Hello all! Henceforth, I shall be blogging at the new and improved

hoperehak.com!

Unfortunately, I cannot figure out how to enable comments using a Tumblr server, so for the time being, if you experience problems accessing that webpage, please leave me a comment in response to this here post, and I'll get it.

Tak!

a room with a view (mine) and flowers from my job - the first ten days

The Rowling: A Rip-off of The Raven I'd Been Meaning to Write

Many times a midnight dreary, while I pondered chic and cheery,

Over seven Potter volumes filled with lasting magic lore,

While I Tumbled, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,

As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my cyber door.

`’Tis some spammer,’ I muttered, `tapping at my cyber door -

Only this, and nothing more.’

Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,

`Sir,’ said I, `or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;

But the fact is I was busy, and so gently you came bugging,

And so faintly you came chugging, spamming at my cyber door,

That I scarce was sure I heard you’ - here I clicked wide the window; -

Fandom there, and nothing more.

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stared there wondering, fearing,

Doubting, dreaming dreams all fans had dared to dream before;

But the squealing was unbroken, and the fandom gave no token,

And the only word there spoken was the whispered, `Pottermore!’

This I whispered; forum keyboards smashed about with, `Pottermore!’

Merely this and nothing more.

Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,

Soon again I heard a clicking somewhat louder than before.

Here I clicked the link, and finally, with a tiny bit of silly,

Opened up a YouTube video of the Rowling from our childhood days of yore.

Then this lovely clip beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,

By the generous, bright decorum of the author we adore,

`We’ve waited for a prequel,’ I said, `this is surely not its equal:

What the flaming hell have we to look for ever more?’

Quoth the Rowling, `Pottermore.’

Much I marveled to hear her cyber plans so plainly,

Though its answer little meaning - little relevancy bore;

For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being

Ever yet was blessed with reading more of Harry Potter’s lore -

We’d hoped for encyclopedias and sequels - for Marauder-era prequels,

Yet no such thing is promised with mysterious `Pottermore.’

`Jo!’ said I, `Oh, please give more!’ Beseeching, ‘we can’t bear it longer!

By all ghosts of Hogwarts gleaming - by that God named Dumbledore -

Tell this soul with fiction nurtured if, within the distant future,

It shall have new information made about Marauders four -

Dare we hope for salient prequels, which the fangirls would adore?’

Quoth the Rowling, `Pottermore.’

`Be that word our sign of parting, friend or fiend!’ I shrieked upstarting -

`Get thee back to Edinburgh’s cold shore!

Leave no quill nor wand a token of that myth thy soul hath spoken!

Leave my loneliness unbroken! - quit the tease of Potter lore!

Take thy site from out my heart, and stop ripping off Lenore!’

Quoth the Rowling, `Pottermore.’

So much thinking

One of the things I love about living in another country is how the vulnerability of not speaking the language or knowing the culture or being literate in the city makes you hyperaware. I feel, like I did when I was a student in Copenhagen two years ago, that my whole brain chemistry just... alters slightly, to compensate for all the strangeness and the trying to blend in.

Not everything is different. Yesterday, the head of DIS threw a great barbecue for the interns at his house in the near 'burbs, and while we did indeed bike there (okay, that would never happen in America), the mosquitos outside on a muggy August evening were just the same as back home, and my incessant worrying about West Nile was identical to my summer fears at home.

Being in Europe, however, makes me a newly minted snob about a lot of things that would occur neither to Americans at home nor natives here. For instance, I refuse to ask for directions. It is a TEST OF FIRE to see if I can find my way to obscure apartments in Vesterbro, wheras in America I constantly ask for directions. A better example is bread. I refuse to buy store-bought, factory-baked, pre-sliced bread in a grocery shop when there are bakeries every two blocks. I just flat out refuse. Unfortunately, bakeries have shorter hours than grocery stores and I work full time and also everything goes stale in about two days. I impulsively bought a whole loaf of something called Mueslibrod, which turned into a rockhard, Einstein's Powerbagel-esque situation. I still ate it when I came home tonight, because I spent like six dollars on that damn loaf.

Because everything is so expensive. I cannot stress this enough. But I also should stop whinging about it, since I'm 22 and living abroad and have a kickass job with an end date to keep the whole year from feeling soulless or tired.