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Current Music:The Sundays - My Finest Hour
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Subject:oh 2007.
Time:08:50 pm
Current Mood:contentcontent
Even though posts are rare these days, I thought it would be appropriate to write one more this year, so here I go!
(don't expect too much...haha)

2007 was an interesting year. It went rather quickly for me...I remember New Years last year as if it happened last week... I've been living in this house for a year now, i've had my job for 8 months...

I think I have developed into more of a grown-up...well...not really I suppose. :-)

Overall, I believe 2007 had its ups and downs, just like any year, but overall I think it had more ups.

Now for the "resolutions"...

1. Limit my shoe and bag purchasing.
2. Save $...
3. Eat healthier, work out more...(this always makes the list...and sometimes happens.)
4. Change things in my life when necessary.
5. Go to Mexico! :-)

5 is good. I probably can stick to these... :-)

HAPPY 2008 EVERYONE!!!
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Current Music:Neutral Milk Hotel
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Subject:Everyone should come to Providence...
Time:06:13 pm
Current Mood:cheerfulcheerful
because Chrees and I were chosen to do an art show together!!! YEY!

The good news is you have from December until March to see it. :-)
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Subject:wow.
Time:09:30 pm
Current Mood:surprisedsurprised
Oct. 23, 2007 | You've probably heard the news by now, since it's been splattered everywhere from the New York Times to Entertainment Weekly to the Associated Press: Albus Dumbledore, the late, great headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, was gay.

If you find it curious that this news would make the headline ticker on CNN, you're not crazy, given that Dumbledore is a 150-something wizard who is not, in fact, real. It is also true that the Harry Potter series, in which Dumbledore is a hero, ended with the publication of its final book more than three months ago. How could there be an October surprise about a character whose tale concluded -– supposedly definitively -– in late July?

We have this revelation thanks to Harry Potter author J.K. Rowling, currently on a reading tour of the United States. Dumbledore's gayness is one of the pieces of bonus information about her characters that she's been dispensing steadily since the publication of her magical swan song, "Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows." Thanks to Rowling's loose lips, the Potter universe continues to make news even after its end. In her desire to control and describe it, she's turning a modern assumption about what authorship means inside out. Whoever said the author was dead sure hadn't meant Joanne Rowling.

Rowling outed Dumbledore at Carnegie Hall on Oct. 19, in response to a fan who asked her if Potter's powerful mentor, who believed so mightily in the power of love, had ever been in love himself. "My truthful answer to you," Rowling said, was that "I always thought of Dumbledore as gay." According to reports, this sentence drew an immediate ovation from the crowd. Rowling continued by explaining that Albus had, as a young man, fallen for the talented wand-wielder Gellert Grindelwald. Rowling's discussion of their bond, an important plot point in her last Harry Potter novel, was incisive and moving; she told the audience that Dumbledore's youthful passion for Grindelwald blinded him, as it does so many of us mere muggles, to Grindelwald's flaws, leaving him shattered when he discovered Grindelwald to be seriously evil. Rowling further revealed that at a recent read-through of the script for the sixth Harry Potter movie, she'd had to nix a line of dialogue about Dumbledore's affection for a young woman. She said she'd passed the screenwriter a note reading "Dumbledore's gay!"

Perhaps Rowling's decision to make Dumbledore's sexuality explicit was born out of her frustration that few readers, screenwriters included, picked up on her hints, which were particularly heavy in the final volume. The clues were subtle enough, or maybe our expectations heteronormative enough, that -- although it was a question I talked about extensively with fellow readers this summer -- the topic did not seem to get a lot of national critical attention in the weeks after the book's release.

But a close reading would reveal that "The Deathly Hallows" was shot through with intimations about the headmaster's sexuality, and not just in reference to his love for Grindelwald, which Rowling describes as a teenage passion that makes the otherwise responsible young wizard forget his family and go uncharacteristically batty. The book kicks off with an obituary by Dumbledore's school chum Elphias Doge, who describes his first meeting with the teenaged Dumbledore as a moment of "mutual attraction" and who later tells Harry that he knew the wizard "as well as anyone." Then there is the lurid language of a scurrilous postmortem biography of Dumbledore, in which writer Rita Skeeter wonders about the close relationship between the headmaster and his young pupil: "It's been called unhealthy, even sinister ... there is no question that Dumbledore took an unnatural interest in Potter." Here Rowling is aping the leering, speculative tone of news stories about gay priests, Cub Scout leaders, and teachers accused of inappropriate relationships with their charges.

When she gets to the Grindelwald relationship, Rowling is clear from the moment Harry spots a photo of young Dumbledore with a "handsome companion." In the shot, the boys are "laughing immoderately with their arms around each other's shoulders." A neighbor describes the relationship between Albus and Gellert: "The boys took to each other at once ... even after they'd spent all day in discussion -- both such brilliant young boys, they got on like a cauldron on fire -- I'd sometimes hear an owl tapping at Gellert's bedroom window, delivering a letter from Albus."

And then there is the publication of an original letter from Dumbledore to Grindelwald, in which the wizard chides his friend for getting kicked out of his foreign school, concluding, "But I do not complain, because if you had not been expelled, we would never have met." When Harry has a chance to chat with the deceased headmaster toward the end of the book, Dumbledore tells him his version of the story: "Then, of course, he came ... Grindelwald. You cannot imagine how his ideas caught me, Harry, inflamed me ... Did I know, in my heart of hearts, what Gellert Grindelwald was? I think I did, but I closed my eyes."

There's a very cheerful side to Rowling's decision to directly address Dumbledore's homosexuality. Throughout the series, she has been diligent not only in her narrative exploration of bigotry and intolerance, but also in her commitment to the inclusion of characters of different races, cultures, classes and degrees of physical beauty. It would, in fact, have been a glaring omission had none of the inhabitants of her world been homosexual.


It's great to see the nonchalance and joy with which her news is being received in many sectors. Perhaps getting an ovation at Carnegie Hall wasn't a surprise, but I first heard about the revelation from a 9-year-old friend at a wedding I was attending, who exuberantly announced, "Dumbledore is gay!" without a hint of complaint. When I asked whether the information surprised her, she said, "Well, I always thought he loved [Minerva] McGonagall, but I guess he only loved her like a sister."

But while it's all well and good to see kids giddy at the news of their hero's homosexuality, Rowling's interest in making things perfectly clear (or queer, to borrow queer theorist Alex Doty's pun), not only about Dumbledore but also about the future and livelihood of all of her characters, provokes thorny questions about the role and responsibilities of an author once she has concluded her text.

Since "Deathly Hallows" was published, Rowling has shared with everyone who would listen details about the unwritten fate of her characters: that Harry and Ron are aurors at the Ministry of Magic; that Hermione is "pretty high up" at the Department of Magical Law Enforcement; that Luna Lovegood is a naturalist who marries Rolf Scamander; that Ginny Weasley plays Seeker for the Holyhead Harpies before becoming a sports writer at the Daily Prophet.

At Carnegie Hall, Rowling told the crowd that Neville Longbottom, Hogwarts herbology professor, marries former Hufflepuff Hannah Abbott, who becomes the landlady of the wizarding watering hole Leaky Cauldron, and that Hagrid never gets married. Perhaps most disconcerting was Rowling's assertion that what Harry's conflicted aunt Petunia would have said to him at their parting, at which Rowling wrote this tantalizing passage –- "for a moment Harry had the strangest feeling that she wanted to say something to him: She gave him an odd, tremulous look and seemed to teeter on the edge of speech, but then, with a little jerk of her head, she bustled out of the room..." –- was, "I do know what you're up against, and I hope it's OK."

Oh. That's too bad. Because in my imagination, Petunia was going to say something much more exciting than that.
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Subject:not a real entry, but it sums everything up.
Time:08:41 pm
Current Mood:cynicalcynical
Why is it that I only ever want what I can't have?
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Subject:deep thought.
Time:09:50 pm
Current Mood:thoughtfulthoughtful
Whenever I see/hear a commercial for the iphone, I get a little depressed. It could be the cute song playing in the background...or my inner monologue laughing at me because i'll never be able to get one. I guess we'll never know.
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Current Music:Loggins & Messina - Danny's Song
Current Location:doing Gerald Cooperberg
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Subject:so TRUE.
Time:05:58 pm
Current Mood:enthralledenthralled
You Are How You Camped

What your enjoyment of sleep-away camp, or lack of same, says about your character.

By Timothy Noah

If there's a more reliable Rorschach than sleep-away camp, I'd like to see it. How you responded to being shipped off (often at an appallingly tender age) to a cluster of cedar cabins beside a mountain lake; to being taught Native American crafts, chants, and songs of dubious authenticity; and to being subjected to various painful hazing rituals—many of them involving underwear—reveals an awful lot about your fundamental character. If, as the Duke of Wellington claimed, the Battle of Waterloo was won on the playing fields of Eton, then the psychotherapy bills of our own great nation were run up on the tetherball courts of Camp Weecheewachee (or whatever the hell your summer camp was called).
Let's begin with the people who didn't like camp.

I was one such person. The first camp I got sent to was Camp Lenox, an establishment in the Berkshires that is still in business. During my summer there, in 1966, it was run by and for males who thrived on athletic competition. I did not. My older brother was an enthusiastic jock and it was his love for the place that landed me there. I don't remember seeing much of him after we got off the bus—he was seven years my senior—but he'd occasionally appear in the distance, wearing the black beret that marked him as my enemy in Color War. I was assigned to the orange team; our symbol was a baton. To this day I shake my head in disbelief that a responsible camp director would set brother against brother in the name of competitive sport. Perhaps you find my thinking on this point a little rigid. Well, I'm sorry, but I'm not the sort of person who can alter his loyalties so easily, even within such a character-building realm. (I would have made a terrible Kennedy.)
Observing my perplexity with mild concern, my parents shipped me off to a different camp the following summer. This was Camp Arcady, in the Adirondacks. Now defunct, it was co-ed and less single-mindedly dedicated to sports than Camp Lenox had been. Arcady had other advantages over its predecessor, the most memorable being a waterfront counselor named Doreen who had once been a Mouseketeer on The Mickey Mouse Club. Visions of Doreen (who in the decade since her TV stardom had filled out quite satisfactorily) haunted my prepubescent dreams. Even now, in my mind's eye, I see Doreen emerging, like Botticelli's Venus, from a clamshell perched on the shores of Lake George, a whistle nestled chastely in her cleavage. It was probably because of Doreen that I learned to water-ski. Water-skiing is the only camp sport I remember enjoying. Otherwise, I was pretty miserable. For the evidence, click here (center row, fifth from the left).
People (like myself) who didn't enjoy camp tend to have a problem engaging in organized activities of all kinds. Later in life we often become criminals or sociopaths. The more respectable among us often become journalists. If we're extremely bright or creative (or aspire to be), we may become writers or scholars or artists. The common thread is an outsider mentality. A self-flattering analysis, I know, but such is my privilege as author of this article.
Some people hated camp so much that they made their parents bring them home. These people should not be confused with the outlaws described above. There is nothing outré about not being able to endure summer camp. The come-and-get-me set grow up to be neurotic and needy. These are people who can often be heard on CSPAN's early-morning call-in program Washington Journal, filibustering from a time zone still blanketed in predawn darkness, until the host says, "Please state your question."
Some people enjoy camp. These people grow up to be normal. My own two children, I'm pleased to report, belong to this category, assuming the blasé letters I'm receiving ("Pringles would taste pretty good right about now") reflect sincere contentment.
Some people really, really enjoy camp. I wish I could tell you that these people grow up to be really, really normal, but they don't. You know who I'm talking about. These are the ones who wept uncontrollably when the papiermâché numbers spelling out 1967 were set ablaze on a little raft that a camp counselor, under cover of darkness, towed stealthily to the middle of Lake Weecheewachee on the evening of the last group sing. These are the people for whom childhood represented the zenith of human existence and everything that followed an anticlimax. The women—they're mostly women—usually end up in abusive relationships with pathologically angry men who eventually abandon them and pay child support erratically, if at all. If the person who really, really enjoyed camp is a man, then he is unlikely ever to develop an intimate relationship and on occasion may be spotted in the back of a police cruiser speeding away from a grade-school playground.
The final category is people who really, really, really enjoy camp. These are the camp cultists. You probably expect me to say that these campers grow up to be utterly incapable of functioning in a noncamp environment, and end up sleeping on the streets in cardboard boxes. In fact, the opposite is true. Camp cultists grow up to be chief executive officers of major corporations, name partners in Wall Street banking firms, Cabinet secretaries, governors, and presidents of prestigious foundations. Their universities invite them to serve on their boards. Their home towns name schools after them. They are the Establishment. Longtime Disney CEO Michael Eisner is a camp cultist, having published, in 2005, Camp, a memoir of his bygone days at Vermont's Keewaydin Canoe Camp, which bills itself as the nation's oldest continually operating summer camp (it was founded in 1893), and whose Web site invites alumni to donate securities to something called the Keewaydin Foundation. I haven't read Eisner's book, but according to Amazon.com, its "statistically improbable phrases" include "winds ceremony" and "Indian circle."
For camp cultists, summer camp is an experience that lasts a lifetime. When they're too old to be campers, they come back as counselors. When they're too old to be counselors, they send their children in their stead. When their children eventually succeed (on the third or fourth try) in getting themselves thrown out of Camp Weecheewachee, for infractions too ghastly to contemplate, camp cultists send money. Lots and lots of money. If it weren't for camp cultists, half the summer camps in the United States would be forced to close their doors, depriving today's campers of this essential early exercise in psychological sorting.
Or perhaps not. Montana Miller, a folklorist who teaches a class called "Summer Camp Ethnography" at Ohio's Bowling Green State University, insists that even children who don't attend summer camp subject themselves to the same psychological sorting process by imagining that they did. In an e-mail to me, she elaborated:
There have been so many movies and books and TV shows—not to mention the stories told by friends who return from camp—that kids internalize whether or not they went to camp themselves. … I had [my students] do an in-class writing assignment in which they recounted an anecdote from camp—presenting it as a personal-experience narrative, but not necessarily real. It could be fictional or something that happened to someone they knew. They read their anecdotes out loud to the class and we tried to guess whether these were real experiences they had had themselves, or constructions from their imaginations and their pop culture educations. You know what? In almost every case, it was impossible to tell.
The summer-camp ink blot, then, is universal. You are how you camped, even if you never camped at all.
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Subject:so here's the deal...
Time:08:25 pm
Current Mood:nostalgicnostalgic
Even though I have no intentions of moving right this minute (or...to make that statement more accurate, I can't afford to move right now, even if I wanted to) I think I'd really like to move to either:

A) Queens, NY
B) Miami, FL
C) On the west coast somewhere.

I don't know...maybe I can afford it. I do need to stay here for my job's sake though, before I attempt to transfer anywhere. I miss living with/near friends, and every weekend when I go visiting or talking on the phone I am reminded of that.

I feel like my life is never balanced.
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Subject:a gem.
Time:08:51 pm
Current Mood:accomplishedaccomplished


It feels good to see a bad pic of Lindsay Lohan...
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Current Music:SWV!
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Subject:thoughts at random.
Time:06:07 pm
Current Mood:lethargiclethargic
Work is amazing (so far). If it always runs like it did today, i'm one lucky chick (knock on wood).

Lionel Ritchie made a new song?

Dear Nor'easter, Please go away...you're drowning me. Also, if you could take the cold weather with you, that would be excellent. Thanks so much.

and...(on a much more serious note)

Thinking of all the people of Virginia Tech...esp. Dave and Alex b/c they are the only people I know personally who went to school there. I hate when tragedy strikes and seems to be happening quite often lately. :-(

Have fun in Japan, Jenny-girl!
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Current Music:Stereolab
Current Location:SoapandNapkin's apartment
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Subject:Never you mind...
Time:05:21 pm
Current Mood:accomplishedaccomplished
Got a grown-up job this week, so i'm here to stay...at least for awhile, wink!  I can't believe that I managed to get a job that: A) pays me more money than i've ever made per hour B) relates to what I want to do with my life C) gets me discounts to my favorite stores.  The only downer (so far) is waking up at the ass crack of dawn Mon-Fri..but I think I can get used to that.  I hope my luck stays on this awesome path...it's about time that 2007 took a turn for the better!!
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[icon] tenacious_jules
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