11/18/2005 Archived Entry: "Mr. Potter"
Potter-mania has gripped my office its iron fist of whimsy. As I walk about, accomplishing my daily tasks, knots of people gather in the hallways to discuss the boy wizard and his potential escapades, with the biggest knots gathering around those evidentally exalted individuals who attended last night's midnight screening and, in doing so, gained the ability to see into the future of those who haven't yet been, and also perhaps to cure cancer and revive dead pets. At least, that's what it looks like, just based on the amount of hullabaloo that's hullabalooing hereabouts.
The Wife and I have our own tickets, purchased by the F&SN Critic and his wife, safely tucked away in a hidey-hole in preparation of their tearing this evening, because of course we're going on opening night! There was a time when the thought of not seeing a movie, any movie, on opening night was as foreign as a Brooklyn cab driver, but that time is long past for me; indeed, I can count the number of movies I've caught on opening night in 2005 on one hand and have enough fingers left over to, I don't know, make some kind of vaguely-deformed claw-shape with or something.
We shall be in line, sans wizard hats but with expectations firmly in hand, probably something like two hours before the movie's start time, in order to beat all the other absurd freaks and secure our queue primacy. And the showing itself, at 21:40 or something around that, strains my aching, rapidly graying head. Who on earth wants to be out that late? Hold on--I must take up my cane and wave it angrily at a horde of passing youngsters whose audacity at interrupting my much aged diatribe cannot stand. YOU DAMN KIDS! PULL UP YOUR PANTS AND GET YOUR RAP MUSIC OFF OF MY LAWN!
In an age not long distant, we would gladly camp out in front of theatres for hours on Friday evenings to catch the 23:30 showing of whatever lame bit of cinema had that week caught our interest, and now the thought of being out past eleven makes my bowels tense. Truly, I am old. My AARP membership card should be arriving in the mail soon.
Work calls to me, and I must bury myself in it so that I can be granted sweet release upon the sun's setting, and ride force thence to the theatre. Magical deeds are afoot, dear reader--magical darkness, a must!
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