i spent three weeks of reading time on harry potter's first three years at hogwart's.
sure, all the people had said, "hey, it's great, you'll love it," and c., and i figured, "hey, yeah, i bet i will," and i finally sat down and read the first one, and loved pretty much every minute of it. i really had the greatest time, and moved directly to the next. when the roommate/life-partner told me she had mislaid the third, i was by now so rabid in my hogwart's-induced fever, that i launched an attack, the likes of which have been rarely seen. the third volume materialized shortly thereafter, and i commenced.
this third book -- the prisoner of azkhaban -- is out of this world. i mean, so gripping, and funny, and scary that i literally (actally literally, not figuratively literally) could not put it down once i hit the last hundred pages.
the movie (of the first book) was playing at the 5 dollar theater at virgin records. (i remember when the second run theater near my house was 1 dollar. i remember when the multiplex on 50th and 8th turned into a second run house and dropped to 2 dollars. now the second run house is 5 bucks. jesus.) i had heard the film described as unimaginatively faithful to the book. this, i believe to be an accurate characterization, with this caveat: the casting is incredible. my uncle used to be a casting director and he constantly complains that casting directors are the only people in the film industry to get openoing credits that don't get oscars. well, if ever there was a movie to open people's eyes to the art of casting, it's harry potter. everyone was amazing, from the kid in the title role, down to the kid playing oliver wood, captain of the quidditch team. richard harris was so good, the roommate/life-partner cried every time he came on screen. every. time.
i know this whole thing will probably only feed back into the roommate/life-partner's regression theory (see the comic book post, below), but you know what, who cares? if all the fiction i read from here on out is this much fun, i want to regress. hell, i want to regress anyway.
being a grown-up is hard. money is tight, politics suck, and the day is three hours longer.
y'know what gets me mad. acupuncture bashers. i here paste a reply i wrote to a usenet post (actually totally off-topic in a comics board, but whatever...):
[pretty much totally OT run-on-sentence alert]
4000 years of chinese medicine. the most populous society on the planet. i guess it doesn't work after all, especially if 30 years of western researchers (feeling their 200 year-old totally invasive tradition--which until 50 years ago thought the best way to deal with infection was to literally cut it out and any part of the body it affected, and now thinks the best way is to fill the body with man-made toxins that kill whatever ails ya--is threatened by the emergence of a long-standing, non-invasive system) tell us that it doesn't. ("wow 49 out of a possible 250,000,000 americans showed inconclusive data. i told you acupuncture didn't work!")
look, they can't quantify it because it uses a totally different system. it's like trying to explain god. (or prove god doesn't exist -- i'm not saying s/he does, i'm saying because god is not quantifiable, you can neither prove nor disprove his/her existence. not using western modes of "scientific research," that is.)
my math (and actual personal experience with traditional chinese medicine as a total health system, rather than a westernized fix-it) bids me go the non-invasive, non-toxic, 4000 years-and-going-strong route.