I’m a fan. I’ve been a fan since the second book came out and thought it would be fun to go to a HP midnight party, as it was the last book and I would never have another chance.
It was very fun!
My two friends and I set out to Harvard Square, rather disappointed we didn’t the Slytherin, Ravenclaw, and Hufflepuff scarves that I crocheted a few years back, since they are stuffed in a box somewhere, waiting to be shipped here.
We quickly got over our disappointment as we entered Harvard Square, just in time to listen to a rock band called Draco and the Malfoys. Those of you who haven’t heard of them, this band was created in response to the books and another band: Harry and the Potters, who also played that night. We laughed at the crazy lyrics and sometimes sang along, though we didn’t feel inclined to dance and kick, as our costumed neighbors did. My favorite song was when “Draco” sang: “I love my mom. I love my dad. And we all hate YOU! (Harry Potter)”
Other songs incorporated Dumbledore and Dobby…I liked that one as well, though it was too repetitive.
When Harry and the Potters came on the crowd roared. Almost everyone was singing along. There were songs of friendship, battle, and mischievousness. My favorite song was one about Dumbledore. Less rock and more feeling.
We listened, laughed, sang along, had some free nachos and beverages, avoided the news crew, and looked at the clever costumes. The best, by far, was a little girl dressed as a snitch. I wish I had taken a picture!
For the second HP party we crashed a Borders. Smart people. They were one of the very few places accepting customers into the store even if they did not have a reservation. We had free cake, pastries, and drinks. We picked a spot close to where they would hand out the books depending on the color of your wrist-band; we waited and watched.
The ten second countdown to midnight was one of the loudest and most enthusiastic ones I have heard in my life. Even New Year’s countdowns have never been so lively. The first to receive a copy was a woman who had waited in line for who knows how long. She was photographed and given a 3-foot-long HP poster, ready to hang. After that, it was pandemonium. People squealed, tittered, giggled, exclaimed ‘oh my God!’, blinded everyone with flash photography, and stumbled their way to get their copy. Some got visibly stressed as the apparently last box was opened and the books were handed out. This was followed by visible relief as the next boxes were wheeled in from the warehouse. The stress levels soared again as one woman took no less than seven copies of the book. Others followed her example and took two, three, five, or more copies.
By the time we got our copies, it was 12:30 am. The staff was frazzled, capes askew, wigs forgotten in a corner, jumpy at the slightest disturbance; they spoke loudly with eyes rolling around at no spot in particular, and the cashiers panicked if presented with a purchase other than Harry Potter.
It was an unforgettable experience.
Later that morning I had to go to work. Bleary-eyed but content, I carried my new copy to a bagel shop to read and eat. I was in for a shock. Newspapers everywhere had Harry Potter stories and displayed their spoilers on the ending. I decided I had to take drastic measures. I had not waited so many years for someone to ruin the ending.
No TV. (not a problem since I don’t have one)
No radio. (not a problem)
No newspapers. (this was the hard part)
No kidding. A couple of days later and with a heavy heart I put the book down, mourned the death of my favorite character, and picked up newspapers again. Now that my eyes were free to look around, not a day passes that I don’t see someone reading the book. The buses, trains, and subways are full of people from all ages lost in Potter’s world. I can only hope that they avoid all spoilers and truly enjoy the journey.
I can only hope more people are inspired to read after the Harry Potter mania.
Tuesday, August 7, 2007
Job Hunting: A Five in Fifty Chance of Getting Hired
Fifty: an approximation of the number of resumes I sent out in my first few weeks in MA. Out of all of them, I got around fifteen responses, and five of them offered me a job. I’m grateful, sure, but doesn’t that seem scary? That includes jobs for which I was not fully qualified, where 3 of them offered me a job. In reality, if I had stuck only to the jobs I was completely qualified for, I would have two offers out of fifty. Even scarier.
Scarier still: My full time doesn’t start until September. Enter the part time jobs. I have two that pay very well and I am considering taking a third one. A combination of all three will equal to one full time while I wait for September. I don’t mind the work. The pain in the nether region is the fact that I don’t have a car. Getting around in the outskirts of the city by depending on buses and trains is not something I would wish on my worst enemy (if I had one). Good news: I’ll have access to a car that is now traveling by sea. Bad news: it takes a month to get here…or more.
Scarier still: My full time doesn’t start until September. Enter the part time jobs. I have two that pay very well and I am considering taking a third one. A combination of all three will equal to one full time while I wait for September. I don’t mind the work. The pain in the nether region is the fact that I don’t have a car. Getting around in the outskirts of the city by depending on buses and trains is not something I would wish on my worst enemy (if I had one). Good news: I’ll have access to a car that is now traveling by sea. Bad news: it takes a month to get here…or more.
Dancing in a Subway Station
Since moving to Boston, I have more or less successfully managed to blend in and quickly adapt to the ambience and taking the subway (though I still lack those subway legs everyone here seems to have been born with. So once I see an available space I make a mad dash for it before the train moves).
Unavoidably there comes a time when you see something completely unexpected that causes your jaw to drop and your eyes open in wonder…possibly making you look and act like a loony…
For me it happened in the subway. There were three of us casually making our way to the Red Line T. Beautiful music reached our ears as we descended into the pits of Hell (more on this in another post). I thought adding music to the subway station was nice, but not practical, as it’s already hard enough to hear the announcements over the screeching of the train as it sputters to a stop and people’s feet pound on the platform.
My train of thought then cancelled all stops as I saw the source of that incredibly hypnotizing music. A man stood on the other side of the platform expertly and smoothly manipulating the strings of a guitar, microphone and speakers amplifying the melody. His voice was rich, deep, and full of meaning as he interpreted Beatles songs and some others my friends recognized from the sixties.
“It’s real…” I managed to say. “I mean…I thought that was a radio.” My wonder gave way to concern that the man would get arrested.
“I thought it was a radio, too.” This from my just as dumbstruck friend.
Our tour guide and friend, having lived here for a year, smiled and calmly explained that many artists and musicians got permits to play their music and/or sell their art in the subway. The permit is strictly limited to specific parts of the station and many hope to be discovered there. One of her friends does this sometimes and earns quite a bit of money in the day.
Even then you couldn’t get me to stop gaping at this man in fascination. I felt he should definitely be working on his own CD and I was dying to speak to him. Alas, he was on the other side of the tracks and it was impossible for me to go over.
I looked around at the faces in the crowd and was quite disappointed by the lack of interest. Some looked at him in annoyance, others ignored him, plugging their ears into their iPods, and others looked utterly bored. Only one couple smiled at the man and tossed some money into his open guitar case. I briefly contemplated making a paper airplane out of money…
My friend began to sway to the music. She tapped her feet and bobbed her head, wearing a big smile. Taken by the music and the giddy feeling it left me with, I joined her and we danced in earnest, surrounded by dejected people, content in our little bubble of happiness. It took a while for insanity to claim me again and I stopped dancing. I regretted that almost immediately. There are very few times when life offers you the opportunity to break into dance with joy, and when the time comes, we should take advantage of every precious second.
The music slowed and stopped, followed by the glare of lights, screeching, and clamoring horn of the Red Line T. The moment was gone, but the feeling remained throughout the day. I hope I get another opportunity to hear this man again and to speak with him.
Unavoidably there comes a time when you see something completely unexpected that causes your jaw to drop and your eyes open in wonder…possibly making you look and act like a loony…
For me it happened in the subway. There were three of us casually making our way to the Red Line T. Beautiful music reached our ears as we descended into the pits of Hell (more on this in another post). I thought adding music to the subway station was nice, but not practical, as it’s already hard enough to hear the announcements over the screeching of the train as it sputters to a stop and people’s feet pound on the platform.
My train of thought then cancelled all stops as I saw the source of that incredibly hypnotizing music. A man stood on the other side of the platform expertly and smoothly manipulating the strings of a guitar, microphone and speakers amplifying the melody. His voice was rich, deep, and full of meaning as he interpreted Beatles songs and some others my friends recognized from the sixties.
“It’s real…” I managed to say. “I mean…I thought that was a radio.” My wonder gave way to concern that the man would get arrested.
“I thought it was a radio, too.” This from my just as dumbstruck friend.
Our tour guide and friend, having lived here for a year, smiled and calmly explained that many artists and musicians got permits to play their music and/or sell their art in the subway. The permit is strictly limited to specific parts of the station and many hope to be discovered there. One of her friends does this sometimes and earns quite a bit of money in the day.
Even then you couldn’t get me to stop gaping at this man in fascination. I felt he should definitely be working on his own CD and I was dying to speak to him. Alas, he was on the other side of the tracks and it was impossible for me to go over.
I looked around at the faces in the crowd and was quite disappointed by the lack of interest. Some looked at him in annoyance, others ignored him, plugging their ears into their iPods, and others looked utterly bored. Only one couple smiled at the man and tossed some money into his open guitar case. I briefly contemplated making a paper airplane out of money…
My friend began to sway to the music. She tapped her feet and bobbed her head, wearing a big smile. Taken by the music and the giddy feeling it left me with, I joined her and we danced in earnest, surrounded by dejected people, content in our little bubble of happiness. It took a while for insanity to claim me again and I stopped dancing. I regretted that almost immediately. There are very few times when life offers you the opportunity to break into dance with joy, and when the time comes, we should take advantage of every precious second.
The music slowed and stopped, followed by the glare of lights, screeching, and clamoring horn of the Red Line T. The moment was gone, but the feeling remained throughout the day. I hope I get another opportunity to hear this man again and to speak with him.
The Beginning of a Journey
Where does time go?
There are times when ideas swim around in your head, begging attention. Some of them you look at, pat their head in a patronizing way and let them drift happily away, perhaps never to be seen again. Other ideas are simply too pushy and they keep cutting through the murky waters, creating endless ripples and echoes that cannot easily be ignored. It was one of those annoying ideas that has brought me to this blog.
People around me say “write, damn you!”, to which I respond “I DO!”, but my writing rarely reaches many people and the growing archives in my computer seem somewhat lonely. I thought, why not create a blog where I can post my writing and get some feedback?
Being very busy, (university life will do that to you), I never found the time to sit down and actually do it. But now, at the end of final exams and the beginning of the unemployment line, (those pesky in-betweens! - more on that later), I finally found the time to let the idea flourish, take shape, and form.
Here it is, then, my first blog.
Writing Interests
I have always enjoyed writing for young adults. I have also written a few short stories for children, one of which, (Snit’s Wish), won an honorary mention in Writer’s Journal Write to Win! contest in 2005.
Lately, perhaps due to the in-between I am stuck in right now, my stories have taken on a darker flavor, and do not necessarily fall into the young adult category. Regardless, I will post them here for your perusal.
Thanks for stopping by and remember, questions and feedback are most appreciated.
-R. Payne-
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