Reading the Washington Post this morning, I came across this headline: "Fan cuffs self to Hugh Grant." Note that it didn't say "himself" or "herself," but just "self." Rather than thinking that a crazed person had intentionally become chained to Hugh Grant, I instead assumed that a fan (as in, a motorized fan, not a sentient fan) had somehow latched itself to Hugh Grant. I imagined that the actor walked a little too close to the fan while filming his latest movie, and then became inextricably attached to it. You can see why I wondered that this was news at all. Of course, it clears it up a bit more that now, hours later, I find out that it was a female fan that had affixed herself to him. Ah. That makes more sense.

If you were to ask my why I don't wear sweatpants, I'd likely give you some fairly obvious reasons: they're unflattering on most everybody, there's that fiddly bit of string that you have to muck with when you want to undo them, and so on. But the real reason why I don't wear sweatpants dates back to Kindergarten, circa 1983. Those were the days when I wore sweatpants constantly. At the end of each school day, our kindergarten teacher made us stand quietly, next to our desks, for several minutes before we could leave. One day, a boy circled around me while I stood next to my desk then, with a quick tug, pulled my sweatpants down. I was mortified! To top it off, the teacher then came up to me and said (I'll never forget this), "In this class, we leave our clothes on." From that day on, I never wore sweatpants in public.

I'm switching back and forth between the Oscars and Van Helsing and honestly, it's a toss-up as to which is worse.

John and I were at the dog park today with Luke, having a nice time. As we made our way to the exit, to leave the park, John went to get Luke's leash. We always hang the leash on the inside fence (lots of people do) so that we don't have to carry it around with us. But this time, someone had stolen it. They left his collar and stole his leash. This is reason #945,178 why I hate living in Florida: never have I met people who are so self-serving. I've yet to see the "Southern hospitality" I heard about for so long.

A catalog arrived in the mail today and, flipping through it, I found the world's funniest product: it's a porthole that you install in your fence so that your dog can see what's on the other side. Behold:

Back in September, John and I spent a few days in Portland, Oregon, and completely fell in love with it. It's such a great city; there are loads of great shops, cafes, and eateries. But I make no secret of the fact that I liked Powell's the best. Powell's, for those who don't know, is one of the largest (the largest?) independent bookstore in the country (maybe the world-- I honestly don't know). In any case, it's enormous. It's a book-lover's paradise. I can't even tell you know many pounds of books we lugged home-- across the country, I might add-- from Powell's. We went there literally every day of the trip. Every now and again I dream about Powell's-- going through the aisles, picking up armloads of history books. sigh

Break out the champagne and the marching band: I'm done with my qualifying exams! The first one was a bear (my anxiety got in the way) and the second was a breeze. Now, we wait for the results. Tick tock, tick tock.

I'm currently working on the last round of my qualifying exams and I have to say, the questions are fabulous. Maybe because I saw them coming (okay, very likely because I saw them coming), I'm finding them much easier than the exams I slogged through on Monday. By noon tomorrow I'll be done. Yay!

I picked up my first round of qualifying exam questions roughly eleven hours ago. I'll say this: they're big, they're ugly, and they brought friends.

We're at t-minus one week and counting down to the start of my PhD qualifying exams. Depending on when you talk to me, I'm either feeling pretty good about them or feeling like I should be filling out applications at McDonalds. I'm reminded of a conversation I had with a fellow graduate student a couple years ago, as he was preparing for his qualifying exams. He said that he was vacillating between obnoxious arrogance and crippling depression. And I think that about sums it up. If you call in the morning, I'll tell you that I feel pretty good about them. If you call at night (and the later it gets, the worse it gets), I might be quietly rocking myself in a corner and unable to come to the phone. This morning was a bit different: After an email from my advisor in which she told me that one section of my exams would ask me about social history, I went into a tailspin of panic. After years of training in social history, I suddenly couldn't remember what it meant. I had to email my friend and fellow graduate student Ben, who graciously jogged my memory. And he didn't point and laugh, which was all the more helpful. I've got to go now; I'm downloading the mp3 for the Rocky theme song, which always inspires me, and I've got a stack of fast-food applications to fill out.

As I study for my PhD qualifying exams, I have to admit that my mind keeps getting drawn back to Harry Potter. There are so many questions, as I mentioned in my last post, that Rowling has to tie up in book seven. What is the significance of the fact, for example, that Voldemort now has some of Harry's blood running through his veins? Why does Rowling keep mentioning that Harry has his mother's eyes? What did Dumbledore mean when he told Voldemort that there are fates worse than death? And how will that play out, given our knowledge that Voldemort fears death more than anything else? Finally, the question of all questions: will she or won't she? Will Rowling let Harry live, or will she (as many people seem to think) kill him off in the end?

Well if you're anything like me, you'll be reading the final installment of J.K. Rowling's Harry Potter series! (John, sadly, will have to wait; I read much faster, so I get dibs on the copy we buy. I'll try not to spoil it for him.) I'm keen to see how Rowling ties up the lingering unknowns from the series:

• The identity of the mysterious R.A.B. I believe, as do countless others, that it's Regulus (Alfonzo? Albert? Agamemnon?) Black.
• The "gleam of triumph" in Dumbledore's eye that was last seen in book four.
• What Dumbledore's boggart would be.
• The possible reappearance of Harry's (and Sirius's) two-way mirror.
• The locations and identities (for lack of a better word) of the last four horcruxes.
• How Wormtail will repay his life debt to Harry.
• Who or what else was present in Godric's Hollow the night Harry's parents were murdered.
• What role Aunt Petunia will play.

I could go on for days, honestly, but I'll stop there for the sake of brevity. July 21st, here I come!