No Offense…

but I really don’t care about you right now. I don’t care about work either. I just want to read Harry Potter.

I’m currently commuting to “The Stranger” on audiobook and this morning I caught myself thinking, “Camus, you are so lame. Where’s your imagination? Anyone can write a great existential novel, but only J.K. can think of the deluminator. Lame – o.” It’s time to put all other things aside and give myself over to the dark art of obsessive reading.

To recap the Harry Potter weekend:

Jon and Ryan accompanied me to the Barnes & Noble premiere party. After a frantic call from Jordan, I was rushed into arriving at 10 – ish. There were already a zillion people in line. Ryan was naturally more interested in the news crews and journalists. He regaled Jon with his version of how the Harry Potter premiere story gets written. According to him, it goes something like this: Intrepid young reporter arrives at miserable local interest event. He becomes aggravated with the crowds, the mania, and the general disorder. He spends a few minutes exchanging cynicisms with other reporters and then heads to the liquor store. With a fifth in hand, the story practically writes itself : “Muggles Invade Local Bookseller. .”

Jon was bombarded by a blast from the past and Ryan’s headache was in full swing. My party would mutiny if I insisted on staying until my pre-ordered book was in hand. It was time to call on my lawyer training. I ferreted out the only person in the store without a wristband and manipulated them into waiting in line for my book. I almost felt guilty.

The only drawback to my slytherin worthy plan was the delay in reading. I was tucked into bed sans book when Jordan called to tell me that he was holding his book in his hands. He wasn’t breathing so well. I subdued the urge to drive over to his house, wrestle the book from his hands, and hide in an undisclosed location until I had finished the last page. This surge of ill-will towards friends is a phenomenon, which is afflicting others as well.

The next morning I was texting my poor stand-in at 8am. After picking up my very own copy, a strange thing happened. I didn’t want to read. This continued for the rest of the afternoon. I carried the book around with me, thumbed through the first few pages and put it aside. Starting meant finishing and finishing could only happen once. I didn’t start reading until late Saturday night. 250 pages in and I’m completely without the ability to turn back. The Deathly Hallows is pure entertainment. I love this series for the escapism it offers. I dreamed in Harry Potter vision last night. It was great, albeit not very pleasant.