My Harry Potter review

For some reason I never posted this back in July/August when it would have been relevent. Since it's one of my favorite things about 2007 -- and that should be read as "wow, that must have been really awesome," not "wow, he must have had a really lame year if a book is a highlight" -- I've decided to post it today even in tardiness.

Cool?

Cool.

In high school, I was friends with this girl Jamie Wilson. Jamie used to read with her fingers, meaning that she would literally run her fingers beneath every word as a means of guiding her eyes to the appropriate lettering. Obviously I made fun of Jamie for this (also for dating a kid who habitually tied a shirt around his waist).

I bring this up because I found myself pulling a Jamie Wilson in finishing Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, or a slight variation of Jamie anyway. The Harry Potter series has taught me a new level of excitement – reading a book that’s so good, you have to fetch a piece of stationary to block yourself from skipping to words further down the page.

As much as a part of me is sad for the series to be finished, I also feel privileged – yes, that’s the word I’m choosing – to have been a part of the whole thing. I finished books 1 and 2 in Philadelphia, 3 and 4 in Barcelona, 5 in Boston, 6 in Brigantine and 7 back in Wyndmoor. That’s been a long span of my life, a span in which I’ve had six different mailing addresses and changed significantly as a person. Perhaps that internal maturation is yet another reason to love these books, as it has somehow mirrored changes in Harry’s own life (though I’ve yet to fight the Dark Lord of the Universe with the fate of the wizarding world at stake).

Regardless, it’s a pretty special thing to be midway through a 759 page book and find yourself sitting up in bed and say to yourself “this is so freaking good” and adding the rare effort to pronounce the whole “ing” sound for emphasis rather than leaving off the last letter. The entire series has been a masterpiece, and I cannot explain how much I admire an author with the guts and foresight to plan 4000+ pages of action while surviving on food stamps. Now that it’s over – and what a way to finish, by the by – I’d just like to offer her a heartfelt bravo.

(you know, since I’m sure she reads sevenminusfour.com and all)

I’m one of those people who is reluctant to give the standing O, but I would shoot out of my seat if given some weird opportunity to clap for J.K. Rowling. If you've somehow not yet delved into this series...I mean, I can't guarantee anything but I highly recommend it. And I'm not exactly the sci-fi type.

I just flew in from Philadelphia and boy are my arms tired

Odds of me being tired when my friend Stephanie picks me up for work in six hours (ouch...we're down to six hours?!?): 100%

Odds of me being able to write anything coherent tomorrow: 0%

Odds of me posting blurry photos of my flight: 100%

Here's me in first class (thanks to mom and dad for the Christmas seat upgrade):


Did you know they provide you with not only real highball glasses, not only flight attendants who take you seriously when you say "just so you know, I'm a very thirsty person," but actual, non-plastic forks and knives? Apparently first class passengers are unable to use those as weapons.

Here is a random pair of flip flops making their way through baggage claim:


Only in Portland? Probably not...but there can't be too many towns where you'd see this

Note to self

As wise as it may seem to grab an exit row seat for a red eye flight, remember that the "EXIT" sign stays illuminated throughout the flight. The excess leg room is powerless against the red planet shining in the corner of your eyes.

Vay-cay

Folks,
I'm flying cross-country tonight, God and weather willing. I've got an exit row seat, a DVD and am running on little enough sleep where I should be able to pass out fairly easily. Love when that happens.

If you need something to do, click here and know I'm mad I never thought to do that.

Peace and love,
Giancarlo

I wish this was how the world worked

I'm flying home tomorrow night and don't have much interest in working. I wish I could phone in a sub the way teachers do.

Can someone get on that?

(A few of my favorite things) - (A couple of my favorite things)

Back in August of 2006, I set up my friends Mark and Jen on a date. A year and a half later, things are going swimmingly and I get wicked credit for being this great matchmaker.

I bring this up not to showcase any sort of matchmaking skill -- my whole basis for setting them up was a) that they both lived in Philadelphia; and b) that the both liked Stevie Wonder -- but because this whole Cupidic success has spawned a new favorite pastime: commenting on your buddy's embarrassing foibles. Every once in a while I have the urge to email Jen something like "Hey Jen, you know that Mark loves Celine Dion, right?"

(Note: Not just a dramatic example. He loves that "A New Day Will Come" song)

I feel like a relationship informant or something. I highly recommend trying this sometime.

Embellished Enthusiasm

This post dedicated to my friend Jeannie, who cannot understand my disdain for a certain punctuation mark. Here's my explanation, Jeannifer, as originally written three years ago:

“Jen! Congratulations!!!!! I am so happy for you and your decision to begin at Episcopal! It sounds like an amazing place and an environment that you will thrive in! I know you'll do amazing things there with their alumni, they are truly luck to have you! I will be in touch soon and we'll have to figure out a time to hang out. In the meantime, congratulations again and I'll talk to you soon!!”

One friend sent the above email to another friend recently. This reminded me of Melissa Shannon’s signature in my junior yearbook--

“Mike! You are so fun to hang out with! I’m so glad we got to know each other this year! Congrats on Vice-president!!! I’m so excited to hang out with you this summer.”

Naturally, I have a few problems with the above:

1. The complete overuse of exclamation points. No one talks like this. Imagine “exclaiming” 4-5 sentences in a row?

2. The whole “I am so…” thing. I mean, come on.

3. The fact that, in each of the above, the lone non-exclaiming sentence has to do with hanging out. Hmm…

But let’s return to that first point. Aren’t we, as a society, a little out of control with our exclamation points? Shouldn’t there be some other way to express our enthusiasm?

And it’s not like I’m completely guiltless in that regard. You’ve probably received some email from me where I’m all “Hi!” But what else would I do? If I throw a period after that greeting, it makes me seem like I’m about to engage in a lackluster, unexcited conversation. Isn’t there some other way? Do we really need to end every sentence in an exclamation point?

Granted, at least 99% of you don’t care about this. Granted, this comes from a grammar geek who writes hate email to CNN every time “consecutive” is misspelled on their little scrolling headline thing (for some reason networks have trouble spelling that word). But World Grammar Police, I’m pleading with you – please come up with some new punctuation mark. Otherwise, it seems like everyone talks like Ty Pennington.

Promenade, part III (Or, "Stupid Things I Did in High School")

There are a lot of things about me that might bother you. My aversion to friend hugs. My need to stand in the corner of rooms. My love for country music. How I always say "Newark? Oh, great place" when people are talking about New York.

I can assure you, though, that I have never bothered you as much as I bothered my high school classmates circa May 17th, 1996. See, that was the day of my senior prom. As you well know, that's the most important day of my or anyone else's life.

Wait...it's not? Don't tell that to anyone from my old high school. Allow me to explain:

The only girl I wanted to bring to the Prom was named Suzy and even though she "really wanted" to go with me, she was "guilted" into going with someone else. With this being the case, I was in a bit of a pickel. Do I go the friends route? Should I ask someone I don't know? See if someone asks me?

Or...

Do I spread word that I'm not interested in going (thus drawing the ire of every student, parent and teacher at Springfield Township High School) but secretly plan on bringing a girl from another school?

I went with that last option. Seemed like a good idea at the time.

Unfortunately, "at the time" I failed to realize the extent to which people loved their Prom. Jill MacFarland suggested I go stag but I'd be The Man because "you'll pose with all these girls and they'll all be your date." Suzy McNally -- the very Suzy McNally who "wanted to go with me" -- said she would bring me as her second date. My Spanish teacher Mr. Scanlan tried to set me up with a sophomore named Jessica Ciottoni.

Sensing my primary rationale for missing the Prom was losing steam, I moved towards plan B: I couldn't afford it. This was a foolish plan, along the lines of sprinting out of your English class or allowing Uncle Eddie to fetch your boss. Within moments, people were offering to pay for my Prom ticket. This was not good.

But it got worse. Later in the year, I was reading a story at our school's English fair. As I announced my name to the audience, my friend John (in on the scheme) yelled "he's not going to his own senior Prom." The audience gasped.

I didn't even let my parents in on it. I remember my mom struggling to understand what could compel her son to miss his Senior Prom. I wanted to tell her. Thing was, I couldn't. Not when I'd come this far.

Finally, the day came. My friend Doug picked up my flowers, I somehow snuck a rented Tux into the house (again, my parents couldn't know) and Jacob Ashley -- who actually was not attending the Prom -- bought my tickets. Then I waited. My brother (going to the Prom as a sophomore) and parents were going to the pre-party at Alex Webster's house. My parents tried to hide their disappointment as they left the home.

When they did, I sprung into action. Shave, brush teeth, put the tux on and I'm ready to pick up my date. But there was one last thing -- a note. Here's what I wrote:

Mom and Dad,
Went to Prom.

Q

...with Q being my family's nickname for me (long story).

* * * * * * * * * * *

I arrived at the Prom feeling pretty psyched. Finally, all I had worked for was coming together. This was my triumphant entry.

The first person I saw was Suzy McNally. A wry smile came over my face, she walked towards me, holding back a smile and...she punched me in the gut.

Pictures, dancing, dancing, slow dancing, talking with people, Oh I can't believe you came. That part was cool.

What was less than cool was the backlash to come -- All you wanted was attention, You shouldn't have done that, You wanted to steal the show, You wanted all the attention on you. Yikes.

So there you go. Avoid hugs at all costs, sing Rascal Flatts at work, bother people however you want. But whatever you do, DO NOT mess with the Prom.

Predictions on the Mitchell Report

Personally, I find this report stupid. I’m doubtful that it’s going to provide closure on the steroid issue. As my friend Doug put it, “It’s sort of like finding out who an ex-girlfriend hooked up with after you…Mildly interesting, but what is it really going to accomplish?”

With that said, I love making predictions. Here are some names I think you’ll see today.

Trot Nixon
Nomar
Jeff Bagwell
Putch Rodriguez
Tejada
Mike Lowell
Andruw Jones
Juan Gonzalez
Brady Anderson (obviously)
Eric Gagne
Kerry Wood

Promenade, part II

It's THE Prom, not just "Prom." Not sure how the lesser version got started, but let's cut it out.

Post-party at the Wilsons' house!

My church had a fundraiser last night to benefit the non-profit company These Numbers Have Faces. Whereas many a company would resort to casino night, 50-50 raffles and the like, These Numbers chose a much different strategy: hosting a grown-up Prom.

Sounds like a fantastic idea, right? And the people in charge of These Numbers did a marvelous job of re-creating a high school dance. The event took place on the basketball court at the gym and featured dim but not completely dark lighting, bleachers pulled out, a few enthusiastic dancers trying to spur everyone else on, as well as the requisite girls telling each other they looked "so cute."

For some people, this was great. For others, it was a nightmare (dramatically speaking, anyway). You can stick me in that second category. The instant I set foot in that gym, I was back in high school. My old insecurities were back, my heart was a flutter, Ritalin-based butterflies in my stomach and basically had anxiety the likes of which I hadn't felt since the 2004 American League Championship Series. I immediately wanted to climb up the bleachers and make fun of all the losers on the dance floor (I know, I know, I'm the real loser here). As soon as I looked at the girls in their faux Prom dresses, I was back to feeling inadequate -- She'll never dance with me. Absolutely amazing the damage done to me in high school.

Eventually I found my way to the dance floor, pulled the famous Mike Pacchione flailing limbs moves and felt better. But my gosh. There was no need to return to a high school dance. Not now, not ever.

(I'm glad everyone else had fun, though)

One month till 30

Shoot. I've got a lot of work to do.

This is pretty awesome

As an added bonus, it feels like the ending to a Disney movie

I've said it before, and I'll say it again

Two of my favorite things about the Christmas season are the second and third verses of "We Wish You a Merry Christmas." The tone in verse one is a loving one, with agape wishes of not only good tidings for Christmas, but also a happy New Year. Done and done. I'm feeling happy. That's when things get weird.

In verses two and three, the singers' attitudes make a radical change. Suddenly, there is a request for figgy pudding (what is that, anyway?), which spirals into a militant stance as a line is drawn in the sand ("we won't go until we get some"). Never fails to crack me up.

Things I miss about my old roommate Keri

1. Waking up at 3 AM, wondering what all that noise is, seeing her playing Pacman on Original Nintendo.
2. Discounts on J. Crew clothing (literally my only chance in life to dress well).
3. She made the best Mac and Cheese.

Yeah, I'm starvation right now.

My softening heart

I've rarely rooted for the University of Miami (except when I've had money on them, of course). Too loud, too boisterous, too Michael Irvin, too obnoxious with that whole "Da U" business.

But with that said, I'm always taken aback when I see how Miami football players care for each other. Like, before the Ravens game, a few of their players were on the verge of tears talking about the deceased Sean Taylor, how much they cared for him, wanted to leave it all on the field for him, etc. Thing is, these guys were all several years older than him. Ray Lewis is 32. Taylor was 24. I don't know when those guys get to know each other, but they must be doing something right to have players care for each other this much. Or maybe that's just in the nature of being a football player. I don't know.

Whaddaya say now Hoop

.


Philadelphia, PA, July 4, 2002: My friend Creg and I, unwilling to buy into the Independence Day hoopla instead attend the Phillies - Expos game. It's 97 degrees (F) and with about 39 other people there, we feel the pull to influence them. After some debate, Creg and I decide to make a sign saying "Stay Hydrated."

A family beside us is amused by our sign and encourage us to spread our word. After all, they say, people need to remember how important water is.

This family is also cheering frantically for the some guy on the Expos. It's a series of unintelligible cheers, all of which culminate in the name "Hoop." BumineysajaHoop! AbabdaabadainsinhitHoop! LesseeitnowHoop! WhaddayasaynowHoop!

Eventually, Creg and I learn that "Hoop" is Brian Schneider and the people next to us are his parents and siblings. Since then, we've followed Hoop's career with the Nationals and as catcher for the U.S. Baseball Team. Creggers even sponsors Hoop's baseball reference page.

On Friday, Hoop was traded to the New York Mets. Though Craig hates the Mets and in fact refers to them as the "Nuy" Mets, he can now see Hoop in person. So that's fun. Unless you're a Mets fan, in which case you'll acknowledge that trade as being one of the worst conceivable.

R.I.P. Evel Knievil

I've always loved chewing gum whilst in the shower. It's not quite running with scissors but I like to think I'm living on the edge.

I told you so

As predicted back in February, salt is about to become the next big ingredient to avoid. Check out the Slate article on it here.

It's nice to be right about a prediction, for once

(smiley face)