Secrets

Lots of people have life-altering secrets.

Some of them aren’t even Harry Potter characters.

I have a few secrets of my own, and of course they are clearly in the same class.

There’s an art to keeping this stuff out of the public eye. Like the Dread Pirate Westley up there, I invest a lot of energy and cunning in misdirection and subterfuge to keep the people around me from discovering the dark truth.

The need for secrecy comes from a firm conviction that none of them share in my transgressions, and that the full revelation would be too much of a shock to bear.

It’s not as if I imagine other people to be devoid of complicated inner lives. I just tend to suspect they might be better than I am.

Also, no, we never had a second flavor of pudding. Why do you ask?

NaNoWriMo

November is National Novel Writing Month, or NaNoWriMo for those who are saving the extra syllables for use in their literary efforts.

The idea is to write at least 50,000 words of a novel over the course of the month, which averages to about 1,667 words per day. It’s not too late to start, but you’ll have to put in some overtime.

I am not participating, since I am too much of a sissy for serious fiction. As we all know from high school, a book cannot have literary merit unless terrible things happen to any characters worth liking. Whether an honest farming family slowly starves on the way to California or Death Eaters slay a loyal house elf, the good guys have got some suffering coming.

I have taken a few creative writing courses, but my short stories always chickened out when I reached the possibility of anything important happening. I had just made up lives for all these people, and it didn’t seem right to invent them a bunch of pain.

As an alternative, then, I am celebrating NaNoITrToWriInFoGrMo by presenting excerpts from the Novel I Tried To Write In Fourth Grade.

Most of my memories from that year involve the ambitious plans I had for my world-changing contribution to literature. I worked on it during every writing hour and rainy-day recess, filling double-spaced pages and occasionally leaking previews to my teacher so that she could enjoy the privilege of witnessing my genius.

As a basically show-off-y kid (who totally grew out of that), I wanted two things to surround this epic: Absolute secrecy, and universal knowledge that I had something super amazing and was keeping it to myself.

I installed a homemade lock on my spiral notebook, limiting access to only advanced masters of paperclip-and-string technology. To foil those remaining wily invaders, the first few pages were filled with warnings and cunning deceptions.

The problem was that my security measures worked. No one cared about seeing my story, and no one from school could access its hiding place under my dresser. The only audience left was my little brother, so I had to whet his appetite for my sweet, sweet, secret magical prose. I “accidentally” revealed my storage spot. I started leaving the notebook in the middle of my floor, with a hair across the pages to detect tampering. I held little readings of the most impressive parts and dropped tantalizing hints about the plot.

The plot in question was the combined product of my all-consuming Dog Phase and roughly twenty viewings of Babe, specifically the parts with the border collies. I also saw a local production of Camelot and discovered the dramatic potential of betrayal and revenge.

WARNING: Top secret material below! Continue at your own risk! If you tell anybody, I WILL KNOW AND GET YOU!

“Blaze was a one-year-old workdog on the McLoftlen farm….He had a happy life on the farm. Hearding seep, and chaseing rabbitts, birds, and butterflies. But one day he was afraid that it would all come to an end—much too soon for Blaze.”

He is out herding one day when a duck brings him a threatening, anonymous note about how the farmers think Blaze is responsible for a recent sheep killing. Sure enough, the farmer’s wife tries to shoot Blaze, but fortunately she is as bad at aiming as she is at maintaining a consistent personality from page to page.

As Blaze recovers, his most feared enemy dog, Mordred, shows up in the field. An epic dog battle ensues, featuring the grittiest action I could conceive: “First Mordred jumped at Blaze, then in a burst of fury, Blaze would jump back. This went on for almost an hour, and then Mordred slyly slunk away.”

The farmer and his wife tend Blaze’s wounds while producing authentic country dialogue such as, “I reckon’e got in a fight with a’other dawg.” Farmer McLoften calls his neighbors about their dog bully, and they hang up on him.

…and with this cliffhanger finish, I stopped writing my masterpiece and forgot what else was supposed to happen. Probably a lot more jump-fighting and apostrophes.

Despite all my careful buzz cultivation, chances are good that I just got distracted. The next thing in the notebook is this piece of fine art:

I remember spending most of 5th grade on these and stussies. That specific distraction is the biggest threat to NaNoWriMo, from what I hear.

Supreme Mugwump

On Thursday night, I went to the midnight showing of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Part II.

This is how I looked:

After my friend and I claimed our seats with the tickets we bought last month, I spent a little of the three hours until showtime examining the contents of that bag. It contained two bottles of homemade potion, scraps of parchment, and my Hogwarts Report Card from the last midnight book release I attended.

To my surprise, it also contained an essay that I wrote a few years ago in response to this History of Magic test question from the fifth book (Chapter 31, for those of you following along at home):

Describe the circumstances that led to the formation of the International Confederation of Wizards and explain why the warlocks of Liechtenstein refused to join.

Harry doesn’t get to finish answering before Voldemort starts messing with his head.

...the first Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards was Pierre Bonaccord, but his appointment was contested by the wizarding community of Liechtenstein, because—

Luckily, I don’t have a direct mental link with anyone plotting my demise, so I was free to focus on this:

What’s that you say? The paper sports the elegant crumple and curl of authentic parchment? The ink was obviously applied with an actual quill pen? You can see why I’m having trouble finding another roommate?

I don’t remember the exact circumstances of writing this masterpiece, so it’s unclear whether all the details come from official sources. Regardless, I earned a number of geek points by displaying my treasure after the movie.

In addition to dozens of striped scarves, the theatre lobby contained one extremely bored local news cameraman collecting people’s opinions of the film. Armed with my roll of parchment, I could see the newsworthiness rising from me in waves.

“Oh,” said the reporter, “do you want to talk into the camera?”

I let loose with a giant smile and a slick little speech about my Liechtenstein essay.

After I finished, he quietly turned on the camera and asked me how I liked the movie.

Epilogue: At the outset, I believed that rabid fan obsession and functional adult responsibility could coexist peacefully. As it turns out, I have not mastered that balancing act.

Following my late-night Potterventure, I slept through two alarms and woke up nearly an hour into my regularly scheduled workday. After a full minute spent staring at the clock and trying to figure out what day it was, I called my office with a smooth explanation:

My boss was wonderfully understanding once I finally made it in, though my brain function didn’t improve appreciably.

*****************************

Full text of the essay, available by no demand:

The first Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards was Pierre Bonaccord, but his appointment was contested by the Wizarding community of Liechtenstein as a result of his attempts to change the standing legislation concerning trolls. Bonaccord’s revisions included a ban on troll-hunting, as well as the official extension to trolls of rights then held only by wizards. These rights included settling outside of the appointed troll containment areas, in locations chosen by the trolls themselves, provided that no Muggle settlements were near enough to be disturbed. Bonaccord also intended to grant trolls status as Beings rather than Beasts, which would entitle them to participate in summits of the sort held at the time by the Wizards’ Council (predecessor to the ministry of Magic) and otherwise voice their opinions in matters concerning the governance of the magical world.

The Wizarding community of Liechtenstein was unwilling to accept Bonaccord’s proposal, however, as they were suffering abuse from an abnormally vicious tribe of mountain trolls. These trolls made frequent forays into mountain villages, causing considerable damage and distress as well as carrying off the livestock of wizards and Muggles alike. The wizards in the area worked tirelessly to keep the trolls under control and out of Muggle notice, but their success was limited. By the time of Bonaccord’s nomination, Liechtenstein’s troll problems had lasted five months, and with no sign that the trolls planned to relent, the community had no intention of ceasing troll-hunts, allowing the creatures a voice in government, or seeing even more of them move into areas inhabited by humans.

In the end, Bonaccord was appointed to the post of Supreme Mugwump despite Liechtenstein’s protests, but he was unable to pass his new troll legislation.

So now you know. Look for that on Jeopardy.

*****************************

UPDATE: A lady from my office actually saw my interview on TV! That is how you identify a slow news day.

I Am the Internet's Leading Expert on Voldemort Syphilis

If you pay an inordinate amount of attention to my sidebar, you may have noticed that I enabled ads on this site. I’m pretty sure this does not count as “selling out,” because I think you actually have to make any money to do that.

Mostly I was interested to see what ads Google would deem appropriate for my content. So far it’s been pretty disappointing—a little coffee, a lot of exterminators, and some totally legit online psychology classes. Then again, I guess ice cream isn’t a major player in the online marketplace.

Much more satisfying is my StatCounter account, which tracks my site visits and gives me the tools I need to become a creepy cyber-stalker. My favorite feature is Keyword Analysis, which lets me see what search terms have led people to this blog.

On the one hand, it’s exciting that people actually find me via search engines. On the other hand, I’m a little concerned about some of the phrases that lead to me.

In the above case, it’s not really the phrase that worries me so much as the URGENCY expressed. The next one, meanwhile, is less disturbing and more pitiful:

This keyword feature let me discover that I am the go-to source for information on He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named’s unsafe sex practices.

That’s right: Google “voldemort syphilis,” and my page comes up as the first result. Now I can rest assured that I’ve made a meaningful contribution to society.

While you’re at it, I’m also uniquely qualified to answer your questions on canned pasta impurities and the odds of making it through the night undigested.

Apparently I can provide expertise for other Dark Lord-related needs as well, though other sites have beaten me to the top slot.

Feel free to call on me for snot questions, too.

Then we have the topics where I’m glad that someone else has been selected champion.

These results are also the reason behind my incriminating Google search history for this evening, left over from trying to find out if I’m the top match. You all are my witnesses for when Big Brother stops by with a few questions about my surfing habits.

P.S. It appears that a good third of my search engine traffic comes from people who are promptly disappointed that I’m not providing an encyclopedic My Little Pony database, and another 40% is from the time I titled a post with an insanely popular Charlie Sheen quotation. I didn’t piggyback off of Charlie’s tailspin on purpose, but if I do sell out in the future, this is the form it will take.

The Naked Time

I am a big fan of clothes.

That’s not to say that I enjoy shopping for them or have any inkling of fashion sense, but rather that I staunchly advocate wearing clothing as frequently as possible.

That old stage fright technique of picturing the audience naked has always struck me as horrifyingly bad advice. If you already have a large crowd of potentially intimidating strangers, how could a dose of nudity possibly make anyone involved more comfortable?

The most unsettling thing about the underclothed is the way they tend to crop up unexpectedly, just when I’m feeling safe. One reason I’m fond of winter, along with the increase in available baked goods, is the drastically reduced chance of sudden exposure to Speedos.

Admittedly, I knowingly set myself up for an above-average risk of surprise naked people by belonging to a gym with locker rooms. Then again, this is not the YMCA. The showers all have individual stalls, and there’s a row of little curtained cubbies for changing clothes.

That’s why I was so startled to walk into the room one day and discover a woman lounging against the wall, carrying on a phone conversation while very, very naked.

I suppose conversations like this are the reason that video phones still aren’t very popular. I couldn’t help wondering if the other party knew where this woman was, and I felt a strong urge to help clarify the situation.




What struck me was the mundane nature of her conversation. I’m pretty sure it could have waited, at least for underwear. In the hierarchy of phone call importance, some admittedly rank above clothing, but not the majority. However, perhaps this poor woman does not have an internal gauge for nudity-appropriate conversations. If that’s true, she can use this helpful chart:

For any of you in the UK please substitute “trousers” where appropriate—or don’t, since that kind of pants are also pretty vital to success in the wider world.

Extra Credit: Variations on a theme, old, medium, and new.

How to Keep Voldemort from Giving You Syphilis

My middle-class, suburban childhood was pretty much as safe and nonthreatening as humanly possible, so my brain compensated for the lack of danger by inventing whole legions of forces that were trying to get me.

In addition to the standard hiding under the covers to foil the bad guys who wanted to kill me in the dark, I developed a detailed system of techniques to keep fictional characters and scary words from seeping into me and working evil.

I was careful to hold any book I was reading by the very corners to keep from touching the bad guys’ names and absorbing the danger through my fingers. You also can’t just put the book down after a chapter that ends with “doom” or “evil” or “yeerks”—you have to keep reading until a safe sentence like “The travelers prepared for lunch.”

Extra-powerful bad things can even get in through your unconscious processes, like accidentally breathing in right when the White Witch kills Aslan. And if you really need to swallow and the whole chapter is going to be inside the enemy’s compound or something, you have to at least wait until none of them are talking and settle on an innocent word like “the.” “Said” will do in a pinch, but it’s not as safe because you know that it means a bad person has been speaking. And don’t ever use “he” or “she” just because they’re not names—that’s still Saruman you’re talking about.

I had to hold my breath and not touch the book for most of The Shining to keep the Overlook from getting me.

A friend of mine confided her own related safety rule in middle school: Spell the names of diseases correctly, lest they become angered by your disrespect and take revenge.

Movies and TV have their own set of dangers. You’re a lot less likely to accidentally touch the bad guys, but there’s a risk of ingesting some villainy if you swallow popcorn while the camera is on Khan.

A couple of years ago I knitted a baby blanket while watching six movies back to back, and partway through I started to worry that The Graduate wouldn’t be appropriate to weave into garments for small children. I had to put the needles down altogether for American Psycho so that the baby wouldn’t grow up to be a sociopath.

It’s possible to absorb the good things too, of course. This is why I get irritated with the short shots and multitudinous cuts in modern cinematography—Dumbledore is never on the screen long enough for me to finish all my M&Ms and gain his powers.

P.S. I typed “syphilis” about seven different wrong ways in the title before I got it right (spell check is cheating and syphilis knows that). Then I typed some other stuff, and when I looked back at the top of the page, the word “syphilis” was GONE! While it’s logical to suppose that Word deleted it on a whim the way it adds undesirable formatting, I’m pretty concerned that the disease got mad and jumped out of my computer to seek justice. You might want to wash your hands after reading this.

P.P.S. Here are some safety buffer words to protect us:

Joy kitten disinfectant bubbles happy health delight sanitary unicorn love immunity pizza.