It's 12:01, do you know where your muggles are?

There's a cultural phenomenon taking place tonight. "Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince" goes on sale at midnight. Bookstores around the country will be staying open late to make sure that devotees of Harry and his exploits don't have to wait a minute more than necessary to find out what happens to their hero. This is book six. Books one through five have amassed a fortune for several generations of Rowlings to come, and this one will no doubt out sell all the previous installments - why else would one continue to write them?
I'll be there, with my son - waiting anxiously like the rest. The first five books came our way in lazy paperback form. We didn't stand in line. We borrowed the first one to see if we might like it. We did. We have now officially met up with the curve of expectation and are standing in line with the rest of the muggles (see how easily I slip into the lingo?). We are very much the Potter household. Legos still hold sway in most cases, and Star Wars has better vehicles, but Harry's adventures in and around Hogwarts are an endless source of fascination for us.
Well, at least they are for my son. I am determined that he not turn out like his father. Years ago, I sat in the middle of the back seat on long station wagon trips to anywhere, sandwiched between my older and younger brother. They shared their fascination about the collected works of J.R.R. Tolkein with each other for miles and hours and days. I stared straight ahead and tried not to absorb their mania. "Smaug - Shelob - Minas Tirith - Samwise" the names flooded over me as I strengthened my resolve to ignore all things hobbit-like. I lived in a world of geeks, yet I maintained a steadfast avoidance of the Grail of Geekdom, "The Lord of the Rings." I bought a copy of National Lampoon's parody, "Bored of the Rings" just to leave lying around - I didn't even read that.
But I wasn't completely immune. Purely by osmosis the plot and all those character names and places seeped into my cerebellum. I had lived with the Cliff's Notes long enough that I had become a vicarious expert myself. I went to see Ralph Bakshi's animated version (of the first half of the trilogy). I knew I wasn't truly of the clan, because I liked it. I loved Peter Jackson's films - the source material was inspiring enough to create three films - each one longer than the next - and each one better than the one before it. I secretly felt shame for not learning to write elvish in tenth grade along with all my nerd friends.
So, tonight we'll be there, wands in hand awaiting the next epistle from Hogwarts. I'll be reading this one right alongside my aspiring young wizard.