Well, I was a good girl and saved Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire for Thanksgiving Day. The theater was crowded at all, but someone did bring the obligatory crying baby, and in NYC that'll receive either extremely zennish tolerance or fierce FUCK YOUs. Even though the place wasn't packed like I thought it'd be, I still grabbed my coat and things at the first sign of ending credits and beelined for the bathroom, securing a stall and feeling the presence of a line forming just after my arrival. When you're a woman you can Feel the line form and grow, the air thick with impatience. I finished, stepped out of the stall and of course the line was there, many pairs of eyes looking at me as I made my way through the narrow bathroom to the crowded sinks. Screw it, that's why I bring Purell everywhere. So I squeezed out the door. Manhattan is too fucking crowded.

Other than that, Mrs. Lincoln, I thought the movie was....OK. Visually lovely but it's ultimately the characters that make the most lasting impression, and I've always felt that even with three OK movies under the franchise's belt, this most recent one is more of the same kind of unsatisfying adaptation. I've heard nothing but splurgey adulation of the film in the last week, people blogging their little fannish hearts out. I thought the film was better than the others, but that isn't saying much. HP movies are like tofu hot dogs--they just don't quite do it for me. Why make these expensive celluloid juggernauts if you're not gonna kick ass?

The only scene with the remotest glimpse of emotional impact was Harry crying over Cedric's body after portkeying with him back to Hogwarts. And that was a high tide of impact after two hours of meh, and right after the meh graveyard scene. Voldemort was so...well, meh. I saw Dan Radcliffe's anguish and tears and it all felt like yes, Harry's had too much responsibility too young, had to feel too much too young, has been touched by death in this very personal yet very global war. Poor, adorable lad, with a cute, cut body and firm little butt in that bathtub scene. Yeah, I noticed his other adorables. He's a hot little dude. Manipulative filmmakers. And Dan reportedly works out a lot. Crap. I don't like kids at all and don't plan on having any, but if they turned out like Dan, it'd be rather nice.

Spent Turkey Day alone, as usual had trouble getting out of bed this morning. Praying for relief from depression, finally accepting the fact that I've struggled for 20+ years to BE someone, but I have no interests in me to be anyone, really. Might as well accept who i truly am--lazy. At least I can just stop with these delusions of grandeur. Accept myself for who i am. A failure. A loser. And that's the way i've wanted it. I had no real backup to the constant hurrying around and sending out resumes and headshots and waiting in dim hallways to be seen for auditions. I stopped caring after a short while but i kept at it because I couldn't think of anything else to do, even though my energy was gone and no one ever saw anything in me. no one ever believed in me. They skipped over me to the person with the energy and charisma, and I was invisible. My feelings and needs-meaningless. And after this too-long duel with the obvious, I finally accepted that I'm just not meant to be the thing I delusionally dream about being. I had hope, but nothing to fuel any kind of positive reality.

I'm a quitter, what can i say?