Inconceivable!!

For those of you who don't know me all that well (or at all, really) let me preface this by stating that I, Adrienne Dority, am a Reader. By that, I don't mean that I can read, and every once in awhile I pick up the latest big thing and read it. I don't mean that I own a few classics, and manged to read every piece of required text in high school and college.

I read the way most people watch movies, or television. I read anything and everything; each piece is a teacher, showing me new things about the world and myself. Some authors can transport you physically to the exact location they're describing, some authors can create a character so real you feel you've known them for years, and some authors can capture the emotion of a single moment so beautifully you believe you've lived it. And the best authors spin a story using all three threads, creating a world that becomes a part of your soul.

Here's where we get to J.K. Rowling, and Harry Potter.

I heard that sigh from here. I realize I am (quite obviously) not the first person to fall hopelessly in love with these books. We're talking about a franchise that has spawned literally billions of dollars in merchandise, hell, it even has it's very own theme park. The reason I bring this up now is because of her latest announcement: yes, world, Jo is writing a new book, and this time around, she writes for adults. When I finished the last HP book and dried my tears, I swore that the happiest day of my life (sorry imaginary future-husband/babies) would be the day she released another book. But now.................

It's hard for me to explain why I love the Harry Potter series so much. I still vividly remember getting the first book into my hands, the product of my hyperactive little brother being forced to check out a book from his school library, and then clutching the front of his shirt two days later and demanding he get the second. While I did have friends growing up, I was never the most popular or normal child, and in Ron, Harry, and Hermione I found true companions. There was never a transition period as I read; one moment I was an average American teenager, the next I was sprinting down the corridors beside them, breathless in my haste to avoid detection from Filch. I could smell the Halloween feast and feel the snowflakes on my lashes as I trudged to Hogsmeade. No story, no world, had ever felt so real to me, and I know that it was because of Jo's incredible skill that a generation returned to reading.

So here I sit, completely torn. Is this perhaps the greatest thing ever, my favorite author growing up as I have, providing me with new material as brilliant as her old, just more age-appropriate? Or was part of Jo's magic the innocence and simplicity of the wizarding world she created for kids?

Bottom Line: Please don't have this suck. I might die.

Bobtats, Pancakes, and the Smell of Home

Have you ever been analyzing an aspect of your childhood and been abruptly blindsided by how much of an undeserving little shit you are? Last night, my boyfriend was making fun of a stuffed doll I have had since I was practically a zygote, and I got defensive and snapped that she is my Velveteen Rabbit. To my astonishment, he had no idea what I was talking about, so I had to paraphrase Margery Williams' book, all the while trying to figure out how he didn't know one of the most iconic children's stories of the last century. 

From here, the conversation meandered to the point where I was explaining how for a large portion of my childhood (and a decent way into adolescence, thanks to a little brother) my dad would come home from work every day and read a bedtime story. He would do the voices, and show us the pictures, and make us laugh until we were all wound up again. It was a staple of my life, my dad reading us stories, something I didn't even think about or really notice until I grew up and realized several different things at once. 

First, my dad worked at a paper mill. My mom didn't work when we were kids so she could actually raise us to be decent people, so he was the only source of income for our family. He worked very, very hard, most often 12-16 hours a day, leaving so early in the morning he would be gone when I woke up for school. When you're used to something as a kid, it seems totally normally, but looking back I realize how many times we had dinner without him. He must have been so unbelievably tired every night, but he read to us anyway. Second, he was never tired or angry or indifferent when he was spending time with us. He treated these fairly common occurrences like they were something special, and they BECAME something special. He must have WANTED to spend time with us, to have something that made him not just our father, but our dad. This same man, to this day, still wakes up every Sunday to make us pancakes when we're visiting, just like he did when we were growing up. He checks over the things in my car that I don't even know how to spell, but he knows how to fix. 

Anyway, as I was telling my boyfriend about this aspect of growing up, my dad reading to me, I realized I was tearing up. This is not a very common occurrence for me, so I decided to explore this highly uncomfortable feeling. I found myself recalling a vast number of seemingly mundane experiences that have stayed with me: the feeling of running home from the bus to see my mom standing in the kitchen, the smell of dinner wafting in the air, her asking me about my day and for some reason caring about my boring life; her putting one of her bras on my brother's head when he was just a toddler, calling him a "bobtat" (he loved this game); my dad teaching me how to play gin rummy; huddling in the basement, clutching mugs of cocoa around   a cast-iron stove with a crackling belly as Nat King Cole sang about peace and love from the record player; my mom making our Halloween costumes from scratch; the smell of summer nights, the last vestiges of sun blooming on the horizon, mom standing on the porch and yelling for us to come inside and get in the damn bathtub. 

Okay, I'm gonna be honest here: my childhood was better than yours. But I can say, without hesitation, that it only was so because I had two parents who give new meaning to the term "unconditional love". They sacrificed everything they wanted, everything of themselves, to make sure I became the person I am today. I get so frightened when I see all of the children now who quite obviously don't have that; the mom's and dad's who spend a fair portion of their week planning when they can get away next. And I get it, I do. I have no kids, I'm not married, and I'm always exhausted at the end of the day. Will I be a good enough mom to put that all behind me, make my family dinner, and read to my kids every night? I really don't know. It seems I still have a lot to learn from my parents.....

One Giant Leap For Mankind

Greetings, Interweb. Though I am still a little unsure as to what a blog is, and the word "blogger" makes me want to vomit a bit, I have decided to join the masses and provide an area where you, the reader, may bask in my encyclopedia of knowledge. Grab a pen; I'll be firing out gems left and right.


Firstly, I should establish the goal of this "blog". It has come to my attention that the mean awesomeness of humanity at large has been plummeting faster than a freshman at a frat party. As a person in possession of above-average levels of awesome, I feel it is my duty to help. Why are there so many people running around who think Uggs are still cool? Why do men think squeezing into nut-huggers is actually attractive? When are we legally allowed to start hunting Kardashians? What the hell is this :

and why is it? I think these are questions we should all be asking ourselves. Maybe you don't realize how far down the Golden Ladder of Badassery you've slid, but ask yourself: does it take you more than ten minutes to get ready in the morning? Do you still chest-bump your bros? Hell, do you still call them "bros"? 

It's okay, I'm here to help. Today we'll begin with something easy. A list of traits/actions/words you should swiftly and irrevocably remove from your life. For example:

• The use of text slang in every day life. OMG, BTW, LOL....I will begrudgingly accept that these will continue to be used in internet and text vernacular, but I swear to friggin' God if I hear someone actually SAY them one more time, I'm going to shoot them. You sound like a middle schooler. 
• Driving in the fast lane when really, you aren't going very fast, now are you? You're actually going a bit under the speed limit, huh? In truth, you're making people want to drag you from your vehicle with their fingernails and curb-stomp in front of your children. I'd stop this just for safety reasons. Your own.
• Being rude. This is a tough one folks, since I honestly believe many of you are WAY beyond help in this area. It wasn't long ago that words like "please" "excuse me" and "thank you" were so common you didn't even notice their use. Now if you hear them, you automatically glance around thinking someone is filming you. Stop ramming your cart into people, stop reaching in front of them, stop having long, pointless conversations in the middle of doorways and stairs. Honestly. This one isn't even that hard. 
• Skinny jeans. OH....the fucking skinny jeans. I'm not sure how this trend started, but I have a sneaking suspicion a man designed a pair for his 6'4", 125 pound model, and then everyone started wearing them because no one has the common sense to realize that models are not real people. First, why do you want to struggle for 5 minutes to put on a pair of damn pants? Second, about 2% of the population looks good in them (none of whom are men), and the other 98% should not even want to put something on that clings to every bulge and dimple. In summation: they aren't flattering. Your ass is too big. 
• Men who wear baseball hats with a flat brim, cocked sideways. I'm not even going to explain this one. If you can't figure out that you look like a dumbass, no one can help you. Also, new vocab word: BELT. Google it. 
• Taking pictures of yourself from above, at a slight angle. This one is mostly for the ladies (hopefully). Once upon a time, pictures used to mean something. They were taken of important events, people who were loved, memories you wanted to cherish. Now every 5 seconds someone posts ANOTHER damn picture of themselves, just themselves, I'm guessing in the hopeless attempt to have someone comment on how pretty or fabulous or sexy they look. You know what I think when I see this? I think "Congratulations. You've documented another moment when you were alive. I see you're doing great things with that gift."
• Perpetuating the ignorance of our society. Read a book. For fuck's sake, please, please, read a book. 
• Never get into a land war in Asia.

I think I'll leave my initial list there. Maybe next time I'll have one long rant. Maybe I'll remain in list format. Who knows. There will be a lot of Star Wars chatter, probably a slew of Harry Potter references, and endless talk of football. This could be fun, a small adventure for us all. You stay classy.....World.