Pardon me, I've got something in my eye.
Damn, it's eerie how Harry Potter had become the thing that had pretty much completely pervaded this generation. My generation.
Ye gads. The antsy anticipation of the next book. The twee all-star Britishness of the movies. The aptly fantastical incredibility of a children's author richer than the Queen. The surprise alternate reality game tie-ins. The knitting. Heck, my very first email address (which one of my now-oldest friends first started up for me) was a Harry Potter reference.
Most of all, I keep feeling that J.K. Rowling should win a bloomin' Nobel Peace Prize just for being a writer lucky enough to be in a position to spawn more writers, to make writers dream big again. Dream that they could save literacy, spawn a subculture, out-moolah the Queen and all that. All thanks to a young boy-wizard dreamed up on a train ride.
Dang. How can you look back on something like this and not believe we live in surreal, interesting times?