Potter Schmotter

Just kidding! I like Harry as much as the next 24-year-old American man. Which is to say, a lot I guess. Kind of strange, no? That the reach of these tales encompasses those, like me, who should be beyond the grip of such irony-deficient fads. But, no.

For real though: I have been a bit busy lately, what with a series of exciting visits to my humble jumble of an apartment. My mom, my cousin Joe, my girlfriend (fellow Looper Cat), and next week, my brother! There has been little time to read, and the only reading I have done is to plough through Harry Potter VI and VII. Well, I'm only halfway finished with VII, so shhhh!!

Now, I don't find much to say of merit about these Potter stories. I like them, sure, but I think the actual significance of the works in our culture is probably due to the fevered reaction to their existence. Change the names of the characters and feed it to the same readers unawares, and are the stories really that fantastic? Does it matter?

The interesting phenomenon, I suppose, is the meta-attention, of which I am currently participating. The fussy hubbub is the story here. Mob mentality, and all that. The meta goes many layers deep on this one. The media is the snake eating its own tail, no?

But there are genuine feelings of longing to get back to that story. I can see it sitting beside my bed, calling to me like Voldemort calls to the young hero wizard. Stupid Voldemort.

One great aspect of the Harry Potter books is the feeling I get before I sit down with the book. Looking forward to getting comfortable in my favorite chair and immersing myself in the - admittedly engrossing - adventures is almost as enjoyable as the adventures themselves! There is a genuine power to these books, on some level. And I have genuine regard for the experience. Jk, J.K.: Potter is the man.