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Cat Years

Cat Years

(Source: galactocerebroside)

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Cat Years

Cat Years

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Okay, okay, I’m going to tell you what Hermione sees in Ron.

A trio is a balancing act, right? They’re equalizers of each other. Harry’s like the action, Hermione’s the brains, Ron’s the heart. Hermione has been assassinated in these movies, and I mean that genuinely—by giving her every single positive character trait that Ron has, they have assassinated her character in the movies. She’s been harmed by being made to be less human, because everything good Ron has, she’s been given.

So, for instance: “If you want to kill Harry, you’re going to have to kill me too”—RON, leg is broken, he’s in pain, gets up and stands in front of Harry and says this. Who gets that line in the movie? Hermione.

“Fear of a name increases the fear of the thing itself.” Hermione doesn’t say Voldemort’s name until well into the books—that’s Dumbledore’s line. When does Hermione say it in the movies? Beginning of Movie 2.

When the Devil’s Snare is curling itself around everybody, Hermione panics, and Ron is the one who keeps his head and says “Are you a witch or not?” In the movie, everybody else panics and Hermione keeps her head and does the biggest, brightest flare of sunlight spell there ever was.

So, Hermione—all her flaws were shaved away in the films. And that sounds like you’re making a kick-ass, amazing character, and what you’re doing is dehumanizing her. And it pisses me off. It really does.

In the books, they balance each other out, because where Hermione gets frazzled and maybe her rationality overtakes some of her instinct, Ron has that to back it up; Ron has a kind of emotional grounding that can keep Hermione’s hyper-rationalness in check. Sometimes Hermione’s super-logical nature grates Harry and bothers him, and isn’t the thing he needs even if it’s the right thing, like when she says “You have a saving people thing.” That is the thing that Harry needed to hear, she’s a hundred percent right, but the way she does it is wrong. That’s the classic “she’s super logical, she’s super brilliant, but she doesn’t know how to handle people emotionally,” at least Harry.

So in the books they are this balanced group, and in the movies, in the movies—hell, not even Harry is good enough for Hermione in the movies. No one’s good enough for Hermione in the movies—God isn’t good enough for Hermione in the movies! Hermione is everybody’s everything in the movies.

Harry’s idea to jump on the dragon in the books, who gets it in the movies? Hermione, who hates to fly. Hermione, who overcomes her withering fear of flying to take over Harry’s big idea to get out of the—like, why does Hermione get all these moments?

[John: Because we need to market the movie to girls.]

I think girls like the books, period. And like the Hermione in the books, and like the Hermione in the books just fine before Hollywood made her idealized and perfect. And if they would have trusted that, they would have been just fine.

Would the movies have been bad if she was as awesome as she was in the books, and as human as she was in the books? Would the movies get worse?

She IS a strong girl character. This is the thing that pisses me off. They are equating “strong” with superhuman. To me, the Hermione in the book is twelve times stronger than the completely unreachable ideal of Hermione in the movies. Give me the Hermione in the book who’s human and has flaws any single day of the week.

Here’s a classic example: When Snape in the first book yells at Hermione for being an insufferable know-it-all, do you want to know what Ron says in the book? “Well, you’re asking the questions, and she has to answer. Why ask if you don’t want to be told?” What does he say in the movie? “He’s got a point, you know.” Ron? Would never do that. Would NEVER do that, even before he liked Hermione. Ron would never do that.

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— Melissa Anelli THROWS IT DOWN about the way Ron and Hermione have been adapted in the movies on the latest episode of PotterCast. Listen here. This glorious rant starts at about 49:00. (via karakamos)

(via theirlovewaslegendary)

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I eat a lot of junk food. Like, even with the anonymity of the Internet, I don’t wish to share now many shiny food wrappers are in my weekly garbage.

And it is compulsive. I’ve had more “last hurrahs” with food than smokers have “last cigarettes”.

But last night, it hit me, as I gazed at my bowl of chips, THIS STUFF WILL KILL ME.

And it hit me like a ton of bricks. So I know it won’t be easy, but I also don’t think it will be soon before I forget…that stuff is going to kill me if I don’t stop.

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So jealous of YA writers because no matter what embarrassing Youtube video they’re caught watching, they can just cry “research!” and be done with it.

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Corey’s excellent single father parenting nearly brings a tear to my eye, even when I’m equidistant from menstrual events. 

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There’s something about a cloudless blue winter sky that holds my attention. The sun beats down and glares off an icy road, offering no real warmth- more of a spotlight than a heat lamp. I never realize how many tiny, intricate branches sum up to a leafy tree until I’m viewing the winter sky through their tangle of naked fingers. And the sky is very nearly all one shade, growing paler only near the horizons. It is precisely painted to the very tips of the mountains and vaults over the city skyline. 

Perhaps it is just that, that it holds my attention. That it calls to me to recognize its magnificence. When all spring I glared at the grey clouds, and all summer I ignored it in favour of the sights in front of me, and all fall I watched the ground coated in reds and oranges. The winter sky is simple and cool and apparently detached. It calls to me, and I listen. I notice and appreciate our air and our lungs and our life. 

There’s something about a cloudless blue winter sky that holds my attention. The sun beats down and glares off an icy road, offering no real warmth- more of a spotlight than a heat lamp. I never realize how many tiny, intricate branches sum up to a leafy tree until I’m viewing the winter sky through their tangle of naked fingers. And the sky is very nearly all one shade, growing paler only near the horizons. It is precisely painted to the very tips of the mountains and vaults over the city skyline. 

Perhaps it is just that, that it holds my attention. That it calls to me to recognize its magnificence. When all spring I glared at the grey clouds, and all summer I ignored it in favour of the sights in front of me, and all fall I watched the ground coated in reds and oranges. The winter sky is simple and cool and apparently detached. It calls to me, and I listen. I notice and appreciate our air and our lungs and our life. 

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Did I just find Hank Green’s doppelganger fleeing from the T-Rex in The Lost World: Jurassic Park?

Did I just find Hank Green’s doppelganger fleeing from the T-Rex in The Lost World: Jurassic Park?