I have very stubborn preference settings.

I am, afterall, a Marauder’s girl through and through. Firstly, there is the fanfiction that PoA sparked. I mean, seriously, there is Harry Potter fanfiction and then there is Marauder fanfiction – it is hardly an unmanagable conundrum to decide which fictions I’d rather read. Then there is the fact that PoA has an abundance of Remus John Lupin – who I adore, incidentally – and Sirius Black – who is easily one of my favourite characters. I tend to form very fervent attatchments to the unjustly mistreated and wrongfully accused. I also have an inevitable devotion for back-story – Remus Lupin and Sirius Black (and the dementors, I suppose,) make Lily and James Potter people rather than the final victims of Lord Voldemort (although the dementors sort of emphasize the last moments rather vividly).

I love Prisoner of Azkaban and I doubt I will ever tire of the events leading to the rescue of Buckbeak and Sirius Black. Nor the number of times Professor Lupin offers chocolate to students as a remedy. Nor be able to temper the irrepressible joy I feel when (re)introduced to so many of my favourite aspects of the series; namely: Remus John Lupin, patronuses, hippogriffs, marauders, the map, hogsmeade, &ct.

Yes. Harry is quite contrary to Snape and Malfoy (and even truly bratty to Hermione) while Dumbledore proves, once again, to be rather manipulative and contriving … but, to be quite honest, I like them that way (okay, not so much the bratty bit) and  I continue to find Harry Potter to be an awesome fellow and pretty darn good wizard.

Goblet of Fire was once the book for which I was ‘waiting’. I read the Philosopher’s Stone, Chamber of Secrets and Prisoner of Azkaban box set and had to wait absolute ages for the sequel. Ages. I mean, it took months and months. Then finally one evening, on a not particularly remarkable or otherwise significant day (other than the fact that it was snowing – always a good omen *no thanks to Sybil who said it’d be a miserable day*) I walked into a shop (I had Prisoner of Azkaban in hand) and there was a mound – a very large, tall mound – of brilliant red and blue books that screamed ‘HARRY POTTER AND THE GOBLET OF FIRE’. I happened to have exactly $20 on this otherwise unremarkable day so I bought myself the Goblet of Fire and read it over and over and over until Order of the Pheonix was released.

I am not exaggerating for dramatic effect.

I sincerely loved Goblet of Fire because of the shiny newness (which eventually became a rather matte shabbiness) and the fact that Harry was forced to grow up. (Isn’t it always the case that you only really truly care because it somehow relates to what you are going through?) I’ve always been around the age of Harry, Ron and Hermione. I was just 13 when I read Goblet. I was just finishing elementary school. I was just starting high school. It was a weird time – yet somehow having this book and reading it over and over made everything seems so much better than it was. That’s a sort of magic isn’t it?

My mom always tells me to ‘live in real life’ very critically and a little (read: really rather) derisively but where is the fun in ignoring the things that make me happy? I happen to rather like that my real life includes quite a significant amount of Harry Potter related influences and Goblet of Fire still blows my mind. Epically.

Chamber of Secrets is proving to be less nostalia inducing (no, actually. Not really. Or at all. This is me, afterall, and a jar of jam can make me feel nostalgic) but just as enthralling. I almost forgot how much I dislike Lockhart. Can you believe it?

To be completely honest, I am rather suprised that I didn’t see this coming. ModCloth has challenged all of my stylistic ideals since the day I first came upon the miraculous link to thrifty and unique fashion finds. First there was the Unicorn Princess Heel, followed by the Pewter and Black spinoffs. But really, nothing quite says ‘fairytale’ like The Unicorn Princess Heel in Gold. I am besotted. Does anyone else hear the chorous? The bells? The harp?

I know, right.

The Unicorn Princess Heel in Gold by Jeffrey Campbell

Golly.

Not to say that this is the end of all shoes – and it isn’t like I am about to give up my love affair with oxfords and Mary Janes – but as far as peculiar, pretty, out-shinning party heels go… Yeah.

I like trees, they are home to the only leafs I like.

I find Jef Costello to be all that is clever and menacing.

Too much.

I want a type writer.

Type writers are wonderful.

Harold Meadows is my forever hero. Indeed, the spectacles worn by dear Harold are more than enough to make me swoon, let alone the fact that he writes and his mildly peculiar eating habits… And his endearing fumbling and stuttering at the fluttery eyed Mary is all too much for my little heart to handle; he really did break it rather thoroughly. For the love of cracker jacks. The cad. Good show.

I want those sexy glasses.

I truly believe that they have a magical quality about them. They add intensity to his self righteous quest, I think.

I have never seen a chase sequence quite so impressive. Ever.

Oh, how I adore the precursors of the nerdfighter. Can there be anything more thoroughly wonderful and endearing?

Of course I did mention that tonight was the night of boyish tomfoolery. Graucho, Harpo and Chico are quite the mixers, if I do say so. I think that if I were to watch A Night at the Opera five times in one night I could easily find something wonderful to obsess and *squee* over every time. That Ricardo Baroni, as played by Allan Jones, is exactly the type of man that a woman can swoon over – repeatedly. Take that Alec Baldwin. Oh that Otis – he is my kind of lovely if there ever was one… I think that he is so perfect in delivery and timing. Although I’ll admit that I find myself rolling my eyes every few minutes, I can’t but find myself irresistibly drawn in by the humor and the story. The story really works in a wonderful and honest way. They are mixers, they are cheeky, but they’ve a glorious amount of heart. I know, sappy, shut up. I love it.

I love that I am endlessly fascinated and pleased with the versatility and sheer amount of gags, jokes, insults, and human moments that come to pass in films that last a reasonable amount of time. I wish that there were more filmakers around that could make such moments of utter perfection, but then, it’s not every day that one encounters characters such as The Marx Brothers or The Beatles.

There is something inherently endearing about Billy Pilgrim. He is such a simple person – the most fascinating type of person there is really. The eloquence and ease of The Children’s Crusade is as worrisome and wonderful as I could have ever hoped for it to be from that epic first line. I  invariably love the lost feeling I experience with those maddening temporal transitions – the movement and pace let me breath while reading. Death. I like it. I like how he dismisses it. It frightens me in a delightful way. I can’t help but compare it with The Wars and I love that it more than holds its own; as much as I try my mind won’t let go of that dratted idea of Canadian and American perspectives. It is WWI that facsinates me. I am eternally greatfully that I hadn’t heard many a review from others before I myself got a chance to read it – as has occurred too many times with so many other books, films, songs &ct. I like being unspoilt. Particularly by opinions. Is that horrible?

I think not.

I find myself quite taken in by those Tralfamadore folk – I believe this stems from my obsession with time and my abhorrence of clocks.

dream of  altar

road tar flame

male rat of rad

oft’ lame  radar

ol’ fart are mad

I am only slightly more than half way through and have high hopes for another Vonnegut… and soon. Funny how Slaughterhouse Five is my first Vonnegut and I am planning to proceed with Israel Potter – my first Melville.

Quip quip.