So, today I cut my thesis class to work on my actual thesis. I actually haven’t done much tangible work (I’ve been more of researching and speculating), so I really needed to step up my game, so to speak. I’ve borrowed books from the library, returned the ones I didn’t need and now we are left with this stack right here:

I actually probably have to go back to the library and return some of these or check out some of the other books. I was going to reference “Chuck Klosterman IV” also, but when I looked for it, it wasn’t on my bookshelf. Therefore, I must have lent it out again, and forgot to whom again. This is why I shouldn’t lend out books to people ever again, ever. Ever. But that is another story.

My friend, Raymond, was nice enough to lend me this book of his, which I am excited to flip through because a) it looks like it would be useful, and b) it’s so pretty:

He also lent me his copy of Jean-Luc Godard’s Breathless, I guess, for my education. (I have not seen a single Godard film, and yes, I am ashamed of myself.)

On another note, my friend Patty/Petra gave me, out of nowhere, this little owl:

It’s a beanbaggy type of kreacher, and it inspired (?) me to show you, random reader, the rest of my OWLERY. You see, owls are one of the things that I do collect. My other friend, Barby, actually collects owls also, and is more overt in her collecting ways. But anyway, here is the rest of the owl-related paraphernalia I have acquired over the years:

FIGUREENZ. Three of them were inherited from my lola (my mommy’s mommy) and
the girliest one — the one with eyelashes, looking over her shoulder — was given to me
by my mom when she went to Australia.

A purse-thing I got from China! Is it not the cutest thing ever? It is!

Some clothes: pajama bottoms, a shirt and some underwear.

Pendant! I actually gave one of these to my friend (Barby! Who likes owls!), so we have matching necklaces. :)

I do not have a stuffed Hedwig (wibble, wibble) because when the toys came out, I wasn’t allowed to read Harry Potter. I do not have anything of Owl from Winnie the Pooh, because he kind of pissed me off. I do appreciate his knowledge, though, now that I am older. Also, I find that I have turned out more like him than any of the other characters in the Hundred Acre Wood. I don’t know if I like this realization, or if I just decided to live with it.

My first encounter with John Hughes was in the third grade, when I was confined in the hospital for contracting something called “acute viral infection” (I’m still not sure what it is). Sixteen Candles was on HBO and my life changed forever. What followed next was a frantic search for it on video. My uncle runs a video rental and up until this day, a small part of me still hasn’t forgiven him for not having a copy of this, dare I say, classic.
 

Samantha Baker is, perhaps, the first person who I wanted to be like. Or the first character who seemed to feel like I felt. As Farmer Ted put it, “Not many girls in contemporary American society would give their underwear to help a geek like me.” She is awesome. For a while, I even wanted to be referred to by my second first name, ‘Samantha.’ (Also, Jake Ryan, duh. Of course, I related to her. Never mind that I was barely 10 years old and hooked to an IV bag.)

But to digress from my digression, the movie was nowhere to be found. What I did run into was a VCD copy of Pretty in Pink, which in my Hughes-Ringwald-deprived state, was good enough for me. I watched it, liked it (although, obviously not as much as my first John Hughes love), even though it made it glaringly clear that I do not have a Duckie or a Blane.

In my quest to find a copy of this elusive video, I made friends with The Breakfast Club and, through my Tita Tine, who lives in New Jersey, I also made friends with Ferris Bueller. The age of the VHS tape came and went, and by the time I did finally get a copy of Sixteen Candles, tapes were obsolete, and so were the references. And yet.

Hey, John Cusack. You don’t know it yet, but you are going to make
a million girls fall in love with you. Just you wait and see.

The thing of it is that John Hughes is legendary because, underneath the (sometimes corny) rhyming (“He’s as drunk as a skunk!”), the cheeseball sound effects and the funny eighties slang, he knew where it counted in high school, no matter what era. The tragedy of forgotten birthdays, the thrill of skipping class, the wonder of that first kiss. He knew why, no matter what happens, the principal is always The Enemy, that the best friend doesn’t always get the girl (and that it’s OK), how love and friendship can be infuriating (and that it’s OK, too). He knew the truth, that: “We’re all pretty bizarre. Some of us are just better at hiding it, that’s all.” He got it — that it’s OK to be different, that we never really know a person until we know a person, that it is not possible from embarrassment, even though it feels like it is, that everyone gets a happy ending (in the form of Jake Ryan or otherwise) and most importantly, that rock and roll is here to stay.

He knew where it counted, knew that we knew, too. And this is why, in the midst of all the deaths in the world in the past few months, John Hughes’ is probably the one that breaks my heart the most.

I miss John Hughes. I miss high school. I miss being sixteen.

You, yes, you.

To ease you through the mourning and the grieving, Twitter’s on a roll with John Hughes quotes.

“Life moves pretty fast.
If you don’t stop and look around once in a while,
you could miss it.”

 

Rest in Peace, Mr. Hughes.
Thank you for everything.

I have a rather peculiar history with Harry Potter. I started reading it in between fourth and fifth grade, I think (I remember I bought the first book right before a cousin’s party at Racks, and reading the first few paragraphs because I really couldn’t get into the rhythm of the story), but my love affair with The Boy Who Lived was quickly stunted because right after I finished the first book, my parents thought it best to disallow me from pursuing the rest of the series, since they believed it to be potentially harmful in certain ways.

In the sixth grade, I began to sneak off to the library and read the Chamber of Secrets, chapter after painstaking chapter, in between classes and a friend lent me her copy of the Prisoner of Azkaban. The first film, I saw by accident (and without sound), because it showed on a plane I was on, but I didn’t want my parents to find out I was watching so I didn’t wear the earphones. That was really enough for me — seeing the books that were so dear to my heart onscreen, even though it was on mute, was really like magic for me.

I don’t really blame my parents — they were pretty hardcore Christians, and they just wanted the best for me, and I suppose literature on witchcraft and wizardry wasn’t high on their list. I snuck off to watch the films, and read fan fiction (Draco/Hermione through & through), went to HP fansites occasionally, though not very often since each time after, I’d have to clear the browser history and delete cookies. I even got caught a few times, but my parents had been pretty merciful.

Needless to say, my obsession with Harry was pretty covert, that is until I was in fourth year high school and Goblet of Fire was coming out in theaters, and I asked my dad if I could please watch the movie. And he told me that, yes, yes I could. Biggest shock in my life, I tell you. Since then, I’d bought my own copy of the books and have re-read them again and again, and I know you know this: I have never looked back.

Not a lot of people will understand this, but the series really, truly changed my life, and each time I encounter it, still does. JK’s writing is not that great, but holy crap, the things that Harry and all the other characters have taught me. Even the Vatican sees it now. Every time I think about it, I still get shivers, my heart still swells. Because I know that no matter what happens, no matter what kind of shit hits the fan, no matter what new evil appears — the world is still good and it will be safe, as long as there are people who keep fighting for it. It sounds like a stupid thing to do, but whenever I get upset and I can’t stop crying (and this has been happening quite a few times recently), I only get a Harry Potter book, no matter which one, read it, and I calm down almost instantaneously.

I don’t know, I guess I just wanted to get that out. I have a rather complicated opinion regarding the HBP film, but no matter what they left out, kept or added, I still do love it because it’s Harry Potter. I never got my Hogwarts letter, but I never stopped believing.

An extensive blow-by-blow is available on my LJ. I didn’t put it here, because it’s spoiler-laden, and I wanted to be careful.