So, It's Come To This (Don't Worry, No Spoilers)
I woke up uncharacteristically early for a Sunday morning, still miffed at my friend for having the nerve to move to New York this week to live with her longtime boyfriend who will, in all liklihood, soon become her fiance, thus requiring her to have her going-away party last night, forcing me out of my house and away from Harry Potter and the Deathly Hollows.
Riddle me this: Why is it appropriate to watch David Beckham's premiere MLS game at a party, but not socially acceptable to bring along your oversized children's book?
Anyhoo, I had to pause my reading until this morning, when half of the world already knew how it ended. I woke up and immediately dove back into the book to the exclusion of the Object and most of the outside world. The Object, a non-Harry Potter-reading philistine who had grown weary of two days' worth of semi-neglect1 noticed tears streaming down my face as I read the end of the thirty-first chapter.
"You are not crying, are you," he scoffed. "Seriously?!"
"She just killed off my favorite character!" I protested. "I've been with that character for nine years; I've grown quite fond of the character, and she killed Character X off, just like that!"
A look of mock sympathy crossed his face. "Maybe you can kidnap J.K. Rowling and force her to bring the characters back to life, just like in Misery," he suggested, tongue planted firmly in his cheek.
"No," I sniffled, "I can't; it would never work."
"Why not?" demanded the Object, playing along with a look of skepticism on his face.
"She already addressed it earlier in the book. Bringing people back to life just brings back shells of what they were; you never really have them back, and it makes you kill yourself. And if we lose our lease, it's going to be really hard to move with her and not raise a few eyebrows."
Disgusted that I had so thoroughly entertained the notion of kidnapping J.K. Rowling, the Object threw up his arms in exasperation. "I'm outta here! When I get back, you better have that book read." He huffed to the door, pausing to command more on his way out, "And the dishes done!"
"Ok, but wait just a minute."
"What?"
"You're going to get a DVD player, right?" I asked.
"Yes," he replied testily.
"Can we watch the first four Harry Potter movies on it this afternoon, then skip our reservations for your birthday dinner and go see the fifth movie?"
SLAM.
"But Peter Travers of Rolling Stone said it's his favorite and the best one yet!" I called after him.
Silence.
Finally, peace and quiet to finish this book.
1. Due to unforeseen circumstances- the bookstore not opening until 11, then brunch in the sunshine to feed the Object's poor, starving gullet- I couldn't start the book until 1 p.m. At 5 p.m., my friend called me, aghast that I hadn't finished the book yet and was not ready to dish. I hung up with her and retreated back into the den, only to hear the shuffling around of the Object, bored and skulking around the house with nothing to do nor playmate except the cat, our shelves full of books, the t.v., the interwebs, the internets, the picture-perfect day outside, multiple seasons of MacGyver on DVD, not to mention the dozen friends who had called him to hang out. I finally took pity on him, put my half-read Harry Potter down and left it behind to walk over together to Rita's for water ice. If that's not love, I don't know what is.
But I still made him pay.
Literally.
For the water ice.
Riddle me this: Why is it appropriate to watch David Beckham's premiere MLS game at a party, but not socially acceptable to bring along your oversized children's book?
Anyhoo, I had to pause my reading until this morning, when half of the world already knew how it ended. I woke up and immediately dove back into the book to the exclusion of the Object and most of the outside world. The Object, a non-Harry Potter-reading philistine who had grown weary of two days' worth of semi-neglect1 noticed tears streaming down my face as I read the end of the thirty-first chapter.
"You are not crying, are you," he scoffed. "Seriously?!"
"She just killed off my favorite character!" I protested. "I've been with that character for nine years; I've grown quite fond of the character, and she killed Character X off, just like that!"
A look of mock sympathy crossed his face. "Maybe you can kidnap J.K. Rowling and force her to bring the characters back to life, just like in Misery," he suggested, tongue planted firmly in his cheek.
"No," I sniffled, "I can't; it would never work."
"Why not?" demanded the Object, playing along with a look of skepticism on his face.
"She already addressed it earlier in the book. Bringing people back to life just brings back shells of what they were; you never really have them back, and it makes you kill yourself. And if we lose our lease, it's going to be really hard to move with her and not raise a few eyebrows."
Disgusted that I had so thoroughly entertained the notion of kidnapping J.K. Rowling, the Object threw up his arms in exasperation. "I'm outta here! When I get back, you better have that book read." He huffed to the door, pausing to command more on his way out, "And the dishes done!"
"Ok, but wait just a minute."
"What?"
"You're going to get a DVD player, right?" I asked.
"Yes," he replied testily.
"Can we watch the first four Harry Potter movies on it this afternoon, then skip our reservations for your birthday dinner and go see the fifth movie?"
SLAM.
"But Peter Travers of Rolling Stone said it's his favorite and the best one yet!" I called after him.
Silence.
Finally, peace and quiet to finish this book.
1. Due to unforeseen circumstances- the bookstore not opening until 11, then brunch in the sunshine to feed the Object's poor, starving gullet- I couldn't start the book until 1 p.m. At 5 p.m., my friend called me, aghast that I hadn't finished the book yet and was not ready to dish. I hung up with her and retreated back into the den, only to hear the shuffling around of the Object, bored and skulking around the house with nothing to do nor playmate except the cat, our shelves full of books, the t.v., the interwebs, the internets, the picture-perfect day outside, multiple seasons of MacGyver on DVD, not to mention the dozen friends who had called him to hang out. I finally took pity on him, put my half-read Harry Potter down and left it behind to walk over together to Rita's for water ice. If that's not love, I don't know what is.
But I still made him pay.
Literally.
For the water ice.
posted by The Goo at 12:12 PM
2 Comments:
Riddle me this: Why is it appropriate to watch David Beckham's premiere MLS game at a party, but not socially acceptable to bring along your oversized children's book?
Because watching Becks is something you can do with other folks (kinda the reason for having a party in the first place- to gather people together) but reading DH is a private activity that excludes everyone but yourself (as evidenced by your interactions with your sigoth) maybe?
So yeah, not appropriate.
On the other hand, having a party and having everyone sit around and read, that's okay.
Congrats for making the Post by the way.
I'm still stuck on the part where not everyone wants to do exactly what I want to do, when I want to do it.
I'm in the Post? Sah-weeet! Thanks!
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