Balls and Walnuts
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Monthly Archives: May 2006
Thirteen of my favorite potions
The conversation, as best I can recall, went like this:
Walnut: Remember, it’s Thursday.
Me: Indeed. It generally follows Wednesday.
Walnut: I mean, you agreed to write the Thursday Thirteen.
Me (scribbling on parchment) — 13.
Walnut: You’ll have to do better than that.
Me: Thirteen . . . thirteen what? Thirteen numbers, perhaps? I could do that.
Walnut: Look, if you won’t act in good faith, I’m not going to talk to Mrs. Snape for you, and I am not going to help you with Michelle Duggar tomorrow. Do — oh, I don’t know. Do thirteen happy memories.
Me (arctic stare).
Walnut: Okay, don’t do thirteen happy memories. You know what they say — write what you know.
And that, my dear muggles, explains the subject matter of our Thursday Thirteen: my favorite potions.
Responsa
I wanted to post an image of myself seated behind my escritoire, fresh-nibbed pen in hand, thoughtfully considering the answers to your questions, but Mrs. Snape won’t let me retrieve our camera from the luggage. She won’t let me step foot on her side of the house, as a matter of fact, and she has erected a most effective Punishment Veil to ensure her privacy. Vindictive witch.
Note to self:
No more magical houseguests. No. Uh-uh.
— Walnut.
Sadly, you will have to imagine me sitting behind my escritoire, thoughtfully penning my replies. Without further ado . . . (more…)
Q&A
Knock knock knock.
Me: Go away.
Walnut: You’re being ridiculous. You know that, don’t you?
Me: I am never ridiculous.
Walnut: I see . . .
Me: If I remember correctly, you received a D in Defense Against the Dark Arts — and that was a gift.
Walnut: Your point?
Me: Given your shortcomings, I would be careful to whom you direct your sarcasm.
Walnut: Oh. Great. Now you’re threatening me. You’re a guest in my house, and you’re threatening me —
Me: Cautioning you.
Walnut: . . . and you’ve grabbed the laptop and locked yourself in the bathroom. REAL mature, Professor. One little blow-up with Mrs. Snape, and you’re taking it out on the rest of us.
Me: Hardly a little blow-up —
Walnut: Want some advice? If Mrs. Snape is still screaming at you? Not a good time to ask for make-up sex.
Magical hogwash
“Walnut” (and what is it about you muggles and your nicknames? I am reminded of Regina Whitworth, a fellow Slytherin whom I dated during my fourth year at Hogwarts. She insisted on calling me Sevvy, but I put an end to that. Afflicted her with a lengua paralyticus potion; every “Sevvy” produced an array of painful and unseemly spasms. But in the end, Regina had her revenge. No matter how much I wash my hair, it looks like this) finished Jonathan Stroud’s Bartimaeus trilogy today and saw fit to regale me with a tiresome series of quotes and anecdotes.
After an aeon, he noticed my angoisse de vivre and queried, “Did I say something wrong, Professor?”
“No, not at all. I was simply having a painful flashback. Earlier this year, I caught Parvati and Padma Patil giggling over a passage in Ptolemy’s Gate. I made them recount the whole nonsensical mess to me, right then and there.”
“I . . . I don’t think I understand your hostility,” said my host.
“No? Well, let me tell you.”
First, let it not be said that I am immune to the charms of popular culture. Often I listen to Claude Debussy’s Prélude à l’après-midi d’un faune on my phonograph whilst sipping espresso and reading Edith Wharton’s The Age of Innocence. I’m not a “total square,” you see. I do, however, object to our young magicians heads’ being filled with this claptrap Mr. Stroud calls entertainment.
I pinned Walnut with my most penetrating stare, the one that makes my Gryffindor students soil their robes.
“It’s stuff and nonsense,” said I. “The magicians in this trilogy are petty, cruel, cowardly, egotistical megalomaniacs. Name me one Hogwarts-trained magician who fits that description.”
“Um, well, there’s He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.”
“Not cowardly enough. Try again.”
“Lucius Malfoy?”
“He only plays at cruelty. If Lucius spent more time practicing his Unforgivable Curses and less time preening before the mirror, he might meet the description.”
Walnut squirmed. “Concede the point,” I said. “Without magic, your muggle world would be tawdry. And without magicians, there would be no magic.”
“True enough,” said Walnut. “I rather like Penn and Teller.”
“Grrrrrrr.”
“You still haven’t fully explained your enmity towards the Bartimaeus Trilogy.”
“Imps.”
“Imps?”
“Imps.” I gave a sniff and a dismissive wave. “House elves, by any other name –”
“That’s not true! Stroud’s imps are far more powerful than your house elves.”
“House elves with attitude, I’ll grant them that. And Stroud’s writing –”
“Oh!” said Walnut. “You can’t seriously criticize Stroud’s writing, not if you’re going to compare him to Rowling. Stroud’s a far better writer.”
I growled again and slunk away.
“I know,” said I. “And it galls me mightily.”
I told Dumbledore to audition other candidates for Chief Chronicler, but the fool was quite taken with the woman, heaven only knows why. Perhaps it was her plump, delectable scones.
S.
Professor Snape holds forth on love and romance
An Introductory Note from Walnut
This week, Balls and Walnuts is delighted to have Professor Severus Snape as our guest blogger. Since he is here “in the Colonies” to oversee the final stages of his plan to wed Michelle Duggar, he graciously agreed to take on some of my customary duties. This morning, I told him he would need to write a post on Smart Bitches Day.
Grudgingly, he agreed (when he realized that my assistance in the Duggar affair would not necessarily include me cooking for him all week long and laundering his magical robes) but griped about the name.
“I cringe at the word smart,” he said. “I am sagacious, and reliable, and courageous. Smart does not capture the full scope of my essence. And I am no one’s bitch.”
Without further ado, I give you Professor Snape, who explains why Romance is a repulsive genre.