timeripple (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
timeripple) wrote2007-07-21 03:25 pm
timeripple) wrote2007-07-21 03:25 pm
The Potterdämmerung (I love calling it that, for some reason)
Saw OotP again on Wednesday with a friend. The guy in the ticket booth thought I was English. Why does this always happen? He was from Birmingham himself, though, so I will take that as a compliment. I didn’t mean to sound English; he just started talking with an English accent and I automatically started talking the same way. (Whenever I intend to negate somebody’s assumption about me, I invariably wind up confirming it. See also That Incident at Berkeley with the French Dude.)
GUY FROM BIRMINGHAM: You sound English.
ME: Re-ally?
GUY FROM BIRMINGHAM: Yeah. Where are you from?
ME: ...Northern California.
GUY FROM BIRMINGHAM: Well, you sound English.
ME: Thanks, I think. The Shrek people thought I was Irish.
GUY FROM BIRMINGHAM: Huh. Well, enjoy the show.
ME: Thaangks verremach.
There are a very few things I can say with a decent English accent, “Thaangks verremach” being foremost among them. Hee!
And then my friend and the guy from Birmingham got into a friendly argument about Wimbledon.
How did y’all spend the hours leading up to reading DH? I re-read HBP, painted my nails, and wore my Witching Hour t-shirt and ducky socks. The upshot of all this is that my fingernails are now a cross between fuschia and shocking pink. Also, my beloved ducky socks at long last have a hole in the toe. Woe.
At Ye Olde Campus Bookstore Line...
ME: Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more;
...
...The game’s afoot:
Follow your spirit; and, upon this charge,
Cry ‘God for Harry, England, and St. George!’
EVERYBODY: Shut up, Olivier.
They were handing out little lightning-bolt-shaped fake tattoos with part of the cover illustration on them. I applied mine to a time-honored place of fake tattoo-application.
...
DH: Raaah, I am huge and epic and deep and tragic, and stuff.
ME: Eh. Needs more Draco.
Being misunderused is more annoying than being misunderestimated. Unfortunately I am too apathetic to say any more, or really make any other comments about DH at this time.
...
I was going to get a couple hours of sleep this morning, but lo, the call of the Internet, it, um, calls to me.
...
Laterthatto-day...
ME: *groggy* Minuet in D minor, union of dreamy and kickass... laaa da deeda deedum daaadum... Oh, Bach.
PRACTICE ROOM MONITOR DUDE: Um, you’re not on my list of people allowed to be in here.
ME: List? I don’t gotta be on no stinking list. I got ID.
PRACTICE ROOM MONITOR DUDE: Technically I should probably kick you out.
ME: I. Have just. Woken up. From my lone 45 minutes of sleep. In the last 30 hours. And all I have eaten today is two cookies and a very large chai latte.
PRACTICE ROOM MONITOR DUDE: ...Or, I could not, and say I did.
ME: You are a smart young man. I forsee that you will go far in life.
GUY FROM BIRMINGHAM: You sound English.
ME: Re-ally?
GUY FROM BIRMINGHAM: Yeah. Where are you from?
ME: ...Northern California.
GUY FROM BIRMINGHAM: Well, you sound English.
ME: Thanks, I think. The Shrek people thought I was Irish.
GUY FROM BIRMINGHAM: Huh. Well, enjoy the show.
ME: Thaangks verremach.
There are a very few things I can say with a decent English accent, “Thaangks verremach” being foremost among them. Hee!
And then my friend and the guy from Birmingham got into a friendly argument about Wimbledon.
How did y’all spend the hours leading up to reading DH? I re-read HBP, painted my nails, and wore my Witching Hour t-shirt and ducky socks. The upshot of all this is that my fingernails are now a cross between fuschia and shocking pink. Also, my beloved ducky socks at long last have a hole in the toe. Woe.
At Ye Olde Campus Bookstore Line...
ME: Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more;
...
...The game’s afoot:
Follow your spirit; and, upon this charge,
Cry ‘God for Harry, England, and St. George!’
EVERYBODY: Shut up, Olivier.
They were handing out little lightning-bolt-shaped fake tattoos with part of the cover illustration on them. I applied mine to a time-honored place of fake tattoo-application.
...
DH: Raaah, I am huge and epic and deep and tragic, and stuff.
ME: Eh. Needs more Draco.
Being misunderused is more annoying than being misunderestimated. Unfortunately I am too apathetic to say any more, or really make any other comments about DH at this time.
...
I was going to get a couple hours of sleep this morning, but lo, the call of the Internet, it, um, calls to me.
...
Later
ME: *groggy* Minuet in D minor, union of dreamy and kickass... laaa da deeda deedum daaadum... Oh, Bach.
PRACTICE ROOM MONITOR DUDE: Um, you’re not on my list of people allowed to be in here.
ME: List? I don’t gotta be on no stinking list. I got ID.
PRACTICE ROOM MONITOR DUDE: Technically I should probably kick you out.
ME: I. Have just. Woken up. From my lone 45 minutes of sleep. In the last 30 hours. And all I have eaten today is two cookies and a very large chai latte.
PRACTICE ROOM MONITOR DUDE: ...Or, I could not, and say I did.
ME: You are a smart young man. I forsee that you will go far in life.