People who don't like Harry Potter are godless barbarians who kick puppies.

Only three more days, hooray! I'm very excited. Whenever I mention how very excited I am, invariably there's some killjoy within earshot who snorts, "You read that stuff?"

Yes, Zippy, I do. I'm a sucker for a good book, and the Harry Potter books, overall, have been marvelous. Suck it up, buttercup; I don't rag on you for watching American Idol. Okay, I do, but not where you can hear me.

I want to know What Happens Next. I want to be there when Harry finally kicks Draco's smarmy little bony ass. I haven't jittered under this much anticipation since...well, since just before the last book came out. It's a different kind of excitement than Lord of the Rings excitement; I eagerly looked forward to each movie, of course, but I already knew how it was going to end, since I'd read the book like all good civilized people should. Who knows how Rowling is going to end the Harry Potter books?

I will be trotting down to the store promptly at midnight Friday, and I am fully prepared to gnaw a clerk's arm off if they don't get those books out on the floor on time. I will have it read by Saturday afternoon. (I read somewhere that the average American only reads 1 book a year. I'm fulfilling my quota along with about a hundred other people's.) Once I've finished it, I will more than likely go back and read it again, slower. A good book is like good sex. Rush through it once to get to the big finish, then go back and savour it slowly. Only there's no wet spot.