Seriously?

Look, I understand. When July 21 rolls around you don’t want to be the only shut-in shut out of the Harry Potter craze. I get it. I do.

But let me let you in on a little secret: THEY WILL PRINT MORE COPIES OF THAT BOOK THAN CAN POSSIBLY BE SOLD.

You know how I know that? Because that’s what they did last time. Here’s the news of the day:

Harry Potter conjured online magic for U.S. booksellers Amazon and Barnes & Nobles as the last Potter tale topped the charts in one day of pre-orders.

"Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows" is a runaway best seller, six months before it hits store shelves July 21, CNN Money said. Both Amazon and Barnes & Nobles listed the book as their No. 1 seller Friday, based on one day of pre-sales.

Really, I’m not entirely sure why I’m surprised. I don’t really even know why I care. But I do, dammit. I guess I just care about you, the little people.

Here’s something else that’s been chapping my hide: lately – as in the past few/five days – I keep dialing through my radio, looking for something to sing along with and invariably I end up tripping over the intro to T. Rex’s “Get it On”.

“Yes,” I whisper to myself conspiratorially. “David fucking Bowie! Ziggy Stardust himself!”

And then WHAM, Bam, thank you Ma’am, I realize that, once again, I’m listening to Marc Bolan rip off Chuck Berry, and all I want to hear is “Suffragette City”, or if we must stick with the mighty T.Rex: “Cosmic Dancer”. It’s on the same album, for goodness sakes!

Flip it to side A and play that jivey sound, Wolfman!

And if that wasn’t enough, it’s Groundhog’s Day. You know that annual celebration wherein we let a rodent predict our weather, because this is America, and, as it turns out, he’s just about as accurate as those other guys, and much, much cheaper.

I think what I find most endearing (and, I suppose, perplexing) about Phil's forecast is his strange predilection for rhymed couplets; as a lapsed poet, I can't help but love him all the more for it. Also for transcending his status as a scurrilous Sciuridae, a waffling whistlepig, and becoming one of the most beloved prognosticators of our time. Even if he only works one day a year.

I guess he's kind of like Santa that way. Without all that holiday faddle mucking up my radio and department stores.