Harry Potter Midnite Madness

I've read Clark Humphrey's Miscmedia.com online posts since 1996. He has a keen eye for trends and pop culture. I find his writing style concise yet poetic and he has influenced my own writing. Not being a night owl, myself, I read Clark Humphrey's explorations into the midnight Harry Potter madness in Seattle with relish. Here is what he had to say:

"THE WITCHING HOUR:
I should've come to Harry Potter Midnite Madness last night with a mom and kid, so I could take digipix of the scene whilst pretending to take digipix only of my own party.
The Potter events, at both Borders and B&N, were just what I'd expected and more. Both stores did their best to keep the way-past-their-bedtime girls n' boys awake and entertained.

B&N had a children's choral group, storytellers, and costumed employees cavorting with wands. They even gave away plastic Potter eyeglass frames. They also had an elaborate purchasing system, reminiscent of Southwest Airlines' boarding routine. You reserved your place in "line" by pre-registering and getting a wristband. At midnight, as the colorfully-printed cardboard cases of books were wheeled out to behind the counter on hand trucks, a clerk called all-points bulletins on the PA for numbers 1-50, etc.

The Borders fete was simpler. No wristbands or numbers; simply a line. The line included at least two teens who sat on the floor and stared into laptop computers. There was a crafts table where kids could make and decorate their own conic construction-paper wizard hats. There was a Potter trivia quiz, and Harry and Hermione lookalike contests, all with Potter-merchandise prizes. And, thankfully for the way-past-their-own-bedtime parents, there were vats of coffee (which, alas, ran out around 11:35).

A clerk on the PA system counted down each of the last five minutes until midnight. As the hand trucks wheeled in the cases of books from a back storeroom, the clerk counted down the seconds, while other employees unpacked the books and stacked them to be plopped into customers' anxious hands. Finally, at the stroke of midnight, the customers at the front of the line were prompted to stand up and single-file their way toward the sales counter, where all transactions were handled promptly and efficiently.

Along the walk back to B&N, the streets were still boistrous and joyous. When I'd first spied on B&N at 10:30, ACT and the Paramount had let out their audiences, who'd spilled onto Pine. This, my friends, is what big-city life is all about--happy upeat total strangers in crowds, milling about and sharing each other's auras. After midnight, the scene was still busy, with diners/drinkers from Von's and the Cheesecake Factory, lingering Cineplex Oedipus theatergoers, and Potter purchasers ranging from post-collegiate fantasy geeks to tots barely big enough to hold the weighty tome (which, at 650-some pages, is actually shorter than the previous sequel volume).

Overheard quotes: Outside B&N, a fantasy-dude in a beard and Utilikilt said he was "just happy to see all these kids waiting in line for A BOOK." I tried to convince him that reading had not become an unpopular activity in general, as evinced by the size and prominence of big-box chains such as B&N. I don't think I succeeded. Oh well--some people like to fantasize about themselves as the only magicians in a world of "muggles;" other people like to fantasize about themselves as the only literates in a world of hicks. As the Potter books prove, myth is a powerful thing.

On the escalator down from B&N's small street-level storefront in Pacific Place, toward the basement-level bulk of the store, I was in front of two high-school dudes as anxious as anybody else to grab the novel. But once they caught their first glimpse of the wristbanded preteen hordes already down there, anticipation turned to frustration: "I just wanted the fucking book! I don't give a fuck about fuckin' little kids in costumes!" I didn't stick around to see if the teens stuck around, but I'm sure they have their copies now.

It's a quiet Saturday morning as I write this. Throughout the English-speaking world, happy parents are waking to stillness and serenity. No shrieking, no sibling-fighting, no running indoors, no video-game explosions. In millions of households, peace reigns today.

For some grownups, that alone qualifies as magic."