Welcome back, Potter

It's been unusually quiet today, except for the ghostly swoosh of turning pages, as millions of Potterites dig into the books they got hold of early this morning. It's easy for a hardened old cynic like me to make fun of people who stand in line for mass-produced consumer items, whether toys, telephones or books. Not as if this is the absolutely final farewell performance of Barbra Streisand or the Rolling Stones (hah!). If they run out, they'll make more. Extraordinary popular delusions and the madness of crowds, right? Calvin Trillin used to make fun of the British and their willingness to join a queue, any queue. There's a joke in Moscow On the Hudson, too -- Robin Williams gets into a long, long line on a snowy Moscow street and only then asks what it's for (toilet paper, as it happens). But Americans? Accustomed to having every need instantly gratified out of the bounty of our fruited plain (for cash, of course)? Ask and we shall receive. Not so fast, says J.K.Rowling or Steve Jobs, so we line up meekly, like a Muscovite in an ill-fitting overcoat. We hate waiting for gas or stamps or the next teller at the bank, but we'll sit all night for an X-Box or a phone that stores every song ever recorded.

As I said, easy to make fun. But I think I understand the phenomenon of Americans seeking to form a community with strangers who seem to understand us and share our obsessions. Even if all you have in common is the willingness to wear a wizard hat in public, you're a family standing together against an indifferent world. It's especially poignant because the objects they covet are intended to be consumed in solitude. (Another joke: if you're in line to buy an iPhone, chances are you don't have anyone to call.) Shopping and consuming and shopping again no longer makes us happy. We're queuing for company.