All I Really Wanted

Without getting into the 800 reasons I did and did not want to become a nurse, I have to stop here and say that the steep climb to the top is delightful and deceitful, causing me to have daily bouts with my ambitious yet artfully deluded mind. The conversation I have with myself always includes the sickly desperate words “I can’t do this.” But the other day found myself spiraling, clinging to the shredded bits of whatever plan I had had in mind when starting this misguided tour of real life. And with an exaggerated sigh I proclaimed in exhaustion:

“All I wanted was to look cute in scrubs.”

Never did I imagine these would be the glory days…far from it. I both expect and slyly hope for torture. In fact, when the professors go light on us, I silently scoff and question their overall commitment to this thing called education.

But, more often than rare do they set those hoops ablaze. Most days it’s a tedious task just getting by, always reminding yourself that you’re one clumsy step away from making a sad faceprint on the exit door.

The first six weeks of nursing school were painfully exam-centric. All those obscure multiple choice questions will have you choked with double-guessing, over-analyzing panic. This might be intentional, because it’s a great way to forget that in the very near future, you’ll be face-to-face with a real, live patient. And those don’t have answer choices A through E scrawled across their bellies.

Remembering this fun fact always brings me to the aforementioned moment of blind panic. But it does something else, too. It makes me push through it. Because there’s no way around it, you have to know it. And, more importantly, you have to believe you know it.

All the back and forth, the doubt, is the change. The parts of you that couldn’t do it will be stripped away. A day will come when my “I can’t do this” will sound more like “you got this?” And I will just faintly acknowledge the obsolete question as I walk on by, looking very cute in my scrubs.

Hallowed Adaptation or Deathly Disaster?

Like part one of the epic finale, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, I am torn. Did I love it? Yes. Did I have some objections? Yes. Do I wish they had just done one big needs-an-intermission movie? Maybe.

My Drug of Choice

Of course I loved it; it is full on Potter porn. It is impossible to resist and feels exquisite to watch. I found it to be visually stunning. Ron’s nightmare erupting like hell on doomsday from the locket was more than I had imagined it could be; it was perfect. I felt the action did not overpower, but was not rushed. And I felt that, finally, Daniel Radcliffe seemed to be able to hold character stunt for stunt. And the villains encroached with increasing strength as the movie progressed, and yet never overpowered our heroic trio.

Delays and Cancellations

However, some of the cuts made in the adapted script didn’t make sense. Forget understanding this movie if you’ve never read the books. There is an attempt to trim parts of the plot and seam the essential together. The result felt rigged to me, like it wouldn’t hold up if I did not possess a perfunctory knowledge of Harry’s world.

My biggest qualms are those that alter the overall theme. I understand plot simplification, but there must be a way to preserve the overall meaning. In my opinion, not enough attention was paid to Dumbledore, and Harry’s anger with him. Failing faith is the overriding theme throughout the first half of the seventh book; I felt this was squandered in favor of exemplifying the drama between Harry, Ron, and Hermione. They also altered the way Hedwig died, and Dobby’s final moment before death. These should have been preserved for the fans and for Harry.

Anticlimax

Splitting the movie in two made the first feel like a really really long trailer for the second. What conflicts were resolved in this film? Only one horcrux was found and destroyed. The deathly hallows were uncovered, but are still a complete mystery. Harry’s visions of Voldemort searching for…what? Unexplained. Gryffindor’s sword came from where? Or who? And why did the goblin (in the Malfoy Manor scene near the end) lie about its genuine quality? Why would Bellatrix think it might be fake? They cut that entire plot line out of the story, so they’re left with lose ends… and irritated fans.

In the book, the very next chapter after Dobby’s funeral is a collective “ah-ha!” moment for the three. They are able to dissect calmly what they learned from Mr. Lovegood, and what happened at the Malfoy house. They also have the chance to speak to Griphook, Ollivander, Luna, and Dean (who was left out of the film) to find out why they were imprisoned and what they know. Most importantly, Harry begins to sift through his visions and find clues. He is also able to let himself forgive Dumbledore, trusting him finally. This is a big payoff for all the chapters that contained few answers. But to end a movie on that note would have been a drag. So movie-goers will have to wait until next July for some resolution.

I insist there must be a way to tighten, shorten, and sharpen the book into a clean, well-oiled script without botching it into fragmented pieces of a great story.

I am left with the feeling that I cannot make up my mind until I see the final film. Because, again, they’re really one film that has been severed at a convenient stopping point.

I am currently rereading The Goblet of Fire, because I have only read it once back in 2005; I need a refresher on Tom Riddle.

New countdown! 8 months until Part Two! Merlin’s pants!!!

On Hallowed Ground: More Potter Pics!

Running Towards Death

 

Stoked!

 

Something to Remember

 

Clues

 

"The Ministry has fallen.... They are coming."

 

Infiltrating the Mighty Ministry

 

The Burrow

 

Loyal Servant

 

Passing On the Elder Wand

 

Not Exactly Summer Camp

 

Mr. Lovegood Loses It

 

Dobby: A Free Elf

 

Had to include this. So FUN! Voldemort has a nose. And Bella looks nearly sane.

 

With Harry to the Very End.

 

“Mudblood and Proud!”

After watching the Deathly Hallows premiere live in New York on Monday, I am officially counting the hours (45!) ’til I can pack myself in amongst gaggles of loyal muggle fans for the beginning of the end. I have a feeling I will not be the only twenty-something elbowing children in the face for a better seat.

I’ve been a fan for more than ten years now, so it is safe to say that this is the culmination of a part of my being. As fantastical and imaginative a book can be, Harry Potter has meant more to me than any other piece of fiction I’ve ever encountered.It changed me, as it has so many others, for the better.

Of course it is happening inside your head, Harry, but why on earth should that mean that it is not real? – Albus Dumbledore

I must confess myself disappointed, though. Not about the film, of course, for that I am more giddy than Hermione before taking her O.W.L.s. But why such a weak star turnout on the American side?

London Premiere

The World Premiere in London on November 11 boasted Brits Maggie Smith (Professor McGonagall), Robbie Coltrane (Hagrid), Mark Williams (Mr. Arthur Weasley), Julie Walters (Mrs. Molly Weasley), Katie Leung (Cho Chang), Evanna Lynch (Luna Lovegood), Matthew Lewis (Neville Longbottom), James and Oliver Phelps (Fred and George Weasley), and Bonnie Wright (Ginny Weasley). Not to mention the lovely Helena Bonham Carter (Bellatrix Lestrange), the spine-tingling Alan Rickman (Professor Snape), and, a personal hero of mine, J.K. Rowling herself.

It is as I have suspected all along: I should have been born British.

The New York Red Carpet

The New York Premiere was streamed live at eonline.com and consisted largely of three adult men I had never seen before rambling on about how phenomenal the Harry Potter books, films, actors, directors, theme park, merchandise, gossip, and fans all are. Principle characters Harry, Ron, and Hermione were all in attendance. As well as the rather dashing Tom Felton (Draco Malfoy). Ralph Fiennes was most impressive; always surprising Potter fans, who know him only as Voldy, with his dashing stature. I anxiously awaited more familiar faces from the halls of Hogwarts. But, alas, the Atlantic proved too gaping for broomsticks, thestrals, and flying motorbikes to cross.

There seemed to be a  heavy focus on the American stars moseying down the red carpet. I am rather indifferent toward celebrity culture unless it pertains to something interesting. Sarah Jessica Parker, Keri Russell, and Melissa Joan Heart were not doing it for me. I would rather they interviewed the fans, who waited hours in the cold to be part of the impending magic as I would have.

I have to note that Daniel Radcliffe, Rupert Grint, and Emma Watson seem to be the most likable movie stars on planet Earth. All three are kind, respectful, humble, and rather quick-witted. I have admired Daniel on a personal level ever since he began working with the Trevor Project in earlier this year. He seems, as producer David Heyman said of him when he was only nine, to have an old soul. It has been impored so often before me, but I don’t think the films would have been half as good if anyone but those three took the leads.

Adaptation

Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows was my favorite of the seven volumes; and it looks like they’ve made a more strict adaptation compared to previous films (Goblet of Fire being the worst). The darkness, death and doom are all anyone could allude to on the red carpet. I, for one, am ready. With Harry until the end!!!

Soundtrack

Was listening to the soundtrack and have mapped out the gist of the film using the track titles. It looks like Part One will conclude with Dobby’s funeral. Talk about departing on a sad note! To listen to the score for yourself, follow this link.

Pictures!

Now for some pictures that made my wand shoot sparks!

Seven Harry Potters

MAGIC is MIGHT (I spy Umbridge!)

Moving Into the Way

This is going to be about everything. As big as life, whatever it entails. Having no expectations, my only hope is to resonate somewhere. To be alive, an ethereal presence, somewhere in the flood. After a quarter of a century of being left out, under foot, and self-secluded, I am finally moving into the way.

MEET ME IN THE MIDDLE

I am, admittedly, uninteresting. Being the middle of three children teaches several valuable lessons that become the bones of your existence. All of those, frankly, are subcategories to one ominous heading: Stay Out Of The Way. Be anonymous. Go along to get along. Apparently, being sandwiched between two big personalities meant not having one of my own.

At the age of eighteen I could have been anyone, and was altogether no one. I had the capacity to survive without much help and parents that were grateful for it. It wasn’t that I did not know what to do with my life, for no one knows that… I did not know how to be a person, an entity, a collection of thoughts to which one adds and subtracts throughout life. I could always feel bits of me seeping, bleeding, blending with those around me.

I could always feel bits of me seeping, bleeding, blending with those around me.

AND MY BODY, IT LEAKS LIKE A SIEVE

I spent so much time blindly raking it back to random centers of my worthless choosing. I have been a party girl. A workaholic. A journalism major. An English literature major. I’ve been the token funny girl and the sarcastic bitch. I still exude an iciness that exclaims silently: Leave me be.

It would be easy to say that all of this was me. That I am this hybrid wonder that can encompass so many traits and life-themes. But that would be yet another misrepresentation. What I was really doing was seeking temporary containers to hold my liquid self. I would pour myself into niche after niche, only staying long enough to loathe the container that kept me.

I would pour myself into niche after niche, only staying long enough to loathe the container that kept me.

I wish I could conclude graciously that I found a way out of the dirty, half-empty glasses. But, alas, I still find myself occupying spaces that are not my own. I have, however, found bearings as a result of a few keen choices in recent years. I may not yet know who I am, but I know who I am not. I know now not to do that which satisfies only for the briefest moment. The most ardent trial is defending myself when there is no fence around the fortress, no title above the gates. But while I may be without sufficient definition, I do possess a late-found, innate direction.

TALK STORY

This direction cannot come from any container. It cannot be named in even the most coveted monikers. It comes in the realization that there can be direction without definition. There can be a purpose to the journey, even if there is no destination. That is my bearing, for now. It is that which I hold most dear. It is the tide in that which seeps through the sieve. As I move forward, the commonalities within me swirl in ribbons, and I begin to see that there is a fluid movement in me. Those smart choices I have come upon and made, they were a result of the current.

The more I realize, the more I know I have stolen from myself by remaining unseen. I want to make each day about having a voice, becoming a presence, and creating change. As a writer, I find my own experiences are the compost that nourish my fictional endeavors. Being brave, using my own two hands and only voice are essential tools in becoming.

Thank you so much for reading. I look forward to interacting with each and every one of you. xoxo