Clareified

Where does the good go

This is the end, the end, my friend

What’s that line from? I want to say ‘The Simpsons’ but that’s just because I’ve practically been watching ‘The Simpsons’ nonstop for weeks now. Weeks. I defy you to wallow in self pity and despair while watching Rod and Todd poke a passed out Krusty with a stick because he “smells evil.” HAHAHHAAHHA DEFY. Anyhoo. Everything has been said on the Simpsons at one point or another and I have been watching a lot of Simpsons dominus cargo sunt it must have come from ‘The Simpsons.’
I’m not sure what this post will be about yet. It’s been a slow month and well, if I am ever really going to post again, I’ve got to get a post out –nonsensical and meandering though it may natch is guaranteed to be.
Well, I suppose it’ll be about Harry Potter. I finished it today and ran to the internets looking for places to talk about it, finding none, I assume, like those moments before the proctor has called time, but after you’ve filled in all the bubbles with the number two pencil, right now we are to sit quietly and wait for the others to finish.
Stupid slowads always holding us back.
I should hereby publish my apology to pearatty, who could not have more clearly expressed a negative desire to wait on a lengthy line for hours in California’s July heat to pay full price for a book that she could just as easily get on Monday morning for 40% off at Borders with little more delay than the time it takes for the clerk to swipe her card.
“Come on, it’ll be a thing…and years from now when they ask you ‘where were you when the last Harry Potter came out,’ you’ll say on line at midnight!”
“Like when we ask our mom whether she went to Woodstock and she scoffs in our faces?”
“umm…Yes!?”
I don’t have any pictures of the little children in wizard costumes, like Gib, I mean, I do have them, but thanks to She-Who-Will-Not-Take-responsibility we cannot download them until our new USB cable that Michael (Or as the non-Muggles call him ‘James Potter father of the Boy who lived’ (how adorable is his son?)) suggested arrives from Amazon tomorrow.
So until then, here’s the picture that really captures my feelings about the Potter mania which gripped me in the Target parking lot.
part
And really I blame Mr. Pearatty and his “there’s a Potter party! You guys are Harry potter fans, you should go… me, I’m going to sleep.”
And Piro’s 11:30 pm Voicemail from New York “OMG Dawn! I’m at the bookstore, there are freaks everywhere….it’s kinda fun though.”
And then, even though I promised pearatty we could leave if it was too crazy, the fact that it was crazy made me want to stay ever the more.
We went into the bookstore, heard the tailend of an explanation about all the Potter protocol, but we still had questions.
“Hi…um…we know you probabaly just explained this, but…”
And the clerk repeated the essential facts: too late to preorder, get on line outside, no one gets in until a little before midnight and yes, there were already people on the line.”
“So how many books do you have for the non preorders?”
“We can’t open the boxes, so I don’t know how many are inside..but I have 8 boxes…maybe seven books in each one?”
Oh no! That’s, that’s…7 times 8 equals… and here I will point out that earlier, when our little sister Smokey called from Portland and mentioned that her birthday, which was previously in July, but had to be moved to November due to conflict with the DSBS was now on 11/11, I exclaimed in five years we should have a kick ass party on 11/11/11!!!
7 X 8 = 54
Pearatty and I hurried out…ok, I hurried out and grabbed places in the line.
She had the look on her face that said “where did my life go so horribly wrong that I ended up stuck with Dawn Summers on a line at Vroms.”
At least I think that was the name of the bookstore. It’s apparently “an independent bookstore,” which as my distate of hippies and hipsters is well documented, would usually have made me groan and beg for a Barnes and Nobles, but as you can imagine, I was in no position to comnplain.
“What if they run out?” I asked after fifteen minutes of mulling over all that could go wrong.
The line was pretty long.
“They only have 54 books!” What if the first person on line buys 54 books?
I said this out loud.
“That’s not going to happen.”
“Why? What if it does! Then we would have waited for nothing. NOTHING!!!”
“Why don’t you go ask the clerk if there are limits.”
“OK!”
I went back to the sales clerk from earlier and listened to her repeat the Potter protocol. They should make fliers.
“How many books can each person buy?”
“One,” she said dismissively.
I exhaled. Whew.
I met pearatty back at the line. Panic gripped me in its spindly fingers once again.
“What if some guy paid a homeless person to get on line and he plans to show up in a van with 54 people and get in the front of the line.”
This was when pearatty announced that she was officially diagnosing my OCD.
“But you’re not a licensed professional.”
“You don’t need a licensed professional for this one.”
The woman behind us then asked a question and we got to talking to her — well, pearatty got to talking to her, I was watching for people trying to sneak into the line.
The woman told an interesting story about growing up in Brooklyn and setting out with her boyfriend on a cross country motorcycle trip.
“The bike broke down in New Mexico and we thought, we could go home, in defeat, or finish what we started. So we got jobs, fixed the boke and came out to California. I got a role in a movie and well, just stayed…that boyfriend went back to New York, but I got marrie and now I have two kids.”
I was struck by her story “go home in defeat or finish,” I so would have gone home in defeat. No question.
Or more likely, I would never have started in the first place. You can’t lose, if you don’t play. The only useful thing to come out of 22 episodes of ‘The Wire.’
I was enchanted and my head started to fill with the wacky dreams that crowd my mind when I get in such quixotic moods.
Quit. Write. Sell. Go on Oprah.
The press was afoot. I went to the front of the line to see your typical blond reporter delivering a typical 11 o clock “coming to you live from Vrom’s” newsreport. She was surrounded by the throngs of children in capes and face paint. (I liked the one girl with the “I heart Ron” baby t-shirt.)
Pearatty was getting antsy and I insincerely offered to give up and go home.
She appropriately responded that she had no intention of leaving 12 minutes to midnight after waiting this long.
I smiled because I knew she’d say that, but I’d still look all magnanimous and self sacrificial for offering.
I am awesome.
They started to let people in and pearatty and I split up. She got in line at the register by the door and I returned to the register of the woman I had been pestering all night.
At 12:01, the first book was sold. The girl took a picture of the clerk handing her the book. My eyes lit up.
“Do you want a picture of the clerk handing you your book, Dawn?”
Yes’m.
Portkey 348
Hey, judge me all you want, but you’re the one reading about all this! 😉 -Ed.
My line didn’t move.
That first dude had sold like 7 books and my saleslady had sold none.
“Sorry, my computer crashed,” she yelled over the restless din.
FUUU—dddggeeeeiccle.
Stupid birthday season.
I was third in my line, but as pearatty inched closer and closer to the front, I couldn’t wait anymore. I abandoned my line and stood next to her.
The guy in front of us was paying in singles. BUT…we were next!!
I had my credit card out, she had her credit card out. The guy in front was getting his book put in a bag and—
“Ok, everyone in this line, come with me to the back.”
The manager was pulling us away.
“What? Why?”
“That register is broken and we’re moving those people to this line, you guys follow me.”
NOOOOOOOO. I should have stayed in the broken register line!!! Stupid birthday season.
Pearatty was livid when we found ourselves at the back of a new line in the back of the store.
“What the hell!??”
“Look ma’am, you will still get your book.”
“We were at the front of that line, why did you pull us away?”
“I just did what the manager told me ma’am.”
“But why should I wait on a whole new line again? There was nothing wrong with out register and we were next,” her voice started to rise.
This was not a good development.
“Hey, it’s not my fault, ma’am.”
“Yeah, ma’a…er pearatty…it’s not her fault…let’s just um…wait here and umm…talk…how’s life…how’s things…what’s happening with you.”
She glared at me.
“I know what you’re thinking, you want to storm out of here right now and not give them your business….but really who would that hurt?”
Dawn. It would hurt Dawn, that’s who.
We stayed on the line, kvetched with the women behind us and waited.
I snuck up to the front of the line periodically to make sure there were still books back there.
There was a camera crew waiting, pearatty said they were there to take footage of when the store runs out of books and the face of the first person not to get one.
“Aww, that’s so mean.”
“Well, they already got the shot of the person to buy the first one.”
HAHAHAHAHHHAHAHA…I mean…don’t be medon’t bemedon’t be medon’t bemedon’t be medon’t bemedon’t be medon’t bemedon’t be medon’t bemedon’t be medon’t bemedon’t be medon’t bemedon’t be medon’t bemedon’t be medon’t bemedon’t be medon’t bemedon’t be medon’t bemedon’t be medon’t bemedon’t be medon’t bemedon’t be medon’t bemedon’t be medon’t bemedon’t be medon’t bemedon’t be medon’t bemedon’t be medon’t bemedon’t be medon’t bemedon’t be medon’t bemedon’t be medon’t bemedon’t be medon’t bemedon’t be medon’t bemedon’t be medon’t bemedon’t be medon’t bemedon’t be medon’t bemedon’t be medon’t bemedon’t be medon’t bemedon’t be medon’t bemedon’t be medon’t bemedon’t be medon’t bemedon’t be medon’t bemedon’t be medon’t bemedon’t be medon’t bemedon’t be medon’t bemedon’t be medon’t bemedon’t be medon’t bemedon’t be medon’t bemedon’t be medon’t beme
“Next”
Hooray!
GIMMEE!!
I got my book, handed over my card and took my picture.
I skipped out the store…and then stopped lest the book slip out of my fingers and fall into a sewer.
I fingered the pages and rubbed the cover.
This is it.
Man, I hope it doesn’t suck.
I climbed into bed, opened the book and began to read…SPOILERS AHEAD

Boooorrrriiinnngggg. I hate the Harry at the Dursleys scenes. Or wait, did it start with Voldemort and his henchmen…cause honestly I hate those scenes too. JK
DUDE, SERIOUSLY, IF YOU DON’T WANNA KNOW WHAT HAPPENS STOP READING NOW CAUSE I’M GONNA TELL YOU…
JK Rowling likes to set scenes, I think she actually fancies these books as great literature, see how I used fancies? As if I were British? Anyway, so there’s lots of white noise going on in the book where she thinks she’s painting a picture of the countryside and all I’m thinking is “dude, will somebody grab something and stupify it pleaseeeeee?”
The spoilers all warned of deaths and boy does she start it off early. Hedwig, Mad Eye, George’s ear…nonstop mayhem.
But great fun. I loved the seven Potters.
Very clever.
And then….death….and not the good death…no 300 pages of please kill me Ron/hermione sexual tension –Harry’s moping around, Rita Skeeter, blahblahblahblahblahblah…”Well, the second half goes faster than the first half,” Alceste promised.
Well, it for damn sure can’t go slower.
I chose the book because I hate flying and I thought it would distract me, well thank god Fox was running a Simpsons marathon because Harry and Hermione traveling the countryside hiding from Death Eaters, just didn’t cut it.
It begins to turnaround when they get to the story of the Deathly Hallows –though I don’t know why “get under your cloak and keep your head down” is a lesson that wizards would want to impart to their young.
But, it is, what it is.
And from the battle of hOgwarts begins, I couldn’t put the book down.
I even shed a few tears for young Harry as he willingly marches to his death. Those pages are so moving. I feel so bad for him, so proud of his whole story and the journey and then — deaux ex machina! She kills it. oooh, because you were willing to die, you didn’t die. Bollocks! (Again, note the use of my anglicisms.) Of course, it’s not high literature, it’s a children’s tale and in children’s tales the bad guys lose and the good guys get the girl and have babies. Lots of them. With red hair. Named after those who died.
I hated that Tonks AND Lupin die…why with the obsession with orphaning? Why?
And poor Fred…or George…to lose and ear and his twin.
Sigh.
But on the whole, it was a satisfying end. I like that Snape is vindicated. I hated feeling stupid for trusting him.
It was a well done series overall — no quidditch in this one…sanks God, but now that it’s over…what’s next?

10 Responses to “This is the end, the end, my friend”

  1. Karol Says:

    The Doors, dude, The Doors.

  2. Karol Says:

    You can’t lose, if you don’t play.

    Ooh, that’s me, that’s me. What the hell is the Wire?

  3. Dawn Summers Says:

    which doors?

  4. Dawn Summers Says:

    What the hell is the Wire?
    20 hours of hell. In a box.

  5. Jenny Says:

    You had nothing to worry about – 7 times 8 is 56, not 54. They had PLENTY of copies!!!

  6. F-Train Says:

    Dawn has never claimed to be even the slightest bit proficient at math.

    Bart: Daaaad!
    Homer: Whoops, sorry son. I didn’t realize that you, Jay Leno and a monkey were bathing a clown.

  7. Chugarte Says:

    I just read this and was unable to tease a spoiler out of it. Except that Harry lives and gets it on with a Weasley who really should be mourning her brother. I think.

  8. Casca Says:

    Yes, The Doors, and the Apocalypse Now soundtrack:

    My only friend, the end,
    No safety or surprise, the end,
    I’ll never look into your eyes, again….

  9. Pearatty Says:

    Chugarte is a very bad person. No spoilers, dude!

    And thank you for my copy of the book; it more than made up for the wait.

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