Why I am Harry Potter

I am Harry Potter.

No-one told me that I would be going to graduate school at Hogwart’s School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, but I do, and now I am Harry Potter. “Why is that?” you ask. Well, friend, sit down a spell and let me educate you.

First, we in the entering class are called “first-years,” and supposedly that is supposed to make us feel like we are welcome. It’s not uncommon to hear a professor shout, “Hey, first year… yeah!” We first-years don’t mind much, I mean, we are first years, and I guess that has some kind of meaning when you are a second-year, or dare I say it without genuflecting (ok, ok, I’ll genuflect), third-years.

Second, I spend half my time studying people who are insane, and I doubt any other graduate student studies the kind of insane people I study, thus providing more evidence that I am Harry Potter. I mean, listen to this sentence that was in my reading: “The spirit of this earth is the fire in which Pontanus digests his feculent matter, the blood of infants in which the gold and silver bathe themselves, the unclean Green Lyon.” Do you see now why I am Harry Potter? Who else but little Harry would be reading crap like that?! And you don’t even know yet who wrote that, and I haven’t told you because I know it is going to cause you to flip your lid, man. You’re gonna go nuts right when I tell you, I know it, man. Seriously. Watch out, man, because you aren’t ready for this. Ok, ok, get ready…it was Sir Isaac Newton.

Ha, I knew you weren’t ready for that. Isaac “I invented Calculus” Newton. He wrote that, and it wasn’t just some joke he put up on his blog for all his friends to read. He was serious, and now I am Harry Potter, destined to save the world from the evil Lord Voldewhatever. It sucks, but I’m ready. I’ve been practicing real hard and it’s not making me a better wizard, but these things take time. Stop rushing me. I don’t see you blasting little kids’ out of their drawers or turning old ladies into weasels or bears or things like weasels and bears like cats or beavers. I mean, come on man. That doesn’t happen until, like, late third year at least.

I can hear you scoffing, and it’s true, I don’t have the lighting scar, but so what the bleep? I’ve got a mole right on my forehead, and if that’s just a coincidence then you will have to convince me so, my friend, because I just don’t see how it’s possible. I am Harry Potter.