Thursday, August 26, 2010

Disappointment

So, no spoilers, I promise, but I just read Mockingjay, the final book in The Hunger Games series.
(Pretty, huh?)

I really meant to like it--I was excited to love it--but I just couldn't. Within the first page, all I cared about was who she ends up with.
(I am such a Peeta fan, it's unreal.) 
By the end of the first part, I just hated her. Incessant whining, constant complaining, self-important plotting. Ugh. It was awful, actually.
(That almost sounded british. 
I think it was the combination of ugh/awful.)

I think I have always disliked Katniss, not only for her silly name, but her determination to be uninspiring. She has a flair for dramatics and a knack for disobeying orders, constantly questioning and having a forever lack of faith in people. Then there is the tired cliche of love triangles, hers even more determinedly cliche because of the players--Strong, fiery, handsome Gale versus the quiet, sweet, charming Peeta. 
You have to have opposites, it seems, because 
when it comes to a love triangle, 
the girl never seems to have a general "type." 
Or, really, any sort of decisive characteristic whatsoever.
It's forever a nauseating back-and-forth:
the friend, or the lover?
the rescuer or the defender?
the  expected or the unexpected?
And it is like a law 
that the girl has to be annoying
and obviously unworthy of attention from either man.  

I was actually so mad that I didn't like the book. I loved the first one, even with her simpering nature. The second one was predictable and a bit lacking, but I thought the third--the final--could pull it all together. But I found myself rewriting it as I read. 

Here's what I would have wanted to happen:
Katniss should be determined to have Peeta back,
she should hatch some sort of ridiculous plan to rescue him
And when she gets there to save him--
BAM--
he tries to turn her in, he says she's wrong,
he says he's one of them. 
So she hates him
and Gale rescues her and she almost kills Peeta.
Except she can't.
The next part is all about destroying the government,
turning the districts on the capital,
make the president go mad.
Then it's full-out war. 
Her mother should die, her sister should die,
she should kiss Gale while wishing Peeta was back.
Then
she should be caught, brought to face the president
and Peeta should come in the room like a faithful servant. 
She should be crying, 
insisting the country could be saved,
that the games were wrong--even the problem. 
And the president should say something about how he turned Peeta.
He should ask Peeta to kill Katniss.
Peeta should move to do so, and then he should whisper 
something only she would understand, 
and he would go after the president, and they would fight the guards
and in that intense moment, she should scream at him
and they should kiss.
Gale should see, realize he lost and be heartbroken,
and then the president would still be alive,
and Gale would die fighting him.
And Katniss would kill the president
on national television.
And the war would be over, and things would be fixed
and Peeta and her would live happily ever after. 

I think I really could have liked that sort of book, instead of the altogether-unexciting events, journal-style moping, determined hopelessness and all-around randomness that the finale was. 

It was such a disappointment.

Sunday, August 22, 2010

If I Were a Witch

Tonight, we were discussing Harry Potter. Rather thoroughly, and literally for hours. It was great--probably one of the best conversations I have ever had.

We were talking about the uselessness of Hufflepuff, the randomness of Ravenclaw, the overall awesomeness of Gryffindor, then the evil nature of Slytherin. And it dawned on me: I would definitely be Slytherin.


Really, though, I think I would be. I am not brave--at least not in that nauseatingly-heroic way--so Gryffindor is out of the question. I'm definitely not smart enough to be in Ravenclaw (I mean, a riddle to get in the commons? Come on). Still, I would like to consider myself to be polarizing enough not to be cast into Hufflepuff, a place obviously meant for the leftovers. So, Slytherin it is. 
Wicked.
(a pun! a pun!) 

Not to sound too nerdy--what, with my suddenly impressive and extensive pool of knowledge concerning Slytherins (I researched, okay?!). They are cunning, ambitious, and probably just a bit manipulative and selfish--at least always sure to look out for themselves first.

Sounds like me, though, doesn't it? I could pull it off, easy.

It was Dumbledore who said something about their cleverness, determination, and a "certain disregard for the rules." And then the Sorting Hat actually said...
"...In Slytherin
You'll make your real friends,
Those cunning folk use any means
to achieve their ends...."

"...And power-hungry Slytherin
Loved those of great ambition...."

So maybe it's not exactly good, but none of the houses are really flawless. And Slytherin does have one amazingly-beautiful, possibly-perfect thing going for it:
Yes.
If I were as gorgeous as Draco, 
I would probably catch myself looking in the mirror as well. 

Truly, the one downside? I would have to live in a dungeon with terrible lighting and probably way too many spiders. 

But, hey, I do look great it green. 

Wednesday, August 18, 2010

It's About Time

I guess I should be better at this whole blog thing, what with my booming fan base and all. 

My room has a soft orange glow to it. Like an Oompa Loompa. I got this sexy, sheer orange curtain--ironically, to keep people from objectifying me in my first-floor window.
(Get it? Irony? Sexy curtain, avoid objectification? ...clever.)

It's a pretty gorgeous room, I admit. Smaller than my last one, but prettier. And cozier. And, even though my bed feels like less than an upgrade from the floor, I like it here. 
Cute, huh? 
Green, blue, orange--oh my. 
Actually, the orange was a very smart move, seeing as my ceiling light has an orange design and all my pictures (including my awesome collage) have splashes of orange, and I even have orange magnets. 
What can I say? I am just a genius when it comes to feng-shui.

Here's a close-up of my curtain.
Quite tangeric, eh?
(I think if there was a job for making up words, 
I would really like that.)

This curtain proves to be a perfect investment: I never need a light on because the orange just MAGNIFIES the sunlight tenfold (I have always wanted to use that word in a casual context). Another irony, seeing as I just bought a pretty table lamp which I now never need use. 

But it looks pretty. 

So. There it is, my awesome room that you should all be jealous of. Or, I guess Melissa has the jealous thing down--she wants to buy a curtain now, just to try and live up to my awesomeness. A useless ambition (no one will ever be as cool as me), but flattering nonetheless
(Look! Another anachronistic word I used all casual-like.)

(ohp, I did it again.)

Monday, August 2, 2010

Fire Alarm

SITTING in the BYU library around three o'clock today, you might have thought it was the end of the world. I, for one, was watching TV online (which is probably what I'll be doing when the world really does end). Suddenly, an annoying flashing began. People groaned beside me and I took off my headphones only to hear a horrible, shrieking, pulsing alarm echoing through the library. The fire alarm. I groaned as well. But I obediently put all my stuff away, packing my backpack and following the crowd out towards the exit. Most were grumbling about disrupted study sessions, many were shouting loud enough for the world to hear about how the world is out to get them.
Really, some people's self importance. 

One thing you need to know: the BYU library is enormous. There is a lobby/atrium where the stairs meet and the main doors stand. But, as the fire alarm rang, a wall started to close, blocking the atrium (protecting the books or sacrificing the students, depending on how you look at life). This curtain had big letters painted bright read shouting "EXIT"--with arrows pointing to the left or right, where glowing signs read "Emergency Exit." Still, some people panicked, reading that exit as a final warning, the last word they would ever read if they did not first beat the slow curtain and reach the open spaces and clear exits of the atrium. There was actually a panic. It was just a door closing. But people began pushing for it, squealing and shouting and running to make it through, shoving quite inconsiderately as they went. Some people tried to point out other exits--the doors other kids (dare I say smarter kids?) were already walking through, safe and sound, even their egos unscathed. But, for some reason, the closing accordion door seemed to represent a desperate threat: get through or die. People booked it, pushing through with a cheer as if they were lucky to be alive. 
I was one of the few to make it through.
I guess that makes me cool, destined for greatness or something.
A chosen one. 

People were screaming as the space became too small to fit through. I swear I saw hands push through, begging someone to notice there were survivors still. Embarrassingly, the alarm stopped ringing seconds later. So did the screaming. No one even died. 

It was a valuable lesson: I witnessed just how few people could read neon-bright signs, complete with arrows and clearly signified exits, when faced with death by fire. 

Partly unrelated, I also saw someone run into a pillar.