Scoring Potter

It's dangerous to blog when you've had a little alcohol. It's bad enough that blogging is the kind of writing that requires the least amount of editing, but at least when one is clear of mind, it's possible to string a few sentences together that make a modicum of sense.

Last night, I wanted to blog about this idea I had. As people get into their 20s, they want to be in a relationship. But often, to be in a relationship, you need to spend a great deal of time with the person you are trying to woo (or the person who is trying to woo you).

Being male, and living with other males, and knowing mostly males, I get the perspective of men chasing women. That's the way society---at least American society---works. For some reason, women can't be nearly as aggressive as men (at least, by and large), and spend their time deciding who, if any, among their suitors, can spend time with them. I'm sure, once the relationship is cemented, terms are somewhat more equal.

In the meanwhile, which is the point of the story, you don't hang out with your buds as you once did. I could have filled out a missing persons report on my housemate when he was dating his previous girlfriend. He was at her place like all the time. No, that's not quite right. Being a desperate grad student trying to get a degree, and realizing his funding might dry up, which would force him to leave his life of meager poverty for the jet-set (does anyone use this phrase anymore? I thought not) life of a software developer, where he could finally afford a few amenities of life, like, oh, a 35 inch plasma TV, he redoubled his effort, and would spend mad hours in his cubicle doing whatever he does.

And then, due to the night owl habits of his girlfriend, he could head out at 2 am, and still enjoy a pleasant evening before repeating the same cycle again. Point is, either he was hacking code, or well, you get the idea. He simply wasn't around. A wise person would have rented his room and pocketed the change, but we're just as lazy, and put a life size cut out that made wisecracks and was occasionally flatulent.

And I could have talked about all that, and discussed why this form of dumping friends for a signficant other is possibly uniquely American, or how other cultures with different rules create other stresses in people's lives, and how to quantify or qualify the results of such rules.

Instead, I want to talk about Harry Potter.

A woman on the dole (ie, getting welfare) in Britain writes a book, and through the magic of good marketing and an audience who realized they craved fantasy books, came the series of books on a lad named Harry Potter. Last weekend, the latest Harry Potter book hit the shelves. This was Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince.

I'd like to say I've sat and read all its predecessors, but the best I can do is say that I saw the first movie on HBO and its many clones, including HBO en espagnol, many, many times. I saw one other film, the one directed by Alphonse Cuaron, of Y tu Mama Tambien, and excellent film, which I highly recommend.

Somehow, somewhere, there's a man named Orson Scott Card who's wondering why his Ender isn't the latest Harry Potter. He wrote several books about a boy wonder as well. It was not only a coup for himself, but Mormonism (is that a word?). I mean, how many Mormon authors do you know?

Grown adults went to their favorite bookstore, or mail-ordered it, so they could become part of a collective who would find out what happened to our old chap, Harry? Who are these people? How well does Harry cross cultural and generational lines? I'm sure there are some among the new elite who'd poo-poo Harry Potter, and find something much less, um American Idol.

Meanwhile the woman formely on the dole (no, no, not Lizzy) must be the most popular and wealthiest author that side of the Atlantic.

I want to be J. K. Rowling.