Voldemort Can't Stop The Rock

In just under twenty-four hours, the entire world over will finally know the ending of Harry Potter. I am kind of in shock about this: from here on out, no one will ever have to be plagued with torment over years of wondering if Harry will survive or if Snape is really evil. Subsequent generations will never understand this and will likely give us odd looks when we describe things like midnight releases at bookstores or the complete secrecy the publisher tried to maintain during distribution. After all these years, it will all be over.

For me, it’s odd to think that tomorrow will bring about the end of an affiliation that began nearly a decade ago. I first read Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone in the early summer of 1999 when I was thirteen and the series was still an underground phenomenon no one knew about, save thirteen-year-old girls of bookish persuasion. After tearing through it, I passed the two books (yes, there were only two books then) onto my siblings, Linda and Patrick, and we spent that summer rereading those two books and speculating to no end as to what would happen next. We cursed our luck in nearly every way imaginable too: there was no such thing as simultaneous release at the time, so while the British kids already knew what happened in Book 3 we were forced to wait until the American release date in the fall. The concept that we would later need to wait years for the next book instead of just a mere few months was, at the time, inconceivable.

The years passed, and as we were growing up Harry aged alongside us. And while I was never really obsessed with Harry Potter or anything, there is no denying that Harry kept creeping into what I was doing. He showed up when I visited Hungary after eighth grade and my cousin and I compared our copies, wondering who on Earth decided that “Roxfort” is the proper Hungarian translation of “Hogwarts” or how exactly “Hugrabug” became the equivalent of “Hufflepuff.” Harry made an appearance in one of the very first editorials I wrote, which appeared in the high school paper around the release of the first movie and lambasted movie producers for turning perfectly wonderful books into perfectly terrible movies. He even showed up in Wellington, New Zealand a few months ago when I learned during the course of conversation that one of my British friends in the hostel had been cast as a Slytherin in the first two films.

There is no denying that it’s been fun growing up along with one of the most prominent cultural icons of my generation. And yet here’s the thing: while others might be impatiently waiting to see what will happen, I personally do not want Harry Potter to end. How could I? From here on out there will never again be the magic of opening a new Harry Potter book for the first time, and Harry will make the subtle but important transition from someone I grew up with to someone I knew while growing up. It just won’t be the same anymore.

So as we finish the finally countdown, I’d just like to say thank you, Harry. It’s been an exciting eight years. And be sure to give Voldemort hell tomorrow, will you?

One Saintly Momma Duck

Spotted this on a rock in the lake a few days ago-

For those who can't see properly, it's a momma wood duck with twenty-seven, yes, twenty-seven!, ducklings. With the exception of one who was slightly bigger, all the ducklings are the same size and I've seen the family paddling up and down the shorefront more than once. (Well they don't really paddle, they just sort of hydroplane in this gigantic cloud of fluffy cuteness.)

Looking into it though, wood ducks lay no more than 15 eggs usually, so something is amiss here. Some other wood duck had problems so this one adopted the brood, perhaps? Either way, she must have a great deal of patience with so many little ones.

EDIT: Bird girl saves the day! My sister the bird-studying graduate student looked into it and informs me that these are actually not wood ducks (as I'm used to calling them) but rather common goldeneye ducks, which often mix their young with other families. That could explain what's going on here!

I could write a new post...

... or I could just enjoy the newfound summer hanging out with family and friends, and only stop by the library with Internet connection on occasion. Trust me, when you've just finished your fifth move in a year (the postal forwarding service hates me), you suddenly get other priorities.

Will be back once I am settled in some state and have rethought what to do with this blog space. My appologies, and thanks for your patience everyone!

In Da 'Burgh

Exactly 24 hours transpire between your plane taking off in Auckland and your final one landing in Pittsburgh. At minimum. I mention this because travel to and from New Zealand takes a blasted long amount of time regardless of where you are in the world, so I might as well save you a day of your life to discover this fact. Further, it is forever easy to lose track of how long you're travelling, as it involves two night flights over the date line, meaning at one point you go backwards in time in a physics-defying way and skip ahead a few hours the second leg.

But hey, once you sort that all out you might as well hit the beach in Los Angeles!
More specifically, I headed to Venice Beach since I had a 2pm-11pm layover in LAX and I'd never been to the beach before. Plus the idea of seeing both sides of the Pacific in one day (not to mention two sunsets!) sounded greatly appealing to me.
While I wasn't planning on it, Venice Beach is probably the best place to reacclimate yourself to American culture after being abroad. It's primarily a boardwalk filled with crappy gitch and food classified as "only in America and all bad for you," and has a decent assortment of hippies. In these enlightened times, however, they just hold signs saying "will work for marijuana" and "every time you don't spare change, Chuck Norris dropkicks a kitten" instead of lying about their intentions with your money.

Alas, had I taken a picture of the hippies they would have berated me for spare change for the honor, and thus I refrained from doing so. However, the most amusing part of my day was when some tourist lady decided for whatever reason to debate with one of the potheads that he shouldn't live his life the way he does, which is clearly a lost cause in any event. The best part was another tourist standing nearby during the whole thing, sheepishly shuffling his feet trying to show that he didn't know this woman despite very clearly being her husband.

Anyway, reaclimitization over I returned to the airport and flew the last leg home, arriving here around 630am Tuesday (I left at 945am Monday in New Zealand), so I then proceeded to sleep most of the first day. It's kind of weird to be back though... everything seems normal because it's the way my autopilot remembers it, but everything is oddly green compared to when I last saw it! Here's a view of the backyard right now-
The other odd thing is how it is rather hot in a startling way (in New Zealand it gets hot too, but it doesn't invade every pore of your body and steal your soul like it can here), and the sun goes down really, really late!

Anyway, I should head towards bed as tomorrow my mom and I are driving 12 hours to New Hampshire. Cheers!

Goodbye

It's been a week of lasts. You know how it is: there was the last round of drinks at the pub, last conversations and goodbyes with various people, last sunset from the balcony, last wandering down Queen Street. As I hate lasts with a burning passion (whatever memories you have are already firmly cemented) I'd say I'm ready to leave now. It's been an incredible four months filled with things I never would have predicted and more than most people do in a lifetime.

At the same time, I confess I don't want to go for one main reason: I am leaving right now without a hint of when I might be back, and this frightens me. How can I give up my mountains or my city without knowing if I will see them again? And even if I do return it will never be the same: I will never again be the 21-year-old physics student living in O'Rorke Hall, and while I might meet up with some people later there are definetely some I won't see again. I realize this happens a lot in life, but it's rarely so definite a close as knowing your plane is leaving at 9:45pm on Monday, June 18...

There's also the question of what to do with this blog, as it was begun as a New Zealand travelogue for my friends back home and that purpose shall be gone in a few hours. Right now it's tenatively going to continue for various reasons, as I still have quite a few journeys and misadventures planned (I will have a free day in Los Angeles tomorrow, in New Hampshire by next weekend...). So things should work out for now.

Anyway, I need to pack up the laptop soon so this will be the end of that. But as a last few words, I'd like to say thank you, New Zealand. You were really wonderful, kind, and gracious to this young woman, and I shall be forever obliged.

Alrighty then, that's it for now! Catch you guys on the flipside.

One Last Adventure- Waitomo Caves

Hey everybody, last exam was today! Hooray! So now I can come home, which I will do day after tomorrow. (Except I haven't packed anything yet. Good God, this is going to be fun...)

Anyway, my friend Jenny and I went to Waitomo Caves yesterday as one last New Zealand adventure. This was exciting for two mutually independent reasons- Waitomo Caves have glowworms and we were going to blackwater raft (ie float down the cave river on inner tubes), and I was going to drive as there was no other way to get there and Jenny doesn't have a license. Now it's not like I'm a bad driver or anything, of course, but the last time I drove prior to this was in February and that was on the other side of the road, so I was admittedly cautious about this prospect beforehand.

Fortunately we survived, I didn't destroy anything, and concluded that the nice thing about roundabouts is at least with them you don't get confused as to what lane to pull into at an intersection. The main problem with driving on the wrong side of the road, for the record, is a. you have a tendancy to veer left off the road and b. your turn signal and windshield wiper are backwards, and even worse you flick down for right and up for left. But hey, as long as the break pedal is where you instinctively know it should be it's not too bad! It was quite a pretty drive too of course, and reminded me a bit of the border of northern Hungary and Slovakia (which makes sense as they are both huge caving regions).

So onto pictures! Sorry these may not look as good as I'd like, as you're obviously not taking your own camera through the wet cave system, so Jenny and I split the cost for the picture CD they hawked at the end.
Our group fashionably dressed in caving attire at the cave entrance (Jenny's the furthest on the left, I am just to the right and a little up from her). The water in the cave is really cold (ie, 10-14 degrees C), meaning in addition to the bathing suit you have a thermal sweater and several layers of wetsuit. All in all it's enough gear to ensure that you have serious problems reaching down to pull your boots on, and while your body stays warm your fingers get pretty numb (as in, I couldn't manipulate them to undo the helmet clasp at the end numb). Fortunately the company that runs this are geniuses who know enough to provide hot showers and hot soup afterwards, so we thawed out pretty quickly.

Anyway, the cave entrance I'm referring to is a little slit in the ground just to the right where the little stream goes underground and the cave begins. We followed it until it came out again.

Me splashing over a waterfall- there are a couple of these in the cave system, and the only way to get over 'em is to jump! Yay! You also don't just get to float down your inner tube all the way either as this is a cave, so you get to do some spelunking (ie hiking in the riverbed) through the more shallow parts.

I will admit though, some parts of the cave were a little intense. First of all, there are some parts where there was only perhaps a foot between you and the rock ceiling, meaning you sorta tilt your head to the side so you can breathe. Second of all, this trip has a weight minimum of 45kg for good reason: at some points of the cave the water rushes really really fast, and it's all you can do to not get swept away.

Now as I'm sure the more astute amongst you noticed, I was pretty on the line here as far as weight goes- the last time I went to health services at Case, the doctor spent most of her time trying to figure out if I had an eating disorder. (Because no one in America is naturally thin. Ever.) So there were some points where I discovered that I just plain didn't have enough mass to stick my feet in the water and not get carried along with it, sort of scary until you resign yourself to it, meaning I took the "water route" more than once while the normal, non-twig people got to walk along the edge and stay a little more dry. Ah, fun.
If you click on the above, this is what glowworms look like (doesn't come through very well in the smaller version). You know what those fiberoptic cables look like that people buy to wave around at amusement parks and the like? Basically glowworms look just like that, but the source is a bit more fascinating...
What a glowworm actually looks like when you turn on the lights. First of all they're not worms, they're insects, and the ones in New Zealand are insects in their larval stage. Their glow is a chemical reaction which is supposed to attract prey like poor little flies that get lost in the cave, and the sticky strings hanging down snare these creatures in a similar manner to a spider's web. After 6-12 months of this, it morphs into its adult stage like a caterpillar does to a butterfly, but as the resulting adults can't eat all their energies go into having sex and laying more eggs for the glowworm colony. The result of this is you get cave sections which are beautifully covered in glowing dots, looking for all the world like an underground Milky Way.
The purchased CD has a lot of PR-type pictures, but this is the only one of them you get to see because firstly they're posed and secondly they have a LOT more light in them than there was in actuality (we only used our headlamps the whole time). But then if I don't use one of them you have no idea what the cave looked like or what blackwater tubing looks like, so I decided one such picture can't hurt.
The opening in the river whereby you return to the real world. It's a very wide opening compared to the one at the entrance, and it's really exciting to see natural light again after you've been in the dark underground! (Because it was easier to see the glowworms, we made do without headlamps wherever possible.)

So that's it, I survived going through a cave system and drove well enough to come back to Auckland and tell you all about it. Hooray! It was more than a little sad to end this trip though, knowing that I won't be driving through the New Zealand countryside in search of a crazy adventure for awhile now. But I suppose I've had so many good ones to remember that I shall never forget them for the rest of my days, and in the end that's what matters.

Sundogs on Spaceweather.com!

Hey everyone, guess what? The sundog picture from the earlier post made the main page of spaceweather.com! For those who don't know, spaceweather.com is the astronomy "current events" site for aurorae, atmospheric phenomena, NEOs, etc. As it recieves over 600k hits a month, getting your picture onto the site is an astro-geek bragging right of sorts.

Hooray!!!