No Spoilers, in case you care.

Ideally this will be the last thing I write about Harry Potter, the humiliation in posterity complete already. Even now, though, I know that should some grandchild get his greasy hands on this...journal of mine and choose to judge me I will defend myself aggressively and with no dearth of expletives involving twinkles in my daughter's eye, stains on my sons bed, and bumps on my ass. The child will cry.

At the bookstore, with 30 minutes until release but 2 hours until the much benighted 'purple section' of that 'line' made it to the cash register we waited, our purple wristbands some how entirely failing to gleam. Perhaps they knew that until all the 'pinks' and 'yellows' and even 'reds' had their fill they would be made to stand outside looking in at scenes of bourgois excess while raindrops almost manage to camouflage the tears. Perhaps a lone violin sobs a tragic tune.

Still the wait was over at some point and I, along with a handful of fellows in arms, had my copy of the only book I've waited 7 years for. Let me rephrase that so you might take the journey with me. I had, in my hand, the only /thing/ that I've ever waited 7 years for. In my entire life. At one point I actually stared longingly at it, fingers that refused to believe it was real grazing delicately over it's face.

To say I read it would be a gross misinterpretation of what happened. What I did was much more vulgar, even lustful, absolutely some form of sin. The pages of that book were victimized, robbed of some purity as my hungry eyes rent the story from them. They shuddered with each unwelcome turn.

It was Excellent. The story dragged me into every emotional realm it could. Many times I said aloud "I can't wait to see Rickman play this scene" or something similar. While my tastes are much darker than she was willing to take the book the ending was perfect in it's own way. I closed the back cover with a satisfaction that almost fills the hole excited expectation left. Bravo.

Now I return to reading 'real' books. Most ironically, I am in an 'Umberto Eco Phase'.