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Nov. 22nd, 2005
We braved the mall tonight, so ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
adfamiliares could find some hott new jeans (plus, in the end, two pairs of stripey slacks, two shirts, and a thermal blanket for to make our bed cozy). I once again demonstrated my utter inability to correctly read any situation involving myself and a female, since the salesgirl who I was sure had given me a wary look and edged nervously away later struck up a conversation with me about my sneakers. (My green Chucks draw so many comments that I may not be able to stop myself from committing a pun: they're great Converse-ation starters! Ha!) I told her about the brocade sneaks I'd ordered, and she seemed rather excited.
We watched Harry Potter IV in the mall theater (the only game in town, I'm afraid), surrounded by a sea of high school boys. I don't know why none of them had dates—or, rather, I theorize that it's because of how annoying they are, but that's never stopped high school girls before, so I can't really say. We heard a constant rumble of conversation; even once I'd quieted the boys nearby (only a little bodily harm was threatened) I was still hearing talking from ten rows back. *seethe*
The movie itself, I thought, was reasonably good. There was some baffling handwavery in the explanation department, but the experience was immersive, possibly because of the director's seamless transitions between moods and scenes. It became dreamlike at times. And Miranda Richardson was perfect, of course. #3 is still my favorite, but Newell >> Columbus.
(Is it wrong to say I found the Moaning Myrtle scene sort of hot? She's seven years older than me, so I guess it's okay. You can haunt my pipes anytime, baby.)
adfamiliares could find some hott new jeans (plus, in the end, two pairs of stripey slacks, two shirts, and a thermal blanket for to make our bed cozy). I once again demonstrated my utter inability to correctly read any situation involving myself and a female, since the salesgirl who I was sure had given me a wary look and edged nervously away later struck up a conversation with me about my sneakers. (My green Chucks draw so many comments that I may not be able to stop myself from committing a pun: they're great Converse-ation starters! Ha!) I told her about the brocade sneaks I'd ordered, and she seemed rather excited.We watched Harry Potter IV in the mall theater (the only game in town, I'm afraid), surrounded by a sea of high school boys. I don't know why none of them had dates—or, rather, I theorize that it's because of how annoying they are, but that's never stopped high school girls before, so I can't really say. We heard a constant rumble of conversation; even once I'd quieted the boys nearby (only a little bodily harm was threatened) I was still hearing talking from ten rows back. *seethe*
The movie itself, I thought, was reasonably good. There was some baffling handwavery in the explanation department, but the experience was immersive, possibly because of the director's seamless transitions between moods and scenes. It became dreamlike at times. And Miranda Richardson was perfect, of course. #3 is still my favorite, but Newell >> Columbus.
(Is it wrong to say I found the Moaning Myrtle scene sort of hot? She's seven years older than me, so I guess it's okay. You can haunt my pipes anytime, baby.)
