Understanding The Culture Of A Harry Potter Fan

The Brain of The Harry Potter Fan

 

Being a Harry Potter fan is like being locked in a long chamber of secrets.  Siriusly, no one truly knows half of what’s going on.  All they know is that they are the supreme fan and that all others are dust-eating Doxies.

Truthfully, no scientist has ever been able to crack the code of Harry Potter fans-they apparently speak Serpent Tongue while around each other.  They are, however, proved to use a system when speaking about each other’s personalities, such as, “He’s such a Fred,” or, “What a Draco!”

As you can see, the average Harry Potter fan has no life whatsoever, and normally split their time between reading the books, listening to the books on tape, watching the DVDs avidly with their tongues hanging out, in Harry Potter chat rooms, or reading Harry Potter fanfictions on fanfiction.net.

Their brains were snapped up by the Monster Book of Monsters long ago.

 

Greeting A Harry Potter Fan

 

You will know a Harry Potter fan by either a T-shirt or a greeting of, “Blown up a toilet?  We’ve never blown up a toilet!”  I’m sure you’ve heard someone mutter under their breath on the bus, “Sunshine daisies, butter mellow, turn this stupid, fat rat yellow.”  That, my dear, is a Harry Potter fan.

Don’t even bother saying hello.  The poor thing won’t even notice you’re there.  He or she will be too interested in the GameBoy Advance in which he’s playing the game for the third book.

If you give him a compliment, such as, “I like your hat,” the Harry Potter fan will promptly say, “It’s a perfect replica of the Sorting Hat.  It even sings the song from Harry Potter’s first year at Hogwarts!”

The best thing to do, if you absolutely must speak to a Harry Potter fan, is to very carefully nudge him and say, “Oi, there, care for an Every Flavor Bean?”  But be careful when you do this, as he may jump up rabidly and yell, “Nitwit!  Blubber!  Oddment!  Tweak!”

To this, you may be a little bit baffled.  But none’s the worry, he may not even notice.  If he does, answer, very carefully, “Is he-a bit mad?”

To this, he will say, “Mad?  He’s a genius!  Best wizard in the world!  But he is a bit mad, yes.  Potatoes, Harry?”

The only answer to this, of course, is to let your mouth fall open.

 

Types of Harry Potter Fans

 

Of course, you can classify the types of Harry Potter fans into Gryffindors, Hufflepuffs, Slytherins, and Ravenclaws, with the occasional Poltergeist, or Professor.  It will be easy to identify them, by what they wear, what they say, how they act, and their abilities.  There are also specific classifications among them, such as Muggles, Wizards, Squibs, and, among the Slytherins, Mudbloods.

A Gryffindor is classified by his or her bullheadedness.  If you see someone wearing only red and gold, you’ve got yourself a Gryffindor.

A Hufflepuff is identified by his or her emptyheadedness.  There seems to be nothing within their brains, but in the end you will find that they’re quite clever in the long run.

A Slytherin…  Well, enough said.

Ravenclaws are identified by their use of large words and ability to define things at a moment’s notice.  Be careful with them, though.

Poltergeists are obvious, because they love to play pranks.  “GOT YOUR CONK!” is a popular war cry, and the most popular song sung by any poltergeist will always be, “Oh Potter, You Rotter!”

The Professors are always literate in one magical subject.  Be careful, though.  Divination professors are a little insane, and Defense Against the Dark Arts professors are known to come and go.

Muggles are people that know nothing about the beloved series, Wizards are the ones who are literate in Harry Potter culture, Squibs are half in and half out, and let’s not get into the Mudbloods, please.

 

The Culture of the Candy

 

It can be said that all Harry Potter fans are partial to the candy that manufacturers have put out to be similar to the candy the characters in the books eat, and some of these candies are Bertie Bott’s Every Flavor Beans, Ice Mice, and Chocolate Frogs.

Most of them are just pure chocolate, and yes, there are Every Flavor Beans in the notorious pepper flavor, but rest assured, I haven’t yet tasted a vomit-flavorited bean yet!

The candy has been seen in the hands of Harry Potter fans everywhere, and are probably most esteemed in their eyes.  I’ve heard that there are also Acid Pops.  I really wouldn’t want to even try one of these.  I’d rather keep my tongue nice and whole, the way it is, please and thank you.

I find it a little hard to believe that there is a candy out there that makes you vomit-and then the other end makes you stop vomiting.  It seems a little out-there that Fred and George even had the remotest idea to invent something like that…

 

But please, do not tell that to the avid Harry Potter fan, for they believe that the books really happened, that there really is a Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and that Professor Snape is really as slimeball-icky as he seems to be.  I only had that notion after I finished Book Five with a box of tissues.

 

The Issue of You-Know-Who

 

The thought of the Dark Lord Voldemort gives me shivers, yes, but it seems that once he gets ahold of Harry, life for wizards and Muggles everywhere will get, ah, a little darker.  I shudder to think what would happen if there really were a You-Know-Who out there!  But really, let’s get Sirius.  I didn’t get out the quills n’ parchment just to ramble on about my fears!

Voldie, as he’s most popularly called by most Squibs (Every Wizard out there calls him You-Know-Who…  I mean, you never know when he’s going to show up and ruin your chance at being the life of the party!), seems to be awfully slow at getting Harry.  I know that he’s been hindered by Dumbledore and all that, but really!  If he were Count Olaf, the guy would be hunched over, rubbing his hands together with glee, laughing insanely!  But this isn’t the Series of Unfortunate Events, thankfully.

Voldemort has all the embodiments of an insane killer-on-the-loose.  And they think Sirius Black’s bonkers!  Voldie should really get his head examined, because there are definitely some screws loose in there.  I could just hear them bonking around against his skull when he was dashing after Harry in the Chamber of Secrets!

Let’s hope we can stand any more of his mediocre tricks!

 

When Paintings Talk

 

I was wondering after watching the third movie why the paintings move.  Why do they bother?  It’s just going to be the same view, the same thing, over and over and over again, day after day after boring, boring day.  The Fat Lady should really have a go at yoga-I’m sure she’d get a kick out of it.  Either that or she should REALLY take some voice lessons!!!

Sir Cadogan needs to have his head examined right alongside Voldie.  He’s dashing through the paintings, on a bunch of crazy notions…  Makes for great comedy, indeed, but worries me a bit.  A knight in shining armor shouldn’t be knocking people out of windows, or especially letting a crazy killer into the Gryffindor dorms!  It’s just uncalled for, as well as totally against the Knight’s Code, first developed by King Arthur and his Round Table!  And he should make doubly sure his armor is thick enough, because one of these days, someone’s going to want to really kill him.

 

Examining Ron

 

Ronald Weasley seems nice enough, but I’m not sure that I could take all the taunting about his family’s financial status if I were him!  Half the time he’s scared half to death, and half the time he’s spawning crazy-but clever-ideas.  Who else could play a mad-hatter wizard’s chess game?

His unfortunate arachnophobia is all too endearing, actually.  If he weren’t scared of spiders, I think he may actually be brave under all that quivering bundle of nerves!  He may want to get some training in judo or something-because I think it may totally come in handy!

He also needs to really get over Hermione being a know-it-all.  We’ve known that perfectly for five books now, and it’s not going to go away.  She’s a GKA, and we saw that in the third movie, so get over it, Weasley!

I wonder when he’s going to join the ranks of the pranks?

 

Examining Hermione

 

Yes, she exhibits a long-range target for being an annoying know-it-all, but the girl can punch!  Any girl who wants to be Hermione only needs to find someone like Draco Malfoy, get him up against a stone, and deck him one hard in the face.  It’s pretty simple, right?

Hermione’s character symbolizes a sex goddess just waiting to burst forth in all her glory.  You can already see in the third movie how antsy Ron gets around her…  Do you smell romance in the air?  I know I do!

 

Examining Harry

 

All I can really say about Harry, and I’m not trying to put him down or anything, is that this boy is going to need serious psychological help when he gets older!  I mean, seriously!

 

In Closing

 

All I want to say to close this is, all those Harry Potter fans out there really need to get a life!

 

Spending all your time glued to the screen watching a boy ride a broomstick is a little obsessive, and it’s surely not healthy.  Get out in the fun sunshine, and maybe even get a broomstick yourself!  Quidditch is pretty easy once you get the hang of knocking into trees all the time!

 

Don’t worry, I’m sure Jo Rowling’s sixth book is going to be great…  And I’m also sure it’s going to be ten thousand pages long!!  Criminy!

 

Well, I hope you enjoyed my dry humor on Harry Potter…  You now have permission to bash me over the head with cauldrons and broomsticks!

When Will We Learn?

I was recently sent a bulletin on Myspace containing a video of the funeral of a U.K. woman – Sophie Lancaster, who was kicked and beaten to death – that showed how far we’ve sunk in our society.  Sophie and her boyfriend were attacked for being goths – doesn’t that just beat all?  When will we learn that whatever we look like on the outside, the inside is still human??!  Honestly.

Brighter Days.

Yesterday I found myself wondering whether the time and space in my head were at all the same as the time and space in the world…  And whether the sky in my head would get brighter soon…And I woke up this morning and found that the sky was blue – life was waiting.Yeah, baby.  These are brighter days… 

Mabel.

I walked into the house with the feeling I normally get when I ghost-hunt with my paranormal research group – partial excitement for the research in the name of science, partial apprehension at what we would find.  It was always an interesting thing – because sometimes what had happened to the spirits in question was extremely, extremely stressful and chaotic.  As a medium, I feel what the spirits feel.  They sometimes give me visitations when they get comfortable with my presence – which means me, seeing and experiencing every bit and detail of the events leading up to their death, and their death in itself.

The only thing I really saw in the house was walls, columns, doors, windows.  The family who had lived there before had decided that the paranormal occurences in their home were too much, especially how they were impacting the daughters, and had packed up and moved without even looking into getting a new home first.

I wandered through the house until I found the pantry.  It was bare and empty, and no matter how hard I searched, I could not find a trick door or extra space for a person to hide – so that meant that any possible debunking that cynics had attempted of the videos that the former residents had filmed of this ghost.

What I noticed while walking through the rest of the house was that there were trauma spots everywhere – basically what sensitives call “cold spots -” where the ghost had experienced seriously horrid moments that I shuddered to think of.  What this little girl had probably gone through made me shake with terror and rage.  I was receiving a young girl in my mind – a nine-year-old, at least – and whatever had happened to her had to have been at the hands of someone bigger and more powerful than she.

My group knew that I would go down in visitational trance any moment.  Each time we went into a haunted home, the group appointed a sitter for me, so that if I went down while walking up or down a set of stairs, I would be caught and protected.  It didn’t matter what I was doing – Any second, any place, I could go down.  And at this particular place, I went down in the kitchen.

The first thing I saw was rage and blood.  I opened my eyes in the vision and saw a man standing over me.  I got my head together – I knew that this had to be what the entity was showing me.  Then I saw this man, grey-haired, looking extremely angry, bring his boot down in my face.  The vision blacked – and then I came to and the grey-haired man was sharpening a knife and swearing.  He took the newly-sharpened knife and cut me in long, deep, sharp strokes the whole way down my left arm, then my right, then down my chest, across my throat, and legs.  He did as slowly as he possibly could – and it was excruciating.  I couldn’t really understand why he was doing this…

Finally he grabbed me by the hair and dragged me to the pantry.  He opened the door, smashed my head into the side of the wall, and threw me inside the pantry.  He then shut the door and barred it with a heavy piece of furniture.

I blacked out.

It was then that I came back to myself – a full hour after I had gone down.  I lay on the floor for about ten minutes, collecting myself.  Once I was fully to myself, I quickly related what I had seen to my friends who were holding the tape recorder and the video camera.  Then I picked myself up, turned to the pantry and called Mabel’s name.  She had not revealed her real name to me – if Mabel were her true name, she would have responded to the exorcism the previous owners had performed, the blessings, the mediums.  So I called, “Mabel…”

The door came open, as it had done so many times before – except this time she was responding to me.  She stood in the empty frame of the door, watching me.  She still had that dark, tortured look.  I didn’t know what to say to her.  How do you tell a nine-year-old the truth about her condition, explain that you cannot explain why she was treated that way?  I don’t remember how long I hesitated.  This wasn’t fear – this was anxiety, pity, sorrow.  So many other cases I had worked on, I remember exactly that I did not have a single problem talking to the entity after the visitation.

But here, in front of Mabel, who had suffered unspeakable anguish, I faltered.

“Mabel,” I said.  My friends took video, wrote notes.  “Mabel – is that your name, honey?”  She nodded.  I sighed.  The daughter of the family who had previously lived in this home must have been sensitive to some degree.  Otherwise, she would not have seen Mabel.

“Mabel, do you understand that you are not alive anymore?  Do you understand that this is not your era, your year, your home anymore?  Don’t you wonder where your mother is?”

Mabel turned her face down to the floor.

“Mabel, you need to move on, sweetie.”

No answer.

“Mabel.”

No answer.

I sighed.  Mabel was going to take some work – she was certainly not up to actually speaking to me.  I turned to my friends and said, “She’s not wanting to talk…  Let’s leave her alone…”

We left the house in disappointment.  We’d wanted to help her, really – but her choice had been made.  An entity cannot be forced to cross over.

I believe that the truth about Mabel is that she had been haunting so long and so much that she had never been told in all sincerity that heaven is better than keeping herself trapped in the hell she had died in.  I’m sure she was making herself relive it every day.  And I’m sure that part of it had to be the wrath she felt at her killer.

 

—

I went back, by myself, the next night, with my friends and crew waiting outside.  I walked through the halls quietly.  I felt her.  She was here, somewhere, hidden in the shadows.  It was too dark to see much past my own hands.  I took careful steps, hand against the wall.  I walked upstairs, downstairs, around the winding layout of the house, till I came to a stop in front of the infamous pantry.

I saw her face peek out from behind the frosted glass, her hands seemingly scrabbling for something.  I know she knew I was there.  She opened the door, slowly, slowly, and there she stood, still as stone, still as the death that had brought her to this point.  I felt her sorrow rising up in the back of my own throat.  Who had done this to her?  Who had made her suffer this way?

I reached out my hands toward her and said, “Mabel, little Mabel – I’m here to try to help you find your way.  I don’t know who did this to you, and I don’t know why, and I don’t know why you’re hanging onto this world, but Mabel, honey, you need to go over.  You need to find the light – it’s probably right near you all the time…  I think you’re just trying not to see it…  Are you afraid?  What are you afraid of?”  I stopped – I felt like I was saying too much.

She stared at me.  My fear left me – I knew she was just a lost little girl who felt stuck in the place she was.

“Mabel – please help me help you…  Tell me who did this to you, what was his name, what’s your mother’s name?”

She didn’t speak, but pulled the door back closed and started to write on it with her finger – like writing in the snow – in a childish, crooked font.

W A L L A C E

I gathered that was the name of the man who had killed her.

A L I C E

Her mother…?

S H E M A R R E E D A M O N S T E R

My blood froze.

Her father?  Her father had done this?

“Mabel – your father?”

M Y D A D D Y N O

It hit me.  “Stepfather?”

Y E S

I sank to the floor; I couldn’t stop myself.  I shook and shivered for a good five minutes.  What could possess a man, any man, to do the things this Wallace had done to his stepdaughter?

“W-what do you want me to do, Mabel?  He’s probably dead – he can’t be alive…”

I couldn’t take the feeling in the house any longer.  I walked outside, where our vans were parked, where my friends were waiting.  They gave me questioning looks, but I just shook my head and sat down in the grass.

I gathered myself and stood up and went back into the house.

Mabel had written something else.

H E M A D E M E B E Q W Y E T

What?  He made her be quiet?  What was that supposed to mean?

N O V O Y S

No…  Voice?

What had this man done to her?!

Mabel reached for me and I went into visitational trance again.  I saw the same man, that Wallace, bringing his foot down onto my throat.  When I woke up, I realized that there wasn’t anything I could do except try to save this ghost, to help her finally cross over into the light.

I noticed, though, that however many times I asked Mabel for a last name to this Wallace, or if she could see the light, she always turned her face to the floor.  This was what worried me.  If she was too terrified to look beyond what she knew, she wasn’t going to be helped, period.

I sighed.  The only real power I had to help her was to send her feelings of warmth and light and life and love, and so I set to work.

Part of my work is as a pagan – working energy spells is a specialty.

So I laid my spell and sent her as much positive energy as possible.  I poured my heart into the spell – I told her, through the working, that she is loved and cared for, that nothing will stop that love, not ever.

Her face opened up – but she couldn’t see the light.

I left in consternation.  There wasn’t anything more I could do except talk myself hoarse and lay spell after spell.  I just hope she understands that if another family moves into that home, she can’t go around scaring them.

The daughter of the previous owners was terrified.  First, Mabel became almost like an imaginary friend – and suddenly turned into this aggressive, angry entity who couldn’t be pacified through excorcism or kind words.

I left her with the warm feelings.  I hoped they would stay and be felt…

 

—

I haven’t been back to the house since, and last I heard, it’s still up for sale.

I’m biding my time, working on other paranormal cases, helping others.

I’m praying for Mabel.  She needs to cross over.

 

—

Links

 

Saremy’s Channel

YouShow’s Channel

PantryGhost’s Channel

PRISM

Twenty-One Stones

My Angels, watch me, watch me this night

Twenty one stones and the water turns pure

I’ll breathe your beauty and wisdom and air

Twenty one stones and the water turns pure

The fire burns bright, my Angels, my loves

Twenty one stones and the water turns pure

Let me be passion and wisdom and truth

Twenty one stones and the water turns pure

 

FAGHANN IARRAIDH, IARRAIDH EILE

THE SEEKING FOR ONE THING WILL FIND ANOTHER 

It didn’t post…

I’ll try this again… 

The Ghost In The Pantry

Everyone must have some semblance of paranormal activity in their lives – whether it be in their homes or elsewhere.  We’ve all heard ghost stories, whether true or some sort of campfire tale.  But as I live and breathe, ghosts exist in my life – and here is my favorite piece of evidence.The first video came during the day.  All we see is an imprint in the glass on the pantry door.The third video provided made me do a double take. And then there’s another where a cynic comes to the home and LOOK WHAT HAPPENS! I WANT TO VISIT.  HAHA.That would be insanely cool… 

History Of Language

 

In the beginning there was an island off the coast of Europe. It had no name, for the natives had no language, only a collection of grunts and gestures that roughly translated to “Hey!”, “Gimme!”, and “Pardon me, but would you happen to have any woad?”

 

Then the Romans invaded it and called it Britain, because the natives were “blue, nasty, br(u->i)tish and short.” This was the start of the importance of u (and its mispronounciation) to the language. After building some roads, killing off some of the nasty little blue people and walling up the rest, the Romans left, taking the language instruction manual with them.

 

The British were bored so they invited the barbarians to come over (under Hengist) and “Horsa” ’round a bit. The Angles, Saxons, and Jutes brought slightly more refined vocal noises.

 

All of the vocal sounds of this primitive language were onomatapoeic, being derived from the sounds of battle. Consonants were derived from the sounds of weapons striking a foe. “Sss” and “th” for example are the sounds of a draw cut, “k” is the sound of a solidly landed axe blow, “b”, “d”, are the sounds of a head dropping onto rock and sod respectively, and “gl” is the sound of a body splashing into a bog. Vowels (which were either gargles in the back of the throat or sharp exhalations) were derived from the sounds the foe himself made when struck.

 

The barbarians had so much fun that decided to stay for post-revel. The British, finding that they had lost future use of the site, moved into the hills to the west and called themselves Welsh.

 

The Irish, having heard about language from Patrick, came over to investigate. When they saw the shiny vowels, they pried them loose and took them home. They then raided Wales and stole both their cattle and their vowels, so the poor Welsh had to make do with sheep and consonants. (“Old Ap Ivor hadde a farm, L Y L Y W! And on that farm he hadde somme gees. With a dd dd here and a dd dd there…”)

 

To prevent future raids, the Welsh started calling themselves “Cymry” and gave even longer names to their villages. They figured if no one could pronounce the name of their people or the names of their towns, then no one would visit them. (The success of the tactic is demonstrated still today. How many travel agents have YOU heard suggest a visit to scenic Llyddumlmunnyddthllywddu?)

 

Meantime, the Irish brought all the shiny new vowels home to Erin. But of course they didn’t know that there was once an instruction manual for them, so they scattered the vowels throughout the language purely as ornaments. Most of the new vowels were not pronounced, and those that were were pronounced differently depending on which kind of consonant they were either preceding or following.

 

The Danes came over and saw the pretty vowels bedecking all the Irish words. “Ooooh!” they said. They raided Ireland and brought the vowels back home with them. But the Vikings couldn’t keep track of all the Irish rules so they simply pronounced all the vowels “oouuoo.”

 

In the meantime, the French had invaded Britain, which was populated by descendants of the Germanic Angles, Saxons, and Jutes. After a generation or two, the people were speaking German with a French accent and calling it English. Then the Danes invaded again, crying “Oouuoo! Oouuoo!,” burning abbeys, and trading with the townspeople.

 

The Britons that the Romans hadn’t killed intermarried with visiting Irish and became Scots. Against the advice of their travel agents, they descided to visit Wales. (The Scots couldn’t read the signposts that said, “This way to LLyddyllwwyddymmllwylldd,” but they could smell sheep a league away.) The Scots took the sheep home with them and made some of them into haggis. What they made with the others we won’t say, but Scots are known to this day for having hairy legs.

 

The former Welsh, being totally bereft, moved down out of the hills and into London. Because they were the only people in the Islands who played flutes instead of bagpipes, they were called Tooters. This made them very popular. In short order, Henry Tooter got elected King and begin popularizing ornate, unflattering clothing.

 

Soon, everybody was wearing ornate, unflattering clothing, playing the flute, speaking German with a French accent, pronouncing all their vowels “oouuoo” (which was fairly easy given the French accent), and making lots of money in the wool trade. Because they were rich, people smiled more (remember, at this time, “Beowulf” and “Canterbury Tales” were the only tabloids, and gave generally favorable reviews even to Danes). And since it is next to impossible to keep your vowels in the back of your throat (even if you do speak German with a French accent) while smiling and saying “oouuoo” (try it, you’ll see what I mean), the Great Vowel Shift came about and transformed the English language.

 

The very richest had their vowels shifted right out in front of their teeth. They settled in Manchester and later in Boston.

 

There were a few poor souls who, cut off from the economic prosperity of the wool trade, continued to swallow their vowels. They wandered the countryside in misery and despair until they came to the docks of London, where their dialect devolved into the incomprehensible language known as Cockney. Later, it was taken overseas and further brutalized by merging it with Dutch and Italian to create Brooklynese.

 

That’s what happened, you can check for yourself. But I advise you to just take our word for it. 

 

Thanks to Magnis Majere on Myspace for this – I loved it! 

Sunshine.

I am writing this post to ask a universal blogger’s question.  I have in front of me the most beautiful book I’ve ever had the pleasure to read – “Sunshine” by Normal Klein – and I have questions that need answering.  I am supposed to be adapting this book into a stage play, however, I would first like to know more about the woman that this novel was based on.  Her name was Jacquelyn M. Helton.  She died of cancer at 20, with a young daughter, in 1971.  It was a rare form of cancer called osteogenic sarcoma.  Anyway, I know she left a daughter named Jennifer, however, I want to know A LOT more about this woman.  She must have been so full of love to end her life as she did – just naturally, although she knew it would probably be very painful and frightening.  If I am to portray this woman as a character in a play (although the names are all changed, as they are in Norma Klein’s book), I would love to know more about her personality from people who knew her.  So here’s my challenge:  Anyone who knows something, PLEASE post a comment or e-mail me.  I want to know as much as is possible.  You can’t learn everything from a book that is loosely based on a person.  I know that they were based on the tape-recorded journals of Ms. Helton – but they aren’t the journals themselves…  So that’s the post for now!

Whoo Boy.

I’m sitting here, Monday morning, St. Patrick’s Day, watching Rachael Ray – Julianne Hough and Helio, the winning couple on “Dancing With The Stars” are on – and I think they should date.  THEY HAVE PERFECT CHEMISTRY.  I MEAN COME ON YOU TWO GET IT TOGETHER ALREADY.  LOL.