And I would walk 500 miles...

...for a Harry Potter book. No joke.

Tomorrow, my friends, is yet another wonderful day off here in Arielle-land. As such, my mother has decided that I should put my free time to good use by waiting in line to get us Shakespeare in the Park tickets. In case you are unfamiliar with this event, it is one of New York's (and other cities') fabulous free things. They only give out tickets on the day of the performance, starting at 1 PM. And since New Yorkers flock to free things like mosquitos flock to my sweet, sweet blood every fucking summer (grumble), you can't just show up at 1 and expect to score some tickets. You have to wait in line like a good American. I plan on showing up at 9. That is, count it, 4 hours of waiting. FOUR HOURS OF WAITING.

I decided that an excellent way to pass the time is to reread the sixth Harry Potter book. I wanted to read it again before the movie comes out (YAYYYYY CUE INTENSE NERDGASM), and few books can keep my rapt attention for hours at a time quite like Harry Potter books can. I know this because the last time I reread HP6 was right when the HP7 came out, and I wanted a refresher on the back story before reading the last book. I was on the Greyhound from Boston to New York, and I didn't stop reading for the entire trip. The girl next to me was doing the same thing with the 7th book, and we bonded like 2 nerds sharing a pocket protector.

So today I decided to walk the 36 blocks to work so that I could stop at the library on the way and pick it up. They didn't have it. Losers.

I used my lunch break to hit up 2 more branches of the New York Public Library. One of them didn't even exist, and the other didn't have a single Harry Potter book. Oy.

On my walk home from work, I stopped by THREE more libraries, going out of my way to make sure I found the damn book. I did not.

I got home from work, took care of some businaaaass, and went to check one more library. In a shocking turn of events, they didn't have it.

Look, New York City, for such an awesome place you sure have a shitacular library system. I thought this when I used to live here, but since I only visited one branch at the time, I thought I just happened to work near the crappiest library ever. But no, all your branch libraries are garbage. Seriously, people. Have you ever walked into a NYPL that was not THE NYPL? You don't even feel like you're in a library because they're so horrifically small. I mean, you walk in, there's like 20 shelves of books, and that's it. The fiction section has maybe 200 books in it. WHAT'S THE POINT?!?! I would rather have to travel far and wide to the ONE library in Manhattan where I can find all the books I need than have to travel to eleventy billion libraries close to my apartment, none of which have anything in them worth their weight in smelly old library book paper (Fact: one of my good friends refuses to read library books because they smell bad). I really hate talking bad about New York but...come on. Your libraries = le suck.

In the end, I went to The Strand and bought the damn book for 6 dollars.

The worst part about this nonsense is that I ALREADY OWN THIS BOOK. Though I have no idea where it is. I know that I once lent Elyse either HP5 or HP6 and never got it back, but I don't remember which one it was and I'm sure after reading this post Elyse will email me and tell me she has neither of them. Don't think I forgot, Elyse! Like elephants, Jewish women never forget. Seriously. You should all hear my grandma talk. She remembers EVERYTHING. Anyhoo, I love Elyse even if she steals my shit. Haha!

Updates forthcoming on the show (assuming we get tickets), including Anne Hathaway's performance. She got kickass reviews and we like to support her since she's from my hometown (Jersey represent!).

Also, Shakespeare always reminds me of 8th grade when I always got pulled out of class to partake in the "gifted and talented" program. The program for 8th grade was Shakespeare, and us smartypants kids performed a scene from The Merchant of Venice. I was Portia and I had to memorize her long "The quality of mercy is not strained" speech. Don't ask me what that soliloquy, or the play as a whole, is about. I have no idea. All I know is, I'm a very bad actress.