. . . the Pottermania! I pre-ordered my book. I had planned on waiting, but to be honest, there is just no way to avoid finding out whether Harry dies or not because this is going to be everywhere. All the newscasts; local, national, international, galactic. I fully expect random relatives to call and express their outrage/glee; strangers asking in the street if I could believe Rowling's gall/genius; spam in my inbox asking if I want to join the Thank God Harry Died/Lived Club!; and so on and so forth. So, from the date of release, to the point when I get the book and read the book, I will be out of commission. I am unhooking. I want no spoilers, no impingements upon my joy of reading a story where I am so engrossed that nothing else in the world matters. If Wilmington happens to have a hurricane while I am reading this, so be it. I have a flashlight. Extra batteries.
The movie I am willing to wait for a bit, until the crowds thin out a bit. I have read the book so no chance of spoilers, just the chance that the director screws up royally and cuts important things. They've all done it. But, who gives a shit. Harry Potter would have been my favorite books as a child, and are among my tops as an adult. I know. And I don't care. Escapism is a great function of fiction and especially magical realism.
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