June 20, 2003
OOTP Needs No Introductions
Time? OOTP minus one hour and thirty-six minutes.
I replaced 'T' with 'OOTP'. I thought it was clever.
Yes, well.
Eeeeee! Whereas earlier today I was crushed by my brusque treatment at the hands of some random Barnes & Noble employee who chose to answer the phone when it was I on the other end of the line, I am now in the throes of wizarding bliss. I was informed by said associate that I could not make a reserve for the book today, and it would be a waste of my time to bother coming out at all for what scant copies might remain.
So, on a whim, whilst returning the movie that Mike and I had a week to watch and didn't (Snatch if you wanted to know, I've seen it dozens of times, trying in vain to get him to sit down and watch it, the stubborn bastard), I decided to drive over to Media Play and see if there might be any way I could purchase a copy amidst the rush. I was informed, much to my delight, that it was not too late to reserve a copy.
Eeeeee!
So, I did, and as soon as Mike comes home and showers and allows me to usher him madly out of the house, I will be returning to Media Play to wait in a horrendously long line for my very own copy of Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix! Which I have already paid for, in full, so I damn better get one.
J.K. Rowling is absolutely a hero among authors. Whereas some may dash her work as fly-by-night success, I contest otherwise. Hers is a contemporary children's fiction, written in a way that most children's fiction is not. I can't explain how these books shine in comparison to other modern children's lit, and to what society regards as children's classics. There is a stiff language to even some of my favorites, as though the author did not quite understand those little persons he or she centered a story around.
Heidi was just too sweet and innocent, wasn't she? And Sara Crewe really would have given up hope, wouldn't she have? Or, at least, she would've told Miss Minchin to go fuck herself.
Perhaps I cannot describe it. Nor do I really believe any explanations are necessary for my adamant love, considering the readers of this journal.
I only wish I had my cape, so I could make Mike ten times more embarassed than he already will be, having to wait in line with me. He has no inner child whatsoever. Never thought it possible for me to love such a stoic bastard, eh?
Tonight, however, I shall give myself over to Ron Weasley. Granted he's aged a few years, and his voice has fully changed.
astera at 10:24 p.m.