“Harry witnessed Professor McGonagall walking right past Peeves, who was determinedly loosening a crystal chandelier, and could have sworn he heard her tell the poltergeist out of the corner of her mouth, ‘It unscrews the other way.’”
today i heard 2 kids talking about buying fake IDs after school and so i started eavesdropping cuz u know thats big kid stuff and then one was like “yeah but is all this really worth it like im pretty sure the fake IDs cost more than the fish we r gonna buy”
to buy fish at petco u have to be 18 or older
they were going to get fakes to buy fish
Happy International Women’s Day!
Aasif Mandvi interviews Fox Business commentator, Todd Wilemon.
“The very first time I saw you Harry, I recognised you immediately. Not by your scar, by your eyes. They’re your mother Lily’s. Oh yes, I knew her. Your mother was there for me at a time when no one else was. Not only was she a singularly gifted witch, she was also an uncommonly kind woman. She had a way of seeing the beauty in others, even, and perhaps most especially, when that person couldn’t see it in themselves. Your father, James, however, had a certain, shall we say, talent for trouble. A talent, rumour has it, he passed onto you. You’re more like them than you know, Harry. In time you’ll come to see just how much.”
I’m sitting in a hallway, draped in a hand-me-down blanket curled next to another girl, while an older man watches us talk. I’m rehearsing the role of the dying sister in Little Women. I forget her name, but she’s sweet and feeble, and I was annoyed that I hadn’t gotten the part of Jo (even for this short exercise). The older man, an acting coach, stops me for the second or third time, and tells me to breathe. People breathe.
I start my monologue again, and this time the performance is different. I don’t feel the pleasure of saying emotions well. Rather, I’m speaking bluntly. There’s no pride in my voice. My face isn’t on parade.
The monologue ends and my coach nods in appreciation. “Yes, like that.”
I stopped acting shortly thereafter, though I’m still not sure why. Maybe I felt like a phony, or that if I had experienced the art of acting, then I was not that kind of artist. In any case, it’s my favorite memory for when I think of the word, “integrity.” The same on the inside as on the outside.