Normal: What even is that?

I don’t think I’ll ever have the “quintessential college experience” whatever that may be. It just won’t happen. I’ve had the startling realization and have come to terms with it. It’s fine. Kind of. Sort of. Maybe?

I’m into my third year of college. I am now a junior in college. What even is that? When did this happen? Who decided I was old enough / mature enough / smart enough to get this far? I want to go back to elementary school with its coloring, its book reports, its multiplication tables. Instead I have to endure digital media projects, analytical essays, and statistics. Not fair.

But I have noticed, of late, that my college experience isn’t on par with those of most of my friends from home. Is it because I went out of state? I went to a private school? I’m on an urban campus? I didn’t rush? I don’t know if I’ll ever be certain, but I know some of what I’m missing.

I’ll never go to a college football game because my school doesn’t have a football team. I won’t get to tailgate outside our stadium, because we don’t have a stadium, let alone cars. I’ll never get to enjoy porch drinking, because there are no houses on campus, excluding the tiny town-houses that have no porches – just stoops. I’ll never attend, at least as an undergrad, a university with a male population of which the majority are heterosexual. (Yes, I’m including my study abroad university in that. That’s one thing they don’t advertise that in the guidebooks, let me tell you.)

But it’s more than that. It’s also the fact that I didn’t get to drink PBR or play beer pong until I was hanging out with my brother over summer vacation. Whether that’s because there doesn’t seem to be room for beer pong at school or kids tend to drink liquor, I can’t be certain. I never shotgunned a beer until hanging out with my summer coworkers because, on the off chance we have beer at school, it sure as hell doesn’t come from a can.

What else am I missing out on? Is it because of where I go, or because of who I am and whom I chose to hang out with? If you have any insights, send ‘em my way.

Not that I don’t enjoy my college experience; I do. For the most part. GW has its positives: the DC location, dorms down the street from the White House, school-year internships on the Hill, awesome authors and press secretaries and politicians that speak on campus. It can be wonderful, of course, it just doesn’t strike me as conventional, typical, or dare I say it, normal. Maybe when I get back to GW I’ll found a beer-pong league and sponsored flip-cup tournaments? At the very least I’ll take a road trip to Athens, Ohio to enjoy the Spring festivals. I’ll take normalcy, whatever that may be, wherever I can get it.

The End of an Era

My childhood is coming to an end in the most profound way imaginable – with a movie franchise. But honestly, it’s not just any franchise, it’s Harry freaking Potter. The Chosen One. The Boy Who Lived. Potty wee Potter. We’ve both grown up, and it’s time to part ways. But I’m not leaving his side without a fight. No way, no how. I’m taking the last stand at the Battle of Hogwarts. just like all of our classmates.

That’s right, our classmates. Because I was there, right along with him. Ever wonder why you don’t know all of the girls’ names in Harry’s year in Gryffindor house? Because one of them is me. Hermione, Parvati, Lavender, and Molly. Fit right in, don’t I?

And I’m trying really hard to keep my cool about the release of the final film. Though I know that I’m going to fail spectacularly, I have to at least try. Because, for the rest of the week, if not the entire summer, I’ll just be a blubbering mess.

The other day my brother said I used to be obsessed with Harry Potter. I thought it funny he used the past tense. I pointedly corrected him, saying that I am still very much obsessed with it and not at all ashamed. He found that odd, as he was used to using “Harry Potter fan” as a disparaging remark. He never really got Harry Potter, preferring JRR Tolkein’s world of Hobbits. To each his own, I guess, but I’ll stick with the wizarding world of Harry Potter, thank you very much. We got into a discussion of which world was superior, which characters stronger, who would reign supreme in a fight. (The wizards, obviously. All you need is the flick of the wand, and besides, Harry’s got the sword of Gryffindor on his side.)

One of my ongoing struggles with my dad is my seemingly futile attempt to get him to understand just how big a part Harry Potter has played in my life. I once told him that the best prank he ever could have played on me would have been to give me a fake acceptance letter to Hogwarts. He could’ve filmed it. My reaction would have been worth over a million hits on YouTube, easily. Because you better believe I waited for my letter. Not just when I was eleven, but until I was 20. I’ve now resigned myself to the fact that I’m probably just a Squib.

Anne and I have had many a conversation about Harry Potter, as well. Our topics of discussion would range from what house we’d be in to what classes we’d take. (Obviously I’m a Gryffindor, but I wouldn’t shirk away from being placed in Ravenclaw. Anne’s somewhere between a Hufflepuff and a Ravenclaw.) My favorite topics of thought tend to be what classes I’d get to take if I went to Hogwarts. Of course I’d take all of the basic, required courses, but when you get into your 3rd year at Hogwarts, you also sign up for some electives. Choices include: Divination, Care of Magical Creatures, Arithmancy and Ancient Runes. Whereas Anne would pull a Hermione and take all of them, I would restrain myself to Care of Magical Creatures, Arithmancy and Ancient Runes.

The thing that I don’t understand about Harry Potter, (that’s not true, there’s a whole litany of things coming in a different post) is how every muggle-born student doesn’t excel at their schoolwork? How could they not be so freaking excited about being magical that they wouldn’t devour every book placed in front of them? That they wouldn’t practice every spell, charm, enchantment, and jinx until they nailed it. Because that’s what I’d be like. I’d be another Hermione Granger and I would never, ever apologize for it.

I can’t fathom not being a complete geek about Harry Potter or his world. I let it pull me in like it was Devil’s Snare. Because Harry Potter has a real world, it’s just not tangible. I’ve been a part of the world for the last eleven years and I don’t plan on leaving any time soon. I’ll know the spells, the secret passageways in Hogwarts, Mr. Filch’s list of banned items, the members of the Order of the Phoenix. I’ll cower away from Fluffy and those damned Blast-Ended Skrewts. I’ll defend Neville and Luna, jinx Pansy Parkinson, and punch Draco Malfoy. I’ll attempt to disarm the Death Eaters I happen across. I’ll drive away dementors and obliterate boggarts. I’ll keep Hagrid and Fang company and be a faithful customer at Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes. Hell, I’d probably have been one of their test subjects during the early days of their Skiving Snackboxes. (That’s not true, there’s too much Hermione in me; I’d try and confiscate their goods for my own nefarious purposes.) I’ll have an Arnold, a Crookshanks, and a Hedwig. I’ll own stock in sugar quills and always have a bottle of color-changing ink handy. But I will never, ever, buy that putrid pink parchment that the deplorable Dolores Umbridge favored. Oh, and I’ll own a broomstick, but I still haven’t decided between the new Cleansweep or the new Nimbus yet.

After tomorrow night, once I’ve seen the final premiere, can someone just come over and obliviate my memory? That way, I can enjoy Harry Potter again, just as if it were the first time. Otherwise I’ll just be here, sobbing. Because it’s the end of an era, dammit. At least I’ll have Pottermore to look forward to.

When I was just a little girl…

Well, consensus is that I’m finally growing up. Slowly, but surely. The list of things that scare the bejeezus out of me is slowly shortening and evolving towards a more adult mind-set. With the odd exception, of course. I feel that binders will be temporarily added to my list of fears – my pinky finger got caught in a binder snap this afternoon at work and I had to call a coworker over to help me out. My finger’s bruised and the nail has a little bit of a dent. I’ll suffer through it.

Some fears I find I am now ready to face, like Alice in Wonderland. While I have no desire to watch the remake, I think I’m ready to give the 1951 version another go-round. You see, when I was little the whole falling-down-the-rabbit-hole, back-and-forth shrinking-and-growing thing freaked me right out. But, as I re-watch the clip, I find similarities between other films which never bothered me.

For instance, when Alice first goes down the rabbit hole, her falling and shrinking reminds me of the Wizard of Oz – during the tornado, as Dorothy witnesses all of the objects and people whizzing by her window. The vibrant, strobe-light like colors remind me of the Aristocats (which didn’t bother me as a child because they creepy effects were put on cats, not humans). As the scene progresses, the surreal nature of the shrinking-doors remind me fondly (for the most part) of Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory.

But, alas, some things never change. I have always, and always will be, terrified of “Pathways into Darkness”. It was a computer game from the early 1990s, and, after 15 years, it’s still the most petrifying game I’ve ever seen. See for yourself:

Told you.

New Year’s Resolutions: more what you’d call “guidelines” than actual rules.

res-o-lu-tion (noun) 1. A firm decision to do or not to do something

I’ve never really been into the whole “New Years Resolution” construct. Sometimes I try and convince myself that a resolution wouldn’t be so bad, but, more often than not, I forget to set one or don’t manage to think of one in time. Last year I convinced myself that I could just set one for the Chinese New Year. (Anything to make me more like Mulan is fine by me.)

So, instead of falling into the chasm of failed resolutions of yore, I’ve decided to set goals. Guidelines, if you will. Every year dawns with promise. Anything can happen. Of course we tend to bank on the positive rather than the negative, but who wouldn’t? Each New Year’s I think, “Molly, this is it. This is the year for me.” And it’s rarely true. I have good years and bad years, but those are rarely measured in the 365 day span from January 1st through December 31st. More often than not it’s gauged from August 28 to May 10th, or whatever the length of my school year may be.

Confession: New Year’s always makes me a little depressed. It’s not the change so much as the divergence from comfortability. The past is my playground. Good memories made even more fantastic by rose-colored glasses. And, as I grow up, each year gets a little more realistic, a little harder to use my imagination, a little more difficult to keep in contact with everyone that I’ve grown up with.

This year is kind of big for me. It marks the beginning of my 3rd decade of my life. I turn 20 this year, y’all! That being said, my goals for this year are fairly simple:

• have fun! If everything works out, I’ll be able to spend 4 months abroad, finally getting to travel Europe. Although I still have five months of sophomore year left, which I’m really looking forward to (honestly), I cannot wait to spend fall semester in Brighton. This, of course, also includes making 2011 as much of a Levi’s ad as I can.
• find more me time. I spend a lot of time by myself, but that’s usually just reading or watching tv. I want to rediscover the wonder of spending hours at a time outside like I did as a kid. This shouldn’t be too hard with the nation’s capitol, the shores of Lake Erie, and the South of England as my personal playground. Spending time out of the house (or dorm) will be good for me. I can go to museums, monuments, walk the beach, listen to the hundreds of podcasts and new albums that keep piling up, unlistened to on my iPod, and just keep working on figuring out who I am.
• finish a writing project (or two or seven). I keep discovering new things to write about that intrigue me, but I haven’t really finished one yet. Knowing that I have the potential to finish these stories, that so far the characters are floundering around, not completely whole actually makes me a little sad. The only thing that pains me more when I’m writing is the moment I discover that I have to kill one of my creations. (I’m still sorry about that, Sven.)
• rediscover my love for photography. I’ve been taking pictures for as long as I can remember, but I can’t seem to make the time when I’m at school. And then I get depressed that so many people I know have gotten so much better at photography than I once was. I need to buck up and rise to the personal challenge!

That’s all. Really. Well, for now at least. Music-times!

Surprise Me, I Dare You

Vampires. They’re a pop culture phenomenon that I admit I’ve been sucked into following. While they’re not exactly a new sect of paranormal popularity (Dracula, Nasferatu, Anne Rice, etc.) the last five years have really seen a spike (haha) in mass-marketing. Having read and viewed my fair share of vampire stories, I feel that I can be semi-reliable when I say that there’s really only one archetype for every vampire story of the last score of years. To wit: I will compare and contrast four sources: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, True Blood (The Southern Vampire Mystery Series), The Vampire Diaries (tv show), and Twilight (don’t mock. I can feel you mocking from here and I don’t like it.).

Main Character: A young female ingenue who can hold her own. Typically a social outcast, fiercely protective of her loved ones.

• Buffy Summers: Perhaps a little to badass to be an ingenue, per se, but young and female. She is the Slayer after all, charged with killing all things demonic.
• Sookie Stackhouse: Her telepathy got her pegged as an outsider at an early age and made it difficult to pay attention in school.
• Elena Gilbert: The death of her parents put her out of the realm of popularity as she became a little reclusive and less of a partier.
• Bella Swan: Classic outcast story. Awkward, clumsy, people-don’t-understand-me-and-I-just-moved-across-the-country-to-a-backwoods-town.

Backwater Town: Small town, USA. Population: less than 20,000

• Sunnydale, CA: There’s one main street in the small town. It’s on top of the Hellmouth. Not exactly prime real estate (unless, of course, you’re a demon).
• Bon Temps, LA: Hicksville, USA. They do all of their shopping at the Wal-Mart two towns over. Everyone is racist and/or homophobic. Supernatural baddies galore.
• Mystic Falls, VA: Small town America. One local hangout for all the kids which doubles as a bar for the adults. Classy. Also, it was a vampire haven in the late 19th century and descendants of the founding families include werewolves and vampires.
• Forks, WA: It’s rainy there. All the time. And a quintessential small town, I guess. You know, the perfect place for all of those sparkly vamps and shape-shifting pups to hang out and are sure to never, ever be discovered.

The Boyfriend: Vampire. The proverbial “nice guy.” Tends to brood. A lot. Generally has dark, ridiculous looking hair. Has a terrible accent.

• Angel (Angelus): Dark hair? Check. Broods a lot? Check. Tortured soul? Check, but only because those damn gypsies cursed him into carrying around a soul and feeling regret for his actions unless he manages to find his “one moment of happiness.” Terrible Accent: appears only in flashbacks to his days in native Ireland.
• Bill Compton: Dark hair? Check. Broods a lot? Check. Tortured soul? Does the phrase, “It is pure NIHILISM!” mean anything to you? (If not, read: check.) Terrible Accent: Anytime he’s from the south. Which is always.
• Stefan Salvatore: Dark hair? Check. Broods a lot? Check. Tortured soul? Check. I mean, he did turn into a vamp by drinking his fathers blood. Then forced his brother to turn, against his will. Oh, and that was after he stole his big brother’s girlfriend. Don’t worry, now he’s all remorseful and only feeds on bunnies and other cute woodland creatures. Stefan escaped the terrible accent, but he is dating a girl who is identical to his vampire ex-girlfriend, so we’ll call it a wash.
• Edward Cullen: Dark hair? Check. Broods a lot? Well, he may be the youngest vamp on the list, but he broods so well you’d think he invented it. Tortured soul? Well, he’d tell you he doesn’t have a soul, but it doesn’t stop him from acting like he’s the most woebegone creature on the face of the Earth. Also feeds on innocent woodland creatures. Terrible Accent: only when on-screen.

The Bad Boy: Obviously the more swoon-worthy of the leading men. Sometimes comes with a nice accent. Oh, and has the ability to emote. And a sense of humor. Also not one to shy away from the booze.

• Spike (William the Bloody): Once a merry prankster in cahoots with Angel, they were never really best buds. Spike has too much panache to be all doom and gloom like Angel. Plus, sexy British accent. And he’ll spontaneously burst into song. (Most notably in Once More, With Feeling. But he burst into The Ramones’ “I Wanna Be Sedated” a few episodes before that.)
• Eric Northman: Oh, you know. The ushe. 1000 year old Viking vampire. Body of a norse god: tall, blond, ripped. Menacing, with a touch of devil-may-care evil, and a ton of joie d’ vivre. Plus, he has the slightest Scandanavian accent and will speak Swedish with his progeny (with whom he has an adorable relationship).
• Damon Salvatore: Oh, lord the “eye thing”. Brilliant, expressive, blue eyes.  Ripped body. Funny. Loves to dance. Evil, but delightfully so. He would never allow any harm to come to the ones he loves. But that doesn’t stop him from emotionally (and, on occasion, physically) torturing Stefan (his baby bro) for all eternity for the whole making-him-turn-against-his-will-after-having-stolen-his-girlfriend-and-always-being-the-favorite-son thing.
• Jacob Black: The only non-vampire that falls into the bad-boy category. Not really that much of a bad-boy either, excepting the fact that he rides a motorcycle and… ditches school? Not really one for the random acts of evil, this one.

The Werewolf: Pretty straight-forward. A man who, every full moon, must turn into a, say it with me, wolf.

• Oz: One of the Scoobies (Buffy’s merry band of Slayer-helpers). The boyfriend of Buffy’s best friend (you know, before Willow turned gay). Locks himself up during the full moon to protect the innocents.
• Alcide Hervaux: The most prominent of the werewolves in Bon Temps. Decent guy when he’s not pining over his shape-shifting bitch of an ex. Not to be confused with Sam Merlotte, Bon Temps’ resident shape-shifter.
• Tyler Lockwood: Well, his uncle was one, too, before the big, bad Damon ripped the still-beating heart out of his chest. He’s triggered the werewolf curse, but has yet to actually transform.
• Jacob Black: While technically a shape-shifter limited to one form, he thinks he’s a werewolf, so we’ll count it.

The Big Bad: You know, the antagonist. Tries to kill the protagonist. Not to be confused with the Bad Boys. Though they can be quite antagonistic on their own.

• The Master/ The Mayor / Adam / Glory / The Trio / The First: All different. One big bad per season was the general rule. You can lump Spike and his wayward ex Drusilla in there, too, but I’d rather you wouldn’t. All are generally set on world domination and/or destruction. They thrive on the general evil-ness that the Hellmouth emits and all want to see the Slayer (aka Buffy) dead.
• Rene Lenier (aka Drew Marshall) / Maryann / Russell Edgington: Again with the one big bad per season deal.  The evil gets arguably evil-er as the series progresses.
• Katherine / Elijah / Klaus: The Vampire Diaries is usually very generous with quick reveals concerning intricate plot twists, but fans are left hanging as to what, exactly, these three big-wigs want with the Doppleganger Elena. (Elena is Katherine’s doppleganger and distant descendent who seems to hold the key to breaking the curse that keeps the vampires from walking around in the sun.)
• James, Victoria, and Laurent / The Volturi: More menacing than evil, in retrospect. There’s a lot of threatening to eff things up, but not that many things (or people) actually get effed up.

See? Formulaic. Each category is conveniently filled. I can tell you each story if you fill in the blanks: [Main Character] suffers a personal loss or trial such as the death of her parents or a relocation. Then, when she least expects it, she meets [the Boyfriend]. Then, [Main Character] befriends / rekindles friendship with [Werewolf]. Just as [Main Character] and [Boyfriend] start to settle into a comfortable rythym in their relationship, [Main Character] meets [Bad Boy]. While at first she shies away from him, she is drawn to his ability to emote and not be a perpetual debbie-downer. [Boyfriend] gets more depressed and broodier than usual. [The Big Bad] attempts to kill/maim [Main Character]. [Bad Boy] helps to save [Main Character] but gallantly steps back as [Boyfriend] gets the credit.

Lather, Rinse, Repeat as necessary, occasionally throwing a wrench in the [Main Character]/[Boyfriend] plot and spicing up the interaction between [Main Character] and [Bad Boy]. Listen to the fans squee sickeningly.

Generation X, Y, Z… HP?

I’m 19 years old and I never received my letter from Hogwarts. I’ve been waiting for 8 years. I’m starting to worry that I might actually be a muggle. I’d settle for squib at this point.

Being born in 1991, I am technically on the cusp of belong to both Generations Y and Z. In reality, however, I belong to the Harry Potter Generation.

Sure, I’m fluent in text-speak, can’t remember a time without cell phones or laptops, jump to the internet for the most basic queries, can barely remember using a modem for the internet… hell, I can barely remember not having the internet. Regardless, I’m not truly a member of Generation Y (1982-1994) or Generation Z (1991-2009).

~            ~            ~            ~           ~            ~          ~

I was 7 years old when the first Harry Potter book was released in the US. I picked up my first copy when I was 9. Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets is the first book I can remember buying new from a bookstore – it was a present from my mom to read in the car while moving from Alabama to Ohio. This is a boy – a complete set of extended family, friends, enemies, mentors and teachers – that I’ve grown up with. While Harry Potter does get credit for re-engaging an apathetic generation in reading, that’s not why it’s famous to the kids who read it.

I started reading Harry Potter when I was 9 and he was 12. He was only ever a couple years older than me, in print. In the movies, we were even closer in age. I’ve literally grown up with him; I’ve snuck down the 3rd floor corridor on the right hand side, traipsed through the Forbidden Forest, punched Draco Malfoy in the face, cowered from the Death Eaters, cheered from the stands of the Quidditch World Cup, sobbed when Sirius, Dumbledore, Hedwig, George’s ear, Fred, Lupin, Tonks, and even Snape died – any emotional high or low that Harry’s been through, I felt it too.

I’ll forever resent my generation for regressing in terms of vocabulary, but I’ll champion the word “muggle” being added to the international lexicon. I won’t forget standing in a parking lot at 2 am with my friends, pretending that Roman Candles were actually wands, and that the sparks shooting out were actually related to the spells we shouted. I’ll still try to “accio” a book from across the room, “muffliato” when I’m trying to tell a secret, “sectumsempra” my brother when he gets on my nerves or “levicorpus” my roommate on April Fool’s Day.

The thing about Harry that bothers me the most, though, is that his age is a lie. Not in the sense that he’s timeless – though he is – but in the fact that this past July 31, Harry actually turned 30! In reality, he’s 11 years my senior. It feels like, just a little bit, Harry betrayed me. It’s like that episode of Friends: The One with the Ick Factor in which Monica, at 26, starts dating a guy she thinks is 22. She, lies, telling him that she’s also 22, before finding out that he’s actually only 18 – resulting in an eight year age gap.

I’m just saying, Harry, you took advantage of me a little bit. You cheapened our relationship. Regardless, you could pull a Malfoy – stomp on my face, cover me in an invisibility cloak, and leave me on a train for God knows how long – and I’d still find it in myself to forgive you. Because, Harry, you’ll always be my Chosen One.

Lock it up, Shut it down.

To quote Chris Colfer:

Today I passed a man with a “The End is Near” sign. With Oprah, Larry King, and the Harry Potter movies all ending, I think he’s right.

It’s true. Some iconic tv shows were laid to rest this last season, including: 24, Flight of the Conchords, Law & Order, LOST, Monk, and Reno 911. But, two of the most influential series of the last decade are finally shutting down. On the one hand, you have Harry Potter, and on the other, LOST. And, while I recognize that you can’t really compare the two, I’m going to anyway:

While Lost and the Harry Potter series were both  wise in knowing when to call it quits and how to wrap up their intricate plots in a relatively timely manner, overall, Harry Potter has to take the cake. Lost, while managing to change the way people watched tv, got hung up on slow reveals that weren’t always satisfying. Harry Potter, however, managed to re-engage an apathetic generation in reading.

The Final(e) Breakdown:

LOST:

• I wasn’t disappointed, but I wasn’t overwhelmed, either.
• There were a lot more questions raised than answered.
• Ambiguous which can either be satisfying for a large audience or just frustrating as hell. I was kind of cheesed off, and saw the ending as a bit of a cop-out, even though I enjoyed it. (Kind of like The Awakening.)

Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows (book):

• Spectacular, but I thought the epilogue was a bit of a stretch (though ultimately satisfying).
• Credit for keeping the action flowing and for tying up all the loose ends
• Daring: lots of death and intrigue
• The more anticipated of the two.

Georgetown… or was it Halloweentown?

Every year around Halloween, Georgetown morphs into Halloweentown. I kind of love it. I love it! Because, let’s face it, I’m a Halloween costume champ when I put my mind to it. Some of my best include:

• Robin, of Batman & Robin (1997?)
• Y2K bug (1999)
• Voting Booth (2000)
• Pillsbury Doughboy (2003)
• Cheerleader (my ironic statement of 2004)
• Kimberly, the Pink Power Ranger (2007)

This year, I was a genius – I went as a college student. My only real reason for taking the easy way out was that I’ve grown pretty apathetic about Halloween. Candy – eh. This year I had to work during Trick-or-Treating on Embassy Row and was dead tired when it came to Saturday night. See:

But, alas, I pulled myself up by my bootstraps and got in a gung-ho mood. The night was crazy, hectic, and the most fun I can remember having in a long, long time. Highlights include:

• Playing my first ever game of Kings! I was so excited, y’all. Hannah taught me the rules a couple summers ago at BVFAC, but this was my first opportunity to play. About damn time.
• Trooping to Georgetown with a bunch of new friends from Maryland.
• Catching the Circulator Bus to Dupont Circle and annoying some poor lady (accidentally, of course).
• Attempting to convince a drunk kid that he was Jamaican. He believed that he was a male Russian spy named Salt. His mission: Destroy other Russian spies. Namely me.
• Taking charge of said drunk boy with a six foot tall penguin named Kevin. Neither Penguin Kevin or myself had any real investment in Drunk Boy’s well being, but we’re just that nice.
• Hearing from Penguin Kevin that Drunk Boy was hit on in the men’s room of Kramer Books by a gay guitarist.
• Hauling Drunk Boy the 8 blocks (with the help of Penguin Kevin) before realizing that he could and would walk the remaining 2 blocks of the journey without making a break for it.

Halloween in DC is never boring, and rightly so. It’s become a way for GW students to unofficially celebrate the end of midterms, since we have no Fall Break. Kids go crazy. Fun gets had. And my night was probably one of the tamer stories that you’ll come across from GW students. (You’re welcome, parents.)

Here’s a pretty perfect and surprisingly accurate description of Halloween in Georgetown:

Coming Soon:

Halloween, Halloween, Halloween!!! You know what that means: No, not costumes, not trick-or-treating, not egging houses or smashing pumpkins (Smashing Pumpkins is okay), but DCOMs!!!!

This is the month of, among many:

• Hocus Pocus
• Halloweentown
• Don’t Look Under the Bed
• Phantom of the Megaplex
• The Scream Team (How had I forgotten about this!? It was fantastic.)
• Tower of Terror

Tower of Terror is, perhaps, my favorite. It’s tied with Halloweentown. Just… I’m past the point where I’m totally excited about the holiday. Probably because in the last 5 years I’ve had killer headaches the day of Halloween. That, combined with the fact that I’m really not a huge fan of candy and the fact that Halloween’s on a Sunday this year doesn’t really do anything to get me stoked. Not to mention the Rally for Sanity and the March to Keep Fear Alive both take place the same weekend. I’m geeky enough that those things more than take precedence. And I have no costume ideas. Oh, well.

Only one more week until Halloween. I think I’ll celebrate by watching my favorite “freaky” films. Of the Disney Channel variety, of course.

Let’s get Literal, literal! I wanna get Literal…

The Harry Potter and the Deathly Hollows premiere is only a month and a half away and I couldn’t be more excited. Confession: I’ve never before been to a HP midnight premiere. This will be the first time. We’re getting the whole gang together for it. Costumes will be donned, the series re-read, and tickets purchased a month in advance. Look out, Georgetown, you’re going to get invaded by muggles who wish they were wizards.

This summer I confessed to my dad that when I was eleven I waited for my (seemingly inevitable) acceptance letter to Hogwarts. Clearly, it never came, seeing as how I’m sitting in my GW dorm room, but whatever. Maybe I was a little naive. Of course I wouldn’t be accepted to Hogwarts. That school is for British students. And no matter how much I wish I were British, it wasn’t going to happen. My dad mocked me for a very, very, very long time, but I don’t miss having that hope. I did, however, ream him for not having made me a fake letter and having it delivered to me. Would that have been cool, or what? If I ever have kids and they get addicted to Harry Potter, I’m for sure creating a fake wizarding school for them to be accepted to. Or I’ll kindly explain that they’re squibs. It depends on how much I like them.

Regardless, the hope that one day, maybe, I would board the Hogwarts Express with all of the other muggle-born students never really died. Sometimes I catch myself wondering: did the letter just get lost in the mail? For now I’ll just sigh and keep studying my political communications. Maybe one day I’ll be able to work as ambassador for muggle-wizard relations.