That's right, Harry Potter has left the building folks.
And if this post seems a bit more disjointed and choppy than usual, it's because I'm
But I love HP to the extreme and I felt perhaps yesterday would be the time to show my true devotion. At midnight. Just like everyone else. Minus the costume, because I'm 25 now and that ship has probably sailed, or at least should have. I'm not trying to be the old lady in the corner yelling "Expecto Patronus!" All by myself if you know what I mean. People talk.
I need not have worried.
Right, but for real, imagine the spread of people that attend midnight showings of movies like Harry Potter. I saw MORE than one adult female dressed as a Golden Snitch. Gold glitter head to toe. Gold child's fairy wings. GOLD SPRAY PAINTED HAIR. There were the punk guys, together in droves, wearing hand-sharpied shirts with philosophical banter like "Ron Weasley ROX!" Couples holding-hands- dressed in full wizard robes. Hogwarts scarves. Kids with wands. Lots of lightning bolts on foreheads.
Total freak show.
Me, smack-dab somewhere in the middle of the line, loving the shit out of it because these are my people.
And don't even let me get into the hours-long lines, overwhelming waves of teenage sexual tension, and just total lack of any sort of order or use of societal convention surrounding the entire concession area. Waiting in line for a small popcorn and two drinks that come to $15 should really never take 45 minutes. At one point a new line opened up, so I swooped over and mentally high-fived myself for my good reflexes, obvi I was about to save myself like 20 minutes of teenage-angst-filled-line-time. So I waited. and waited. and stood there. For 15 minutes. And you know what happened?
REFILLS ONLY!
That's what happened.
Back of the line again.
I don't handle that sort of thing with grace. But I was by myself while my brother held our seats and it was opening night of the very final milking of the Harry Fucking Potter cash cow teat, so I swallowed my pride and internally raged it out. Minimal scowling even.
But it all worked out. By the time the previews started, even the grown-ass men were giddy with excitement. Honest-to-god cheering and clapping after some of the previews. Like I said, freakshow.
And then it started. And it flew by in mere moments. And then it was over. I'll spare details in case anyone isn't as big of a devotee as I am and didn't drag themselves to the midnight showing of Harry and then trek into work at eight the next morning. I'm hardcore, just saying.
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| PLUS OMG NEVILLE IS A BABE NOW. WORTH IT. |
It was good. Really, really good. Just the high note Harry deserves to go out on.
I remember tearing through the books each year or so, the morning they came out and my mother took me to get them at the store. I'd stay up all night reading after my siblings went to bed, because we shared one copy between the three of us and I couldn't stand not knowing what happened next. I always finished in one or two days, three tops. Reading the last book was like saying good bye to an old friend. And then there were movies, new installments to look forward to. The magic lived on.
Yeah, I'm a nerd. But come on, it's Harry. He let me stay a kid, believe in my imagination, so much longer than I ever could have without him. He was a realistic hero, struggled to be a good guy at times, fought villains both beyond my reality and uncannily in line with it. I felt like he could have been my friend, and maybe in some ways, he really was.
People state the obvious about movies and how they're never as good as the books they're based on as if it's the first time anyone has ever been genius enough to make that observation and well, it fucking chafes my ass. OF COURSE they can never live up to the web a good author can weave, the images they let you conjure up on your own. Entire worlds can rise and fall within our hearts and heads-without anyone on the outside ever knowing and I'll always have an incredible amount of gratitude and respect for JK Rowling for doing that with Harry. For me. And for millions of kids and presumably millions more to come.
But seriously, people that want to dog on the movies need to lock that shit up around me. Because, good for the person that even dared to try to accomplish the impossible feat of bringing Harry to life. For bringing him to people that probably never would have otherwise cheered for the boy with the lightning bolt scar. For giving Harry a face and making him a hero for millions more. Do I feel more legitimate for being a reader first? Hell to the yes. But that doesn't mean I don't appreciate the fact that the movies are there.
So seriously, I know haters gonna hate, but don't make me get into a fist fight with you about the portrayal of Hogsmeade not living up to expectations in the middle of a crowded bar. Not that that would ever happen.
Just STFU, walk away, and get over yourself, asshat.
Harry's been with me through a lot. Half of my life. Crazy. I read him at camp as a camper AND as a counselor. On the hammock of my now-sold childhood lake house, home. He got me through long car-rides and took my mind off of painful breakups. He gave me a conversation piece at college parties and really almost anywhere I go, really. He's sturdy, enough to hang a new friendship on at the beginning. Plus, I can open any of the books and just start to read, knowing it will conjure memories of where I was in my own life when this new twist unfolded in Harry's. It's sensory. He's part of the time line of my life.
Maybe Harry's not my stand-by read or my favorite life-changing piece of literature. But we sort of grew up together, and now I've got to keep going and he'll always stay the same. I suppose I'm grateful for the constant. He'll always have a place on my bookshelves.
But, it is rather
At this point it's painfully obvious that I've been over here in my cubicle sniffling away and letting the occasional tear leak out of my eyes. Kind of pathetic.
I need more coffee. And a Midol.
So, bye.
XO Sare
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