worse." While those adventures, especially the three days trapped on a mountain with an inch and a half of ice on the ground, have just kind of made me a bit flippant about winter weather, evidently it left some deeper marks on Mom.

I reassured her that I wouldn't be driving far tomorrow. I may not at all - work is about a half-mile away, and though that will be a miserable walk on the ice tomorrow morning, it's preferable to gliding straight into someone's house. As I hung up, the warden exited the courthouse with the three inmates in tow.

"Emergency?" he asked.

"Kind of," I replied. "Apparently, there's a bad ice storm coming." He started laughing.

Fic - Confuse

2011-01-30T00:32:13Z

"Confuse"
Fandom: Harry Potter
Characters: Hermione Granger, Draco Malfoy
A/N: Sort of a ficlet, set after the Battle of Hogwarts. Hermione gets her wand back.

Hermione sees him approach out of the corner of her eye, as hesitantly as a boy at his first school dance, his white-blond head bowed, but his hands wandless, unthreatening.

“I think this belongs to you,” Draco says without preamble, reaching into his pocket, pulling out her wand, abandoned so long ago in the manor. “One of the Snatchers had it. I didn’t feature Potter or Weasley for it, so…”

He presents it to her like her father taught her to present sugar cubes and carrots to horses, unthreatening, still, palms flat to keep her from misinterpreting a gesture and harming him instead.

She‘s surprised at the hunger that roars up inside her at the sight of her wand. He holds it out, and their hands brush warmly as she grips the familiar vine wood, and she sighs in satisfaction as she reconnects with this bit of herself. There is a pleasure in it akin to taking off a leg cast, or that first moment when one lies down after an endless day. It's intimate - he must know the longing for his own wand - and yet he never once looks away from her reaction.

She feels his eyes on her as she lifts it up in an arc, letting blue sparks shoot from its tip to light up the air about them. Then, the oddity of this strikes her, and she looks up at him, though he’s dropped his gaze down to his feet.

“Thank you,” she says, feeling the words were inadequate for her surge of feeling. “Thank you. I didn’t think I’d see it again.”

He sort of shrugs, then nods, and turns on his heel, starting to move away, and she gets the feeling that he’d wanted to say more, but lost his nerve.

“Draco!” she calls, realizing that she’s calling him that for the first time. He turns immediately, looking back at her with an unfathomable expression. He looks at her squarely, clear grey eyes measuring every inch.

“Can I ask…” she begins, and he nods. “We escaped from your home, and you found my wand. You brought it back to Hogwarts where you probably didn't think you were going to see us, and had your own replacement wand…and yet you were still carrying my wand…to give back to me?”

Clearly, it’s not the question he’d hoped to hear, and he dips his chin, doesn’t meet her eyes again.

“You confuse me,” she says, and it’s the truth.

He looks up at that, nettled.

“Granger, you’ve never done anything but confuse me in all the time I’ve ever known you.”

She tries to think of something to say to this, but he’s already speeding back down the corridor, leaving her motionless and stunned in the dim, staring after him as he carries the light away in his hair.

"Lumos," she mutters to her wand, thrilling to see the light blossom from its tip, and follows after.

Books I Read in September

2011-01-29T20:33:51Z

Because I might as well attempt to catch up...the books aren't any less good or bad because of my tardiness.

September

1. Gypsies: Wanderers of the World by Bart McDowell - A National Geographic book, and an extremely well-done one. McDowell travels with a friend of his, a professor who descends from the Romany and knows much about their history and culture. (I can't remember the professor's name!) In any case, they travel throughout Europe catching up with gypsy bands and talking with them about their experiences with locals (both strife and friendship). You see the gypsies both through the outsider's eyes and through the professor's eyes, as he manages to find similarities among other gypsies as far away as India. Also, it's National Geographic, so the photography is exceptional.

2. Like Water for Chocolate by Laura Esquivel - There's not a lot I can say that hasn't been said in much better prose that I can muster. Read it, if you haven't.

3. The Gilded Chamber by Rebecca Kohn - Hm. An interesting retelling of Queen Esther's life, focusing greatly on her entry into the harem of King Xerxes. It spares no lush detail, but is thankfully not light on character development, and does a good job of showing characters that flit between good and evil acts.

4. Geisha, A Life by Mineko Iwasaki - The account of the life upon which Arthur Golden drew some source material for "Memoirs of a Geisha." It's an amazing story, especially when you consider the sheltered life Iwasaki came from, and then thrust into the spotlight. Years later, aware of her own naivete, and clued into the power struggles around her, Iwasaki tells of a glamorous life, but not a charmed one. She had to sweat for every cent she earned, and learn to negotiate the power struggles within her okiya. A pretty good read.

5. The Red Queen by Philippa Gregory - Philippa Gregory, why couldn't I quit you? I suppose it's because I hadn't read this book so far. Gregory had previously done an excellent job of world-building - the historical personages she used were actually interacting - not just watching the greats of the age maneuver. For this, I managed to swallow back my extreme irritation at the madonna-whore classifications of all women in her books. Now, it's like she's not putting any effort into it anymore. She's simply narrating history back as it arrives in letters and communications to her women characters. Boring.

6. Fifth Avenue, 5 a.m. - Audrey Hepburn, Breakfast at Tiffany’s, and the Dawn of the Modern Woman by Sam Wasson - What is a kook? According to this, it's the word that movie producers use when the want to tell the story of a single woman having sex with different men, but need to sell it to the conservative censors. It's an interesting look at the times, the people, and the making of the movie. It also really made me go out and reread the Capote story again.

7. Twinkie, Deconstructed by Steve Ettlinger - An excellent, exhaustive, eye-opening look at all the little ingredients that we consume every day in processed food - where it comes from, how it's made, and why it's used to make a Twinkie. Actually, when you consider all that work, it's amazing we have processed food at all.

8. Autobiography of a Geisha by Sayo Masuda - Ever read "The Color Purple"? Then read this book. This will crush your heart and make it new again. Iwasaki's autobiography was the story of a successful geisha. Masuda's is the tale of a more typical geisha - one who struggles with backbreaking poverty, learns to deal with prostitution, who fights for survival at the tender age of six. Every time you think that it can't possibly get worse - it manages to. And yet, Masuda's spirit rises back up to fight for survival, to become a storyteller in very stark, matter-of-fact detail. Excellent.

9. Juliet by Anne Fortier - A silly little read - bounces back and forth between trying to be a romance and a lighter version of "The Da Vinci Code." It ends up coming off like a teen romance novel instead of the Shakespearean mystery that it aims at. The attempts at historical recreation of the city and the characters of Shakespeare's play are actually not bad - but when it returns to present-day (where most of the book is spent), it fizzles. Things aren't helped by "Julie" Jacobs' pursuit of a local Romeo - their "forbidden-but-destined-romance" reads unnervingly like Twilight. The one bright spot is Julie's twin Janice, who kind of acts like that person you wish was in Twilight telling Bella what an idiot she is and trying to kick her in the right direction.

Reaction to Comic #40

2011-01-28T23:09:24Z

In absolute seriousness, when I clicked onto LJ during my lunch break on Jan. 19 and saw all the posts, my reaction was "Oh, yeah, I forgot. That's out today."

Which, for me, is telling. I hadn't thought about the comic aside from someone's brief mention of it the week before. Season Eight goes out with a whimper, rather than a bang.

Partly it's because I've been rediscovering an old fandom and completely changed ships - oddly enough, some of the dynamics of this new one remind me greatly of Spike/Buffy, except for the fact that these two characters never once got together in canon. (I think I'm forever fated to love doomed or nonexistent 'ships - see my bitterness at Janeway/Chakotay, years later) I think it's also because I needed a break from Buffy. (Also - new ship has given me tons of ideas! It's energizing - I felt in a bit of a rut with the Buffy fandom for the last few months.)

In some ways, the comic has reminded me of Nip/Tuck in its latter days - same old plots rehashed over and over, plots getting wackier and head-scratching in their attempts to be edgy, characters never growing beyond a certain point, characters eternally self-righteous about their horrible decisions, motivations becoming downright laughable once explained, etc. And when they couldn't figure out what to do with poor Kimber, who had been pretty outside of the plot that final season, they killed her, somewhat like Giles, who has been around but extraneous to the plot, who suddenly kicks the bucket. Nip/Tuck ended with a whimper. In part, this was because the theme of "people don't ever change - exteriors do." It made these characters so toxic to one another that the only option was for Sean to pack up and jet away, putting half the world between Christian and himself.

This is what I think is happening to these comic characters. A lot of crazy s**t gets thrown at them, and instead of growing and changing as a result, they've reverted back to their old ways, or worse. No one seems quite able to analyze and admit the truth to themselves, and they're all kind of aimless at the moment, except for the few who have managed lives and purpose outside of the army. Guess it helps to be well-rounded.

The problem with comparing Buffy comics to Nip/Tuck is that while Nip/Tuck does the wacky with aplomb and grounds its crazy patients and plotlines within a theme or in a way of bringing its characters back from any potential development...the Buffy comics have done crazy just because they could. I'm beginning to think these characters have become so toxic to one another that the only option might be for them to keep a firm distance from one another.

What's sad to me is that at the end of Chosen, there was a sense of closure to some storylines, a sense of anticipation for the future ahead. Now, at the end of Season Eight Comic-Style, the biggest reaction I can muster is a "Whatever."

IT'S IN!

2011-01-12T02:36:10Z

Now all I have to do is wait two months.

(crosses fingers and toes and vows to get back into fandom for a little while)

(Sigh)

2010-12-10T22:41:11Z

Bella the kitten had to be put to sleep earlier this week. The neurological damage went from her walking in circles to a paralysis of everything below her front two paws, then trouble breathing. At the very least, in her last weeks of life, Bella had a full belly and was warm. Mom's neighbor-friends went with her to the clinic for support.

The good thing, though, is that Mom is now getting into animal rescue with her friends, and they're actively trying to trap a few ferals/runaways in the area, in order to get them out of winter's way.

A Kitten named Bella

2010-12-04T05:17:16Z

Also, it's snowing!

When I came home for Thanksgiving, my Mom, who is now great friends with a neighbor who does cat rescue, asked me to go down and get a cat crate from the neighbor. Apparently, she'd been seeing a feral black-and-white kitten hanging around the house, and was hoping to catch it, spay or neuter it, and release it. (ferals are just about impossible to domesticate, at least from everything I've heard)

We placed some cat food outside, hoping to lure it in to a little plastic Igloo and trap it. Didn't see hide or hair of the cat for days.

The Sunday after Thanksgiving, Mom spotted it in the Igloo and trapped it, though it just about took her face off in the process. The only reason she'd been able to catch it was because it was woozy, staggering around. At first, we thought it was from the cold, later, we began thinking rabies or distemper. Either one would mean the kitten would have to be euthanized right away.

Mom took the kitten to the vet, who diagnosed it not as disease, but as neurological damage. Also, because animals need a name to be treated, he named her "Bella." I'm not sure if this was the vet's comment on Bella Swan's character, or if the veterinary hospital is just falling prey to the Twilight-craze and naming all feral cats Bella, all stray dogs Jacob, and all fangless snakes Edward.

In any case, Bella (who is, admittedly, beautiful, splotched with black and white) is still staggering around the kennel, hissing at Mom whenever she gets near, but eating ravenously and filling out a bit. The vet told Mom to bring Bella back this month, and they'd evaluate her from there, whether she was improving, or whether the damage will just get worse. If she gets better, though, Mom's friend is giving her a waiver so that Bella can be spayed. (No Renesmees for this Bella)

Books I Read in August

2010-11-10T04:26:55Z

August

1. Sex With Kings: 500 years of adultery, power, rivalry, and revenge by Eleanor Herman - This was a fun read, the companion book to "Sex with Queens" that I read in July. While I loved the last book for its ability to highlight the disparity in power of royal couples and the awful price that the queens would have to pay, this book highlights the kings' adventures with their mistresses. While a fun/sad/bawdy romp through history, both books are Eurocentric and focus only on the span of time roughly after the Renaissance and before WWII. While I suppose it gave the author some focus for her research, I wouldn't have minded a retelling of Manuela Saenz's adventures, or any others.

2. Nanny Returns by Emma McLaughlin and Nicola Kraus - Unfocused and unfunny. The authors tried to revive the success of their last novel, only succeeding in confusing me with the amount of names thrown at me and the number of different storylines going on. The authors tried to make it as contemporary as possible, and only succeeded in stringing a plot together with references to modern technology.

3. Captive Princess: Zebunissa, Daughter of Emperor Aurangzeb by Annie Krynicki - A good biography, if a little dense. The problem with writing a biography for Zebunissa is that her story must be told through her father's. The only way we get to the actual character of Zebunissa (besides speculating on why she kept in contact with her brother when he was at war with their father) is through her pages and pages of poetry. Sad and moving.

4. The Queen’s Governess by Karen Harper - While it doesn't go on my favorites list for Tudor biographies, it's not an automatic loss. The governess - Kat Ashley - actually has a life beyond watching Tudor history go on around her. While it's a little too on the nose as a comparison for her charge later in life, her life as a spy for Cromwell is enjoyable, as is her later marriage and its ups and downs - it feels a little more like a real marriage than all those maids-in-waiting for Anne Boleyn who managed to find the one guy at court who wasn't like every other guy and let his wife have an equal share in their marriage.

5. The Weed that Strings the Hangman’s Bag by Alan Bradley - I was on the waiting list for this book for four months, and it didn't disappoint. The adventures of that saucy Flavia de Luce in her mad little town practically spring from the pages. I love the way Bradley uses imagery, particularly in the murder scene, right after the puppet show. Flavia's world is like some intricate, mechanized diorama that Bradley is slowly pulling the cover off of with every book, showing us more detail and more depth.

6. The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks by Rebecca Skloot - A very interesting exploration of bioethics - what rights do you have over parts of you that are no longer part of your body? What if those parts led to research that helped millions of people, had a hand in thousands of important scientific developments in nearly every discipline? Her relatives and descendants' indignation at being tested years later under false pretenses and being kept in the dark about the achievements that scientists had reached through Lacks' cells radiates from the page.

7. Julius Caesar by Philip Freeman - Loved it. It didn't just go into the character of Caesar, it showed why he was regarded as such a genius, and still is - the ability to think outside the box, to lead soldiers to do the opposite of their inclination and chivvy them to build walls and works that became key to the battle. (One thing this book really does well is explain the Gaulish Wars well, giving each of the tribes involved a separate history and distinguishing them from the others. The power struggles in Gaul were just as fierce as those in the Roman Empire.)

Books I Read in July

2010-11-03T20:53:31Z

Trying to keep the ball rolling here and to get myself caught up...

July

1. The Secret History of the Mongol Queens by Jack Weatherford - Read, read, read! Truly, this was an awesome narrative about a group of women that don't get a great deal of press, historically. And the final chapters about the epic life of Queen Manduhai the Wise? How is this historical figure not swimming in historical novels? Married as a very young teen to a Mongol king, she bears two daughters and succeeds to lead the Mongols when her husband dies. She then rescues Batmonkh, who has a story of his own, and adopts him at the age of five or so, placing him in hiding, then bringing him into her own yurt when his caretakers prove incompetent. She goes to war against the Western Mongols, defeats them, then marries the young Batmonkh (who she's raised as a child) and rules with him jointly over a great deal of Asia. The two of them were the reason the Ming Empire decided it would be a very good idea to speed up construction of the Great Wall as soon as humanly possible. Awesome and epic book.

2. North By Northwestern: A Seafaring Family on Deadly Alaskan Waters by Captain Sig Hansen and Mark Sundeen - Very good, though obviously you're going to probably enjoy it more if you're already a fan of Sig's on Deadliest Catch. I do like the exploration of his knockabout childhood in the ethnic Norwegian neighborhoods in Seattle, and in how his family learned to adjust with the times. Well done, Cap'n.

3. Chasing the White Dog: An Amateur Outlaw's Adventures in Moonshine by Ray Watman - An interesting exploration of the moonshining business. The author seems to refuse to look at this in any other way but romanticizing the stills hidden in the woods and decrying the sentences given to those caught, but kind of casually brushes past some of the creepy urban stills which are, quite literally, poisonous, violent, and thought to be the cause behind a lot of unexplained urban deaths...still a good read.

4. My Lady Suffolk: A Portrait of Catherine Willoughby, Duchess of Suffolk, by Evelyn Reed - Reed has a problem with making the subjects of her biographies fairly boring, but Willoughby's life was fairly epic, and it remains to be seen (to me, at least) why she isn't the star of several Tudor-era historical novels (The Sixth Wife being the obvious exception). Meh.

5. Kilroy Was Here: The Best American Humor from WWII, edited by Charles Osgood - A moving little book about the bits of life that keep us going in the toughest of times - plus, some of those songs are just dirty and hysterical.

6. Marie Therese: Child of Terror, by Susan Nagel - Well-done exploration of Marie Therese's life, one that gives her a human personality beyond the spoiled brat or terrified child of other biographies and novels. Best part? It doesn't stop with her getting free from prison - because there's life after that.

7. The Importance of Being Kennedy by Laurel Graham - I liked her take on the British royalty in "Gone With the Windsors," but this book just felt a little tired to me. Not bad, just not what I'd call her best work.

8. Narrative of the Life of Frederick Douglass, an American Slave by Frederick Douglass - I'd only read passages from it before, but this autobiography is brutal, in this man retelling his life and his continual efforts to be treated as more than a thing. I did like the forward in the beginning, from Malcolm X, I believe, who wrote in that though Douglass would likely always be remembered for this and for anti-slavery efforts, his efforts in increasing literacy and speaking out for the rights of women.

9. The Sari Shop by Rupi Bajwa - I liked it a lot, though the novel ended on a melancholy note. It's about a man who grew up in a loving family that valued learning, until his parents died and he was sent to live with relatives who stole his inheritance and kicked him out after he finished school. He makes friends with the men who live in the sari shop he works at, including one who continually complains about his wife. We learn about the wife's hideous life with her husband, eventually learning to drink her problems away. As the young man decides that he's going to better himself by learning everything he possibly can, learning languages and furthering his knowledge of the world, that search for knowledge brings him to the point where he finds his coworker's wife's suffering - and can't ignore it. Good story.

Books I Read in June

2010-11-02T22:04:43Z

June

1. The Trojan War: A New History by Barry Strauss - I don't think it was a bad history, it just wasn't a terribly memorable book.

2. Dead in the Family by Charlaine Harris - Rather a disappointment. The strength of some of Harris's earlier Stackhouse novels was in how tightly plotted they were. This was a boring mishmash of different plotlines that were mostly pointless. You know when Glee episodes focus on a theme and you realize that characters are doing things they normally wouldn't for the sake of playing up to that theme? The theme of this book is "Family." It's hammered into your head, over and over, from every possible angle. Why would the werewolves choose Sookie of all people to perform another rite to find a betrayer? Maybe it's a bridging novel, but I know I won't be rushing to get the next novel, especially not in hardcover.

3. Roses by Leila Meacham - See here before you read.

4. The Dark Lantern by Gerri Brightwell - A fun little mystery from the viewpoint of a chambermaid in a bizarre house - kind of one of those foggy, murky Victorian mysteries where no one in the big house is exactly who they say they are. It's also a novel that highlights anthropometry - the dubious use of body measurements to identify criminals - by the head of the household, who literally carries a dark lantern, with the light focused only in one direction. Just as he is oblivious to the criticism of anthropometry in favor of fingerprinting, he's oblivious to the turmoil in his household.

5. Suffer and Be Still: Women in the Victorian Age, edited by Martha Vicinus - An excellent collection of essays on the life of women in the Victorian Age, from the ideal that women were supposed to live up to, the harsh realities that many dealt with, and especially in their education. Some had me laughing out loud, they were so bitingly cutting in their criticisms of the time, others will make you weep.

6. Augustus: The Life of Rome’s First Emperor by Anthony Everitt - I liked this biography - Everitt didn't go out of his way to demonize any particular figure, nor did he shy from their heinous acts. A very good exploration of the man who "left Rome in marble," or however his quote goes.

7. Girl in Hyacinth Blue by Susan Vreeland - I loved this book - a series of vignettes, tracing the ownership of a beautiful painting and its role in the lives of the people it touches, bringing turmoil and heartache, and sometimes solving it.

8. The Amish of Illinois’ Heartland by Rebecca Mabry - These folks don't live very far from me at all. I figured I'd better brush up on local customs before I drove that way. A wonderful exploration of the Amish culture, especially in the wake of the horrible shootings in Pennsylvania, and the way in which it affected the way some Amish look at the English.

9. Sex With the Queen by Eleanor Herman - Both a fun and sad book, looking at how women were either punished for having sex or not having it, along with a lengthy exploration of some historical figures more famous for their scandal than anything else.

10. The Secret Memoirs of Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis by Ruth Francisco - Yikes. The author's reimagining of this woman's life doesn't leave anyone untouched, except perhaps her children. Everyone has some evil agenda in relation to Jacqueline, or at least that's how the author imagines it. Avoid.

11. The Sixth Wife by Suzannah Dunn - Blech. I liked her last one, but Dunn doesn't do a particularly good job of explaining why historical figures would suddenly choose to do the opposite of what they were known for. The quote that infuriated me, however, was in the author's interview at the end of the book, when she calls Thomas Seymour "a silly man" but not a criminal. What? Did this lady blithely skip over the parts where Seymour tried to kidnap the young king, blackmailed someone into financing a possible revolution, placing himself within reach of the crown (or control of the crown), openly asked people for support in his coup, juggled the wardship of the Lady Jane Grey for political gain, and possibly tried to romance the preteen Elizabeth to control her? If this is silly, then I don't know what she classifies as dangerous.