The only thing missing is Jar Jar binks

I’m rereading the scattered pages of Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkabanthat I found around the house, and it makes me sad. Why should what many consider to be the best book in the series sadden me? Because it brings back memories of what Harry Potter used to be: the days when the air of Hogwarts crackled with magic, not hormones; when Harry had real, physical adventures in which the main villain was not his own angst; when Harry was seen as a student, not a god. And I miss the visualizations I had of the characters before I saw the movie: namely, Sirius as tall, dark and handsome, and Lupin (the likable Lupin of the first few books) sans the Hitler-style lip-ferret.

I WANT THINGS TO BE LIKE THEY WERE BEFORE! *sob* 

I think that the Harry Potter books should be divided like the Star Wars trilogies: We’ll have the first set, consisting of Books 1-4—the original ones that we all loved. Then we’ll have the final ones, Books 5-7, in which stupid romances overtook the plot and a decent, even cool, character turned into a whiny young man who nevertheless became the object of everybody’s worship.

Edit: James McAvoy has been brought to my attention as a perfect Lupin. My thanks to resurrecttheliving for that scrap of information.  

Totally Thrucked...Maybe

"Thruck:" An interesting substitution for a word that sounds a lot like it. Coined when a friend of mine was writing "firetruck" on a blackboard with certain letters highlighted. I don't know how the "h" got in there, but both of us agreed that it looked fairly vulgar. I've used it ever since.
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I've got to stop being confident. No, seriously--I think I could benefit from low self esteem. To expand:
I'm supposed to be a good writer (see, already working on put-downs). More than good, sometimes. I've written some very well-reviewed fanfic as well as some rather interesting poetry and more. But there is one problem.
When G-d granted me the gift of writing, he concentrated mostly on the creative bit. He mostly left out the analytical part. Yes, gentle readers: I suck at analytical papers, which is what I'm supposed to be writing for my English class. The first couple of essays were more about personal experiences; those came out quite well (hence the self-confidence). The next couple of essays...sucked. And my GPA will show it. Also, the research paper that is worth 30% of my grade is due next Thursday and I've got very little. I used to be able to fudge them; now...not.
Sometimes I predict a bad grade and end up getting a good one. I don't think it will happen this time.
Wait--I'm blogging about my feelings. What have I become? *facepalm*
Yep. Thrucked.

Name Change!

Once upon a time, I was reading The Hobbit. As I read about Rivendell, I started to think about the consequences of situating your home near running water, and then it came to me: The perfect blog name. I didn't have a blog at the time, and so settled for using the phrase as my Tumblr title.
A month or so later I created this blog, but entirely forgot what I had once wanted to name it. I therefore gave it a reasonably interesting name and would have kept it had I not suddenly remembered my perfect plan. How do I know that it was perfect? Because whenever I get a truly awesome idea, that truly awesome climax to Tchaikovsky's 1812 Overture--that is, 5:11 here--starts playing in my head. And this time, everything was going nuts.

My Very Cumberbatch Night

Though not quite in that sense. Last night I had a Benedict Cumberbatch Film Festival.  Well, not really: I watched Hawking and Third Star, respectively. I have the unaired Sherlock pilot on my computer as well, so I watched a bit of that. This amounted to over two hours of watching Mr. Cumberbatch portray such varied parts, and I think it is safe to say that those were a few should-have-been-in-bed hours well spent.

For one, I can now say that I am a Benedict Cumberbatch fan (not a Cumberbitch!). This is not lightly said, for I am very careful of calling myself a “fan” of an actor/actress. I have my special criteria: I must watch and approve the actor/actress’s performance in at least three different roles, those roles comprising the majority of the works in which I have seen said actor/actress perform. Until then, I cannot call myself a fan—I can be a fan of one of their works, I can admire their skill, I can even name them as my favorite actor/actress. But I cannot be a fan. However, I have now seen Benedict (the Internet puts you on first-name terms with everyone) produce three stellar performance, and if pressed I can name myself as—though the term usually implies more squeeing—a Cumberfan. 

I began to admire Benedict Cumberbatch’s acting (and, yes, his cheekbones) as soon as he appeared on Sherlock; further watching has convinced me that he is indeed a superb actor. For one, observe his body. No, not that way! Watch him—objectively, please—as he moves. Perhaps he simply has onoe hell of a body coach, but I’m inclined to think of it as talent. Listen to his speech (again objectively). Concentrate on how he becomes each character. Do this: notice his abilities as well as his arse, and post some more intelligent-sounding comments on YouTube. Another advantage to having watched these movies: In addition to being able to call myself a fan, in the event that I ever meet Benedict Cumberbatch I will be able to compliment him on his work in Hawking, a small thing that is nevertheless important to me, for in greeting an artist (albeit theoretically) who is well-known for playing a certain role, I would like to imply that, say, David Tennant is more than just the Doctor—Recovery is on YouTube in nine parts. Watch it now. Also, having a broader range of knowledge I will also be able to discuss Cumberbatch’s acting more intelligently.

Now, about the movies:

Regarding Hawking: Watch it. Just…watch it. If you’re into good-looking actors with European accents, it provides, and if you’re a nerd—well, it’s physics all ’round. Cumberbatch rocks the nerd glasses and I discover that nothing turns me on like hardcore math. Theorems and Einstein stuff and physics limericks, oh my! You might want to stay away if you prefer to avoid intellectual-type film, but I for one am going to carry chalk from now on, just in case I need to help someone draw their dissertation on a sidewalk. Sapiosexual. Yeah.

Regarding Third Star: Highly recommended. Summary: Less of an intellectual treat than a cryer’s; a character has cancer (and a cool hat); what do you think is going to happen (not necessarily involving the cool hate)? Lesson: If your friend with a terminal illness asks you to accompany him on one last hiking trip to Funny-name Bay…keep him at home. Advice: if it’s between this and reading Alone on the Water, I recommend this movie. There is no Johnlock cuddling, though there is a reference to Brokeback Mountain. General result: I got through it all tear-free, and tomorrow I shall begin creating macros with the sole intent of making Tumblr bawl.

Regarding Sherlock: Again, the unaired pilot is worth watching if only for drunk!Sherlock (again note the body acting) and the opportunity to see how many things have changed. For example, the unaired pilot has no Mycroft, the superimposed text is nonexistent, Sherlock wears jeans and Anderson has a beard.

Apologies for incoherency. I wrote this late at night. And if you're wondering why I posted this so soon after the post in which I claimed that I don't post much, it's simply because I wanted to have an introduction up.

Introduction

Hello, and welcome to my blog. I'm Ya'el: animal lover, hat wearer, chocolate eater, gutter mouth and brained, INTP and total nerd. Though I enjoy my Tumblr, I wanted a place where I could keep keep an actual, journal-esque, dictionary-definition blog. Also, you won't find as much porn.
I probably won't be doing that much posting (I've never been good at keeping journals), but every so often I'll try again.