Why the end of Harry is not the end of my childhood

In 1997, I picked up Harry Potter and the Sorceror’s Stone for the first time. I was seven, a second-grader, and I had a two-hour car drive ahead of me. I finished that book within five minutes of pulling into our driveway. I was hooked.

I attended every book release, including one that fell on my 12th birthday. Occasionally, I attended them in costume, often with a slightly askew lightning bolt on my forehead. I had every book in hardbound on my shelf, with my name in ever-improving cursive written on the first page, top right-hand corner.

Throughout all of this, my fascination never quite made it to the fangirl stage. I never obsessed over the actors, even though Daniel Radcliffe and Rupert Grint are the same age as I am and were ripe for a schoolgirl crush. When the last book came out, it was a little more than a month after I graduated from high school. I stayed up all night to get a place in line, I read the book until 3 a.m. when I had to leave it halfway through to get enough sleep for work in 5 hours. I fidgeted through work and rushed home to finish. The last chapter was nigh on painful.

And then something changed. Maybe it was because I entered college and was carrying more classes and stress than I ever had before, but Harry faded to the background. I didn’t attend the midnight premieres of the last few Potter movies, and where other fans rejoiced at the extension of the last book into two movies, I rolled my eyes at the commercialism of it all. Where Harry had once commanded my parents’ checkbooks, he has barely made a dent in mine.

The last Harry Potter movie is due out on July 15. And my fellow fans are in despair. NPR intern Annie Ropiek writes that it’s the “end of her childhood.” The tagline for the eighth and final movie is “It all ends.”

Will the movies end? Yes. Will my childhood? No. The end of my childhood was the day my parents drove away from my freshman dorm room. Harry was nowhere in sight.

Annie, you may be a “member of the Potter generation,” but so am I. And I believe you that 3 a.m. on July 15th is the end of your childhood, because I’m not sure you (or many other fangirls/boys) ever let yourself grow up. With the introduction of a Harry Potter theme park, and what’s surely a multi-million dollar budget for the final movie, I’m being bombarded on all sides by Potter memorabilia. This is not the end of Harry. It’s practically the beginning.

But you know what? I grew out of it. I miss Harry, but he does not rule my life, nor does he define my childhood. My childhood is defined by camping trips, Girl Scout meetings and Wednesday morning breakfasts with my mother. It’s defined by my friends in school, the toys I left in my parents’ home and the pictures on their walls, among so many other, indescribable things.

Maybe I’m lucky. Maybe if I didn’t have these things, I, too, would have clung to Harry. But clinging to Harry will not keep your childhood alive. And Annie? The new “Pottermore” website will not resuscitate it in the 11th hour. Sorry hon.

I am sad for the end of the movie franchise. Truly, I am. Harry was a great character and I devoured the last chapter of that book the way a high school senior reads her final yearbook, or the way a parent watches their child go off to school. A sense of pride, happiness, solemnity and yes, a little despair at the end of an era. I will probably devour the last two movies in the same manner. Whenever I get around to watching them. (Yes, this is an admission that I still haven’t watched the seventh movie yet.)

There’s a line in the commercials where Harry looks into Voldemort’s eyes and says, “Come on Tom, let’s finish this the way we started: Together.” I can’t help but think that’s a less-than-subtle attempt to tug at the heartstrings of Harry’s fans.

Come on Harry Potter fans, let’s finish this the way we started it: As wide-eyed children willing to spend money we don’t have clinging to something that’s not real.

Crocheted Headaches

Every once in awhile I feel the urge to crochet. I’ve never been good at knitting, (well, I can knit, it’s the purl I have problems with.)

But to start this story I have to go back to October. I was on StumbleUpon and…well, stumbled upon a website on how to crochet a granny square blanket. Since my projects over the years have been mostly scarves and an occasional blanket or two (usually baby blankets, because they’re smaller and easier on my impatience) I thought it would be a fun challenge and a great final product to show off.

3 months later and I am literally yelling “THIS IS GOING TO KILL ME!” at my roommate as she walks past me on the couch. I have 180 discs to put a white border on. They currently look like this:

blue-yellow-red disc

Once these were all done, I had to put white borders on them which make them look like this:

A finished square

But it’s the joining together of these 180 squares that is the problem. After numerous, numerous attempts, and stupid arguments with ridge lines, I finally found a stitch that works!!!

THE WHIPSTITCH!!!

My poor roommate. I may have to give her this blanket by the time I’m finished to apologize for yelling randomly at inanimate objects…

Top 10 Reasons Why You Must Watch White Christmas

Surrounded by recently hung Christmas decorations and filled to the brim with holiday cheer, I have to admit that when White Christmas showed up on AMC for a back-to-back feature, I was thrilled. I absolutely love this movie; it’s tradition at my parent’s home to watch it before going to bed on Christmas Eve. When an ad for AMC’s website popped up, with quizzes and trivia on the movie, I was even more thrilled, and I popped on over to amctv.com to test my knowledge.

I can’t complain about the quiz, it was actually pretty good, and I’m proud to say I got 8 out of 10 questions correct (including the one about how much the movie made on it’s release in 1954: $12 million). But it was their list of “Top Ten Reasons Why We Can’t Get Enough White Christmas” that really got my goat. I can do it better, much better than some intern they hired to criticize (or rather, lovingly adore) a movie they’d probably only skimmed through and read a wikipedia article on. So here goes.

The iconic White Christmas image. It practically oozes Christmas joy.

10.) The Jokes.
Cripes, these guys were funny! It may not be the kind of physical comedy most movie-goers today are used to, but this was a witty kind of funny. From the sarcastic Wallace (Crosby) to the hare-brained Doris (then-newcomer Barrie Chase), almost every line is a golden knee-slapper. A few samples of their comedic wit:

Phil Davis: (to Bob Wallace) I want you to get married. I want you to have nine children. And if you only spend five minutes a day with each kid, that’s forty-five minutes, and I’d at least have time to go out and get a massage or something.

Bob Wallace: Miss Haynes, if you’re ever under a falling building and someone offers to pick you up and carry you to safety, don’t think, don’t pause, don’t hesitate for a moment, just spit in his eye.

9.) The Honor for the Army.
Maybe I have an overdeveloped sense of respect for our troops, but that’s definitely not a bad thing. This movie is all about the army. Two former army grunts end up at their old general’s Vermont Inn for Christmas? And (spoiler alert) they get together all their old Army buddies for a final rousing “We Love You” to the old man on Christmas Eve? It’s all about respect for those who have served. Two scenes in this movie always get me crying, one is at the very beginning with the men singing “The Old Man” on a makeshift stage in the middle of the front lines, and two, reprising the same song on the stage at the Columbia Inn. The moment when the graddaughter sees her grandfather in his Army uniform and the old general walking in to a room full of people who would have, and who still would, lay their life on the line for him always gets me teary. Oh, and if “What Can You Do With a General” doesn’t get you bawling like a baby, you’re a Grinch.

8.) Danny Kaye.
Set up as a last minute replacement for Donald O’Connor, who was himself a replacement for Fred Astaire, Kaye almost (if not entirely) steals the show. All the best lines are his, and his prepubescent squeaks and subtle, nervous looks give a certain depth (albeit a funny one) to an otherwise two-dimensional character. Paired up with Vera Ellen in the “The Best Things” number, he’s no Astaire, but it doesn’t matter. He and Vera have the chemistry I’ve always thought Clooney and Crosby lacked. Kaye delivers not only a stunning comedic performance, but just a great performance in general. Plus, he’s just as darn cute as a button.

7.) Vera Ellen’s legs.
VA-VA-VOOM babydoll. I’m all about the boys, but the gams on this girl could make a conservative mother of 12 teenage girls wolf whistle. 33 years old when she made this movie, I’ll bet she still got carded at the liquor store (if they did that back in 1954). And though I’ll get to the musical numbers a bit later in this list, let’s just say the choreography and Edith Head’s costuming show them off to GREAT advantage. There’s a scene in the musical number “Mandy” where Vera Ellen is being carried up a long flight of stairs on her back with one leg straight up in the air. If that doesn’t make you appreciate both her legs and her talent, I don’t know what will.

6.) Irving Berlin’s score.
Beautiful, simply beautiful. Obviously “White Christmas” is the song of choice, but even if you’re not a fan of Christmas songs, there are plenty of others to whet your appetite. My first pick is “Sisters,” a cute song when it’s first sung by the Haynes sisters, but becomes hilariously raunchy when Wallace and Davis reprise it, in drag (yes, I said in drag) for the funniest few minutes of the entire movie. But the song that stole everyone’s heart in 1954 was “Count Your Blessings (Instead of Sheep).” The song beat almost won Song of the Year, but was beat out by some song and movie hardly anyone knows about now. How’s that for comeuppance?

5.) The Costumes.
There’s not a lot I agreed with about the AMC list, but this is one of them. I would be lying if I said I didn’t want every single outfit Vera Ellen wears in my closet right now. In addition, the classic red dresses and suits with pure white fur trim just screams Christmas. Only two costume designers can make me excited for a movie, one who went simply by “Irene,” and the other is Edith Head. The latter was the designer for White Christmas, and for nearly 430 movies over the course of her long career, including Roman Holiday and Sunset Boulevard. Her dresses are particularly amazing, especially Clooney’s sweeping black dress for “Love (You Didn’t Do Right By Me)” with the silver sparkle gloves. That pink number in “Choreography” and the lime-yellow one in “Abraham” make me wish I was a an MGM star.

4.) The Routines.
If you can only watch 10 minutes of White Christmas, watch the last 10 minutes. Those little girls en pointe are worth it all, and the whole thing’s worth it. If you can watch 15, add in the dance routine “Abraham.” I don’t know who the male lead is, but it’s the one scene in the movie that I will watch over and over and over again and never get tired of it. It’s far too short, but every second in it is pure gold. Vera Ellen is at her best, to be sure.

But really, almost every single routine in this movie is wonderful. From the opening song and dance in the middle of WWII, to “Mandy,” to Clooney’s mournful croon of “Love (You Didn’t Do Right By Me)” and to the final, epic “White Christmas” reprise, I really couldn’t tell you which song and dance isn’t worthy of your time.

3.) Bing, oh Bing.
Oh why, oh why was I born 70 years too late for this gorgeous man? Seriously, nothing beats hearing and watching this man croon out a love song. ‘Nuff said.

2.) The Love Stories.
Few movies today have believeable love stories, and maybe White Christmas doesn’t exactly rank up there with Casablanca or Gone With The Wind, but the chemistry between Vera Ellen and Danny Kaye, and the look Crosby gives Clooney when he sees she’s returned to the show puffs up my little heart every time. Also, it doesn’t hurt that Judy is a little flirt and tricks Davis into pretending they’re engaged. That’s always a good way to start out a relationship.

1.) This movie is Christmas in a nutshell.
I’ve loved other Christmas movies, I’ll admit it. But few have been so about the true spirit of Christmas, much less containing the beautiful final number that White Christmas has. This mocie is Christmas personified. And as I sit here watching the cast members sing the title song, wrapped around a beautifully tinseled and ornamented tree, I can’t help but remember that this is why I love Christmas: that warm fuzzy feeling of the season is simply the best. So I wish you a Merry Christmas, and as in the song, may your days be merry and bright and may all your Christmases be white.

If I can make it through this, I can make it through anything

I’m lucky enough to have parents who are still employed, and I’m lucky enough to not really have to worry about my finances, though I do keep a close eye on my bank account because having enough money for accidents is a good idea.

But I do worry that I am entering the workforce in an extremely bad economic period. This slump is one of the worst in American history, drawing comparisons to the Great Depression. That’s not an ideal enviroment to try to find a job in.

So I work hard. I apply for seven different internships. I work long hours at my part-time job and I take six or seven classes per semester for my double major so I can graduate in five years (and that’s still one year over what I had hoped to take.) And it always shocks me a little when people say I am an overachiever. Really, I’m not. I just know that the more experience I have before I have to find a job, the more attractive I will be for prospective employers.

Will I end up in my chosen field? God, I hope so. I’m more worried about it now since I realized that I really don’t have a whole lot of other marketable talents. I can organize, so I’ve thought about being an event planner, or a wedding planner, but that’s not what I’ve gone to school for, and I doubt I could get a job anywhere without some sort of schooling.

I don’t want to be one of those people on the news. And yes, I know that’s ironic, but I don’t want to be a Dorothea Lange photo opportunity. I want to be one of the 20-ish% of students who have a job waiting for them when they graduate.

I had a friend recently looking for a job, it took her about 5 months after she graduated to find one at a central california paper and she was an intern at the same paper I was. I once asked her if she was worried, and she told me something interesting: That she thought our generation was lucky because if we could get a job in this economy, then wecould get a job in any economy.

It’s a thought I try to carry around with me because I really, really hope she’s right.

Morality and Procrastination

I ought to be writing a 500-600 word essay on morality for my Journalism Ethics class. Instead, I’m on WordPress.

The assignment is asking me to write about what I would do if I were a kidnapped journalist in say, Afghanistan, and my captors said they would treat me fairly if I wrote articles that were flattering to their regime. If I refused, they would torture and maybe kill me. My first thought about wasn’t: “What would my moral attitudes be?” It was: “Wouldn’t my editors be smart enough to know that I don’t sympathize with terrorists?”

Then again, this may be giving too much credit to my editors.

And why would anything I wrote as a lone journalist have any effect on the American psyche? Are these terrorists dumb enough to think that my single articles would make even one ripple in the tidal wave against terrorism in America? No way.

Plus fight or flight is a very big instinct. And if we take my past morality vs. instinct problems into account, I am definitely more likely to act on instinctual, not moral grounds. This may not bode well for my id or ego, but hey, it gets me by.

The fact is, the ethical problems I’m likely to face are going to be dealing with sources. And since I would never volunteer to be a foreign correspondent in a war-torn area, the probably of me being captured and held against my will by terrorists is (thankfully) minimal. There are lots of people out there who would kill for a chance to report in Afghanistan. Me, not so much. Let me stick to America and other relatively safe places.

So I guess my point is this: If you have a scale, and on one side is the terrorists treating you fairly, and on the other is potential death but moral rightness, I have no problem admitting that I would cave like a little girl and write that rainbows were coming out of their stereotypical turbans.

And so now I’ve successfully managed to procrastinate, and yet somehow write the essay I had to write anyway. Too bad I can’t use this for my entry!

The Enterprise-Wretched

It never fails to surprise me how rude people can be to members of the media.

I understand not liking a company, or a brand, or a local business. And I understand that newspapers make mistakes and enemies easily. But why do people think they can take it out on me? A lowly intern reporter?

I’ve been here only six months and I’ve already encountered so much hostility. Chico hates Oroville, and Oroville won’t even pick up the phone if it has a Chico area code. The Liberals spew hatred at the Conservatives, and the Conservatives throw rocks at the Liberals.

I had a coworker tell me a story about a man who replied “I’m sorry” when he told the guy where he worked at. He said he’d wanted to just walk away, or smack the grin off the guy’s face, but he needed his name for the cutline and so he brushed it off and got the name. But I can tell it bugged him. It was a personal attack, and I hope that the next time it happens, my friend will simply walk away.

Today I experienced the same thing when a local merchant said, “Oh you mean the Enterprise-Wretched!” and laughed when I identified myself.

I was there because I knew our photographer had taken a photo with his store in the background and I wanted to make sure he got some publicity. I was only doing him good, and he chose to insult me as the first thing he said to me.

It’s a small town after all, and I had actually interviewed him once before on a different assignment. But that doesn’t give him the right to insult me, or my workplace.

He’s the owner of that store. I didn’t go into his workplace and insult him, but that’s exactly what he did to me and to everyone else I work with.

It’s easy to yell at a faceless voice over the phone, or shoot off an angry email. But it’s quite another to tell someone to their face that what they’re doing is “wretched” or to say “I’m sorry you work there” as if my life is somehow less because I work in the media.

I do great things. I save potentially dying businesses with the clack of my keyboard. I bring breaking news to people in rural areas. I find fascinating people and tell their stories to a fascinated world.

What do YOU do?

Don’t tell me I’m wretched. And don’t tell me you pity me because of my chosen profession. Why should I waste my time on a populace that obviously doesn’t appreciate the necessity of a local, daily newspaper?

Unfortunately, I know the answer to that. And as much as, on some days, I’d like to write you all off, (no pun intended) I know why it’s important. And I’m bound and determined to show you.

So I grit my teeth and smile. And I hope you learn your lesson one day when I write about something that’s important to you. And I write it well. Because that’s my job.

And I love it.