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03 September 2004 @ 09:15 pm
I was going to kill you, but then you put the kettle on...  

Finally realised what I am doing here, to wit, MSTing the Philosopher’s Stone.

And the world is so relieved to hear that.


Is that not, like, a paradox? Or *something*?

We rescind our view on Arsonist! Harry and grant his esteemed title to Dudley. Note: foreshadowing for OotP, when he becomes a boxer, and (thinking) an Olympic medallist?

Enough with sticking Mrs Figg in our faces already.

We get our first view of fandom’s favourite Evanescence! Harry as he wanders around the environs of Privet Drive musing on his future and probably thinking: ‘I wants a Lego house, too! I does, precious!’

It becomes clear that Stonewall High is a bastion of higher learning.

We wonder if Mrs Figg’s chocolate cake was from VV day (Victory over Voldemort). It’s quite possible.

Third nomination for favourite quote: ‘They also carried knobbly sticks, used for hitting each other while the teachers weren’t looking. This was supposed to be good training for later life.’ Why do you sound so doubtful, JK?

Vernon looks at Dudley’s knickerbockers and can hardly speak. Petunia cries. For a moment we think they may be showing a shred of sartorial savvy…but this, sadly, proves not the case.

PETUNIA: ‘I am so clever! Dressing my nephew in non-regulation rags! Dumbledore will ensure Social Services never get me, the daft old bat!’

HARRY: ‘Wet uniform. I am so WITTEH.’

Don’t be giving elephant poachers ideas, Harry! We’ve only just weaned them off ivory hunting! Next thing you know all the little HarryPotterpsychofans - I mean kids - will want ‘elephant-skin-scrap’ duds.

I’ve never seen a bird with a bill like a brown envelope, have you? Perhaps the envelope *contained* a bill, hmm? Pedant is my name, snarking is my game…

I dissected a heart once. It didn’t look much like anything I’ve ever seen before, including a giant elastic band. Apologies and woe, JK.

In a completely irrelevant aside, I haven’t been to the library since (checks slips on library books) 13 September 2003. Haven’t got a rude letter yet. Probably afraid I’ll sue.

If Vernon’s face is like a traffic light, what does ‘greyish white of old porridge’ signal? Thinking…Drive at Will, Chaos OK, Slam Slam Drive…

Fourth nomination: ‘Dudley wasn’t used to being ignored. He gave his father a sharp tap on the head with his Smeltings stick’. Honestly, why don’t more people love Dudley? He’s ME, with a stick! (Okay, nevermind.)

Harry informs us he wants to read the letter. Well, of course you can’t read it yet, you emerald-eyed raven-haired little twit, otherwise there’d be no chapter, would there?

Capslock! Harry makes his debut. (He’s my favourite so far.)

Harry can’t seem to grasp basic language skills, it seems. Sorry, Harry, but a letter cannot have a cupboard on it. Not if it wanted to fit through the letterbox, at any rate.

Dudley running over dogs. Cat-lovers of the world unite! Rally to the banner of Dudley Dursley and his toy tanks!

Why did I not realise my Dudley-love before?!? Sixth nomination: ‘He’d screamed, whacked his father with his Smeltings stick, been sick on purpose, kicked his mother and thrown his tortoise through the greenhouse roof and he still didn’t have his room back’. Wow. He is, like, my IDOL. After Dr Cox, o’course. As for this particular scenario, well, you can’t gainsay the hero, can you? Even if he is supposed to be downtrodden and ‘umble (which he isn’t anyway, silly Gryffindors. Go Ravenclaw! Ahem).

Lord, d’you know, if someone kept sending me strange letters, and seemed to know my every movement, I’d be, well, SCARED. I wouldn’t want them to ‘try again’, I’d be dialling 911 faster than you could say ‘stalker’. But hey, this is Harry Potter, (not) famed for his coherent thinking and wariness of danger! What can you say?

Harry steps on Vernon’s face! Nice, nice image.

Why is Vernon ridiculed for hammering in nails with cake? Hell, I do it ALL THE TIME. Crazy, who, VERNON? Surely you jest…

Mind you, he’s the only one who grasps the gravity of the stalker situation, despite the fact that he knows a song called ‘Tiptoe through the Tulips’. (Are they sleeping or something? I want to know.)

I always thought the letters-in-eggs was…strange. Not to mention physically impossible. Another trick of JK’s - while we puzzle over this conundrum, we read on, and are slowly, but surely, sucked in…

We gack at the idea of TOMATOES on TOAST. WTF?

Vernon blows his cover as a member of Witness Protection in front of the hotel owner.

We wonder if Harry got an embroidered coat hanger and agree that they are miserable excuses for presents, except when accompanied by significant quantities of brass HINT HINT.

We think Vernon should become the new Boy Scout Mascot. Forget Baden-Powell, Be Prepared takes on a whole new meaning with some crisps, bananas and a Kalashnikov.

Hm. Vernon has lived in England, presumably, all his life. His generation, like my parents’, probably used coal fires as electricity wasn’t invented (or something) back then. So, how would he not know crisp packets shrivel when you try to burn them?

Right. We remember he works for a drill company. They probably have his brain in a jar somewhere, for decoration in the slave pits…(/rambling).

Tugging at the heartstrings, much? Harry gets the thinnest, most ragged blanket. I agree this is unfair - my darling Dudley has far more adipose tissue to warm him up. Consider sharing, Harry? No, I didn’t think so.

We mentally consider informing the imaginary Harry that he’d better get used to bad sleeping patterns - he’ll have the odd Voldie dream or three in the books, while the fandom gifts him with everything from precognition to telekinesis through his nightmares. You lucky wizard, you. (Except in the gender-benders, when we’d have to say ‘witch’, natch.)

No, Harry, you would not be WARMER if the roof fell in. What you would be is DEAD.

And you’re a kleptomaniac on top of it? Strange how no one in fandom picked up on that little detail…hey, who wants to write a Shop-lifting!Harry fic? I bet the fangirls would just squee forever…

We read that Harry hears: huge rolls of thunder, creaking noises that suggest house-collapsing, the sea crashing, and a crunch as the rock tumbles into the sea.

We read nowhere that he displays a shred of fear.

The only thing we can say is ‘WhatatotalGryffindorwhere’sthisfamousSlytherinsidefanficauthorsalwaysrambleabout?HeshouldatleasthavestoldenDudley’swatchbynow.D’oh.Toostupidforfear.Urkle.’

Harry would wake up someone, just to ‘annoy them’, when in the very recent past he’s been running away from them in fear of their violent bullying? Huh? Where’s the continuum there, we demand?

Seventh nomination! ‘BOOM.’ It expresses so much and yet, so little. (Nothing explodes, we note.)

Harry, you stupid ho, you call that KNOCKING? Endless, endless facepalms.

Tune in next chapter for more ‘BOOM’ and ambiguity!

Neverending joy, that is my life. Spend half of ‘American Beauty’ trying to hold my glasses lense in place, because it had decided to UNSCREW itself and FALL OUT. Earlier today, my contact lense SPLIT in my eye, and I had none left to wear. From what I did see of it, though, it must have been one of the most embarrassing films to shoot - all that shit with the rose petals? Wtf? ‘American Beauty’, now the ‘Lovely Bones’ - wherever people go after they die, they are not noted for coming BACK for chummy chats to authors and scriptwriters, mkay? (After all, who’s to say wherever it is won’t be bloody worse?)

Heard on the radio incontrovertible proof that Simon Cowell is bonkers, as well as everything else. He said he’d like to give Jordan her own TV show, or something, because she is so ‘real.’

Dude, her real name isn’t even Jordan. It’s Katie Price, which is pretty damn appropriate considering she’d whore herself out to the highest bidder. Oh, and who can say ‘Pneumatic Chest’? That was no gift of Nature in any conceivable way, unless you count a qualification in plastic surgery and a knife as God’s direct, new-age benison.

The Personality-by-Proxy Quiz
1. If I were a colour, what colour would I be?Yellow

2. If I were a song, what song would I be? ‘The Bitch Song,’ Bowling for Soup

3. If I were a book, what book would I be? ‘The God Of Small Things,’ by Arundhati Roy

4. If I were a food, what food would I be? Chicken. D’oh.

5. If I were a building/structure, what building/structure would I be? The Chrysler Building (whatever the hell it is)

6. If I were a piece of furniture, what piece would I be?
A Morris chair

7. If I were an animal, what animal would I be? Cat

8. If I were a painting, what painting would I be? Mona Lisa

9. If I were a garment, what garment would I be? A skirt

10. If I were a character from "Harry Potter", what character would I be?
Luna Lovegood

Stole with permission (oxymoron alert!) from roz_morgan's lj, so feel free to do the same. You're meant to write the first thing that comes into your head. :)

Was watching a TV programme called ‘Cutest Kittens’. As the title suggests, it was chock-full of squee. However, while I can empathise with wanting to dress cats up and give them little weddings, or make them jump through hoops, at the same time it seems more than a little grotesque. What I admire - nay, love - so much about cats is their distinct brand of fuck-off cool and conceited independence, and call me odd but I think treating them like idiot baby humans compromises that entirely.

Oh for god’s sake. I just commented on a fandom wank, after promising myself I would never take them seriously. But that Yolanda person! GODS but I resent being lumped as ‘a stupid kid with hormonal problems and no English skills’ just because I write fan fiction. I mean WTFH? I got an A1 in English, for starters. BOY IT PISSED ME RIGHT OFF. I read as much published fiction as fan, and you know what? Twelve published books a month, and most of the time they don’t even come NEAR anything Maya’s written. Sure, there are the Sues and relly bad fics; but hello? Chicklit? Mills and Boon? People like Patricia Scanlon MAKE MONEY, and I can’t describe how wrong that is.

‘One doesn’t always understand fully what one creates…it doesn’t mean you understand HOW it is to be whatever [you’ve written]’. And, ‘Sometimes when we talk about how everything is and how everything might have been, God throws up his arms in despair and says, “I know that plenty of things might have been a little different, but what’s done is done, and I’m not almighty, after all”.’ Jostein Gaarder has the right of it.

You hearing this, ANNE RICE?

This is all I’m ever going to say on this topic ever again. Fanfiction fills in the holes. Robin Hobb points out that a person shows a different side to everyone they know, like father, son, daughter, lover etc. Logically, JK Rowling only sees one side of Harry Potter. For all she or anyone else knows, he DOES have a side that simply loves shagging the living daylights out of Snape. And the only ones who ever see it are the H/SS shippers. Maybe we aren’t satisfied with an angst teen Harry. He will eventually have a sex life, described or not. And ditto for everything else in the fandom.

So deal, people.

Ah. Spleen vented. Much better.

Current Mood: calmcalm
Current Music: 'Maniac 2000,' Mark McCabe
every Starbucks should have a polar bearscoradh on September 22nd, 2004 11:56 am (UTC)
Note to self: LJ CUTS, MUCH?!!?