DISCLAIMER: This post contains very small spoilers relating to Harry Potter and ever so slightly larger ones relating to Shakespeare's Hamlet, as well as a slight jab at Harmony shippers...if any of these are likely to upset you, skip to the last two paragraphs for lighthearted and fun comments about unicorns. Well, not really. But they're almost guaranteed not to offend anyone.

Though I call myself a Potter fan, I haven't read the fanfiction to prove it. I know it's out there, but I'm not particularly interested in reading about what people think might have happened if Harry and Hermione had fallen in love (your ship sank books ago, people, get over it). Okay, so I'm not being entirely fair. There are some very interesting, very well-written fanfics out there, but they're just not my cup of tea.

That said, as a Shakespeare fan, I loved Lisa Klein's Ophelia. If you've read Hamlet, you'll recall Ophelia as a bit of a non-character. She's central to the plot, yes, but she doesn't have much substance, and just kind of drifts around, doing what the men in her life tell her to. Theories abound as to why - she was the topic of much, sometimes heated discussion in my English class as we read Hamlet. My English teacher, a fairly strong, independent woman herself, had little respect for Ophelia, as Ophelia seemed to have little respect for herself. My (predominantly female) English class offered many differing opinions - perhaps her father's overbearing nature took away her self-confidence, or her lack of a mother made her grow up unsure and insecure. Maybe she was pregnant or maybe she was faking it all.

But Klein's interpretation is by far my favorite. She shows Ophelia as her own person, and a fascinating one at that. Her bio says "Lisa Klein has always been dissatisfied with interpretations of Ophelia and, since Shakespeare is not alive today to write stronger female characters, she has taken it upon herself to breathe new life into Ophelia's story." And that she does, managing to fit her Ophelia nearly seamlessly in with Shakespeare's story, yet still making the characters her own.

I would never, ever recommend that anyone read any sort of fanfiction without reading what it's based on first, even "fanfiction" like Ophelia. Good news, though: Hamlet is online. You can find the full text any number of places to get a head start until you get a chance to head to the library or bookstore and pick up Ophelia. Because you should. It's a very worthwhile read.

So after months and months of arguments, convincing, and my mom reconnecting with old high school friends, I myself finally was allowed to get a facebook. Apparently, I'm the very last one because EVERYONE I mean everyone I know, is a) friending me and b) congratulating me on finally getting one. In the first couple of hours, I had more friends then my mum. And in the past couple of days I've nearly tripled that number... And I've discovered something.

I don't like it. I mean, it's super addictive, but it's extremely overwhelming! There's four things blinking at once and I never know who to talk to. Don't get me wrong, I'm a social person, I love people. I'm throughly enjoying finding my friends. But at the same time.. suddenly it seems like I am extremely exposed! It's a weird feeling. And yet I keep signing on just to see what's happening! Do y'all have facebook? Do you like it? Use it? Hate it?

Its January 20th, 2009. Five o'clock in the morning, so early it shouldn't count as morning. Wearing four pairs of pants, seven shirts, and three sweaters it is still cold. As soon as we get to the Penn Station, I immediately wake up. Its a party! People dancing, singing, kissing, hugging people they didn't know, all overjoyed at the coming event. Clutching my commemorative ticket with Obama's face on it, we wove through the huge crowd that had turned out, literally hundreds and hundreds of people. After an hour on the train, we spill out into a packed Union Station and squeeze towards the doors. Vendors don't waste any time in trying to sell you anything and everything with Obama's face on it. Literally everything. Shirts, mugs, pins, bags, calenders, posters, bobble-heads, and- my favorite- boxers. (I resisted temptation and only bought one shirt, it had a baracktapus on it!!!) Camera in hand, we follow the crowd towards the mall. 3 hours later, we have finally made it to the mall, a trip involving walking the Lincoln Tunnel, circling the mall at least twice, and finally finding a shortcut through a museum all the while bending through crowds. We have pretty good seats, ahem sorry, standing room, we are only the second Jumbotron (huge screens set up from the Capitol to the Washington Monument) back from the Capitol, we can at least see and hear everything. Rick Warren speaks, Aretha Franklin sings, Yo-Yo Ma plays the cello. And then Barack Obama takes the stage. "I do solemnly swear that I will faithfully execute the Office of President of the United States, and will to the best of my ability, preserve, protect and defend the Constitution of the United States" and the crowd explodes. Tens of thousands of flags slice through the air, old women in wheelchairs are sobbing, little kids are screaming Obama's name. I felt so incredibly honored to be such a part of history. In two years, twenty years, two hundred years, this will be a defining moment in history. And to quote my favorite mug I saw, "I was there."

As a senior, the thought of leaving home is always on my mind. My friends and I feel a thousand different things: relief, excitement, fear, sadness, melancholy. Whether the leaving-home date is ten years away or six months, here's a singular poem by Linda Pastan, giving the mother's perspective.

To a Daughter Leaving Home

When I taught you
at eight to ride
a bicycle, loping along
beside you
as you wobbled away
on two round wheels,
my own mouth rounding
in surprise when you pulled
ahead down the curved
path of the park,
I kept waiting
for the thud
of your crash as I
sprinted to catch up,
while you grew
smaller, more breakable
with distance,
pumping, pumping
for your life, screaming
with laughter,
the hair flapping
behind you like a
handkerchief waving
goodbye.

- Linda Pastan