Sometimes I can't get used to the idea of blogging, either. "You mean I actually have to go online to post? I can't just have new entries magically appear on the thing?" I say to myself. "Then again, perhaps that's a good thing. After all, would you really want the world to know the kind of thoughts you were having watching Harry Potter?"
Normally, I'd say no. I wouldn't want my innate coolness factor to drop by about sixty points, especially since I usually hover at the edge of whatever makes one cool anyway. Since this is the lovely and somewhat anonymous world of the net, what the heck. I'll probably end up losing those points some other way.
The main thing I kept thinking during the movie was, "What the heck are they feeding these kids nowadays?" I know the main characters are supposed to be about fourteen but daaaaamnnnnnn. When I was fourteen, my friends and I were these scrawny things that looked, well, fourteen. This bunch in the movie could pass for much older. I mean, when Harry took his shirt off in the Prefect's Bath, his chest looked positively ripped and his arms had muscles. The only one who really looked somewhat like fourteen was Moanin' Myrtle. Yes, I know the actors are actually older - more like sixteen - but I'll say it again. Even when I was sixteen, I was this scrawny thing. The biggest thing about me was my hair (and no, it wasn't because it was a Southern thing to do. It was a glam thing to do.)
The other thought I had while I watched the movie was, "Where in the world did they find so many redheads - and twins? Hmmm...red hair could look really good on a guy. Where could I find one, preferably over twenty?"
Oh good god. I sound like such a perv. I need a life.