I just finished Lev Grossman's The Magicians today, and I loved it! To put it simply, the novel reminds me of Harry Potter, except aimed for a more adult audience. Okay, well to be honest, I never actually read Harry Potter, but based on the few clips of the movies I've seen here and there, I'm claiming that they are similar in several ways. If nothing else, it's the realm of wizardry that correlates the two–a story centering around a boy who pursues a life of magic and encounters strange, sci-fi like characters along the way, all while trying to figure out his life's purpose. Quentin, the main character, is moody and self-destructive. The oscillating first and third person narrative causes the reader to become frustrated with him because he has so much potential and has all the tools he needs in front of him, yet he is never satisfied. Essentially, the novel is about Quentin's quest for happiness. I felt so invested in his character by the end of the novel that even I was wondering what had to be done for him to finally be complacent. I guess I'll just have to wait until the next novel to find out. The sequel, The Magician King, will be released next summer.
I don't know if it's the Summer season, my hormones, or all of the commercials flooding my TV screen recently, but my craving for ice cream has been absurd. I will literally skip dinner just so I don't feel as guilty about devouring a frosty treat. I'm sure you have seen the commercials too. Dairy Queen is celebrating the 25th birthday of the blizzard, and while it should be a celebratory time, my waistline is telling me the party needs to come to an end. DQ knows what it's doing by flooding my easily dessert-persuadable-mind with images of the sweet, creamy, ingredient-loaded blizzard.
day of golfing and figured that it would be okay to indulge “”just this once”” because I was buying a whole cake, and everyone in my family would eat some. Yeah, well that rationale didn't just kick me in the butt, it has decided that a better punishment would be to attach its little fat particles to my rear as a constant reminder that not my dad, but I, ate half the cake myself. If that isn't the right step in the direction of obesity, I don't know what is.
This was my first Thanksgiving away from my family ever in my whole life. Originally I didn't think it was going to be a big deal. In my family, my mom's side of the family gathers for every holiday. We cook. A ton. And drink. Lots of wine. And laugh. Uncontrollably. I can always count on ridiculousness to ensue at any gathering. We're loud (and sometimes downright obnoxious), we know it, and we love it. I figured that this Thanksgiving would be like the rest, and buying a $400 plane ticket home, when Christmas is a bigger deal for us anyway, seemed unpractical since I only left Michigan four months ago anyway. My parents even shipped me boxed mashed potatoes, green beans, stuffing and a bottle of wine to make my own little Thanksgiving dinner at home.
Day Parade, and I had a blast. Then when I came home I thought I'd just sleep away the majority of the day. But of course, aftwe waking to an empty apartment, the loneliness quickly set in. I tried to diminish longing to be home by blasting music while I made my dinner for one and I put myself to work cleaning my bedroom, but before long I was confronted with sadness again which had evolved into a knot in the pit of my stomach.
While I don't consider myself a New Yorker yet and I'm not sure I ever will since my roots are in Michigan, I certainly can say that I've been “”initiated”” into the New York lifestyle where everyone has experienced loneliness and almost everyone has spent a holiday without their family. To my wonderful family and friends who I thought I could be strong enough to spend a holiday without missing, boy was I wrong. I miss everyone tremendously, and although I was physically in another state, my mind allowed me to spend the day re-living past holidays together. What I finally realized, and maybe spending the day alone is what it took, is that it doesn't matter if family gatherings sometimes seem monotonous and boring in the traditional sense, it's being together under one roof for yet another year that makes it special.