Imagination Station: The Next Train's for You.

Under the blazing summer sun of last Saturday, I coordinated my first Art Outreach event of the summer. The municipal government I work for decided to put their big summer kick off event on the same weekend a every other major event in the province, and expected at 15,000 person turn out. Needless to say, this did not happen and all of those materials I prepped ended up back in storage for another sunny day.

Monday: I'm nicely toasted from not having a tent at the event, and I'm quite tired from not having a full weekend. I spent my Sunday sleeping, my new babe woke me up around 8:30 to feed her, followed by a good ear scratching, some Sunday morning IHOP sugar and fat, and a nap from 12:00 until 6:00. Lastly, a little bit of Harry Potter on the big screen.

I don't know why, but I always hold such high standards for popular culture. Then when said selection of media falls backon old cliches and tired tricks used to separate me from my disposable income, I actually become disappointed in them. They've let me down and, most likely, took my $10.95 in the process. I dislike being

Give us your lunch money, bitch.

disappointed, but I dislike paying for my disappointment much like I hate being burned with an iron. It's annoying and painful, but once it happens there's not much you can do besides put on some ointment and learn from your mistakes.

Did I enjoy Harry Potter? Of course, but only because this 5th installment was a necessary stepping stone for the 6th and 7th installments. The original imagination and wonder was gone from this movie, and everything played out like a tired and dirty dishrag. The Umbridge plot arch was not nearly as sinister as it could have been, but I also give Rowling criticism for that as well. She did not write that character very well, and the movie stuck to her descriptions out of faith.

One aspect of Harry Potter I'm not looking forward to in the next couple of years is the cliched love scenes that are sure to pop up. It won't deal with teenage attraction and sexuality in the telling and refreshing ways like it did in Billy Elliot or 12 and Holding. Teenage love is one of exploration, confusion and naivity, not one with soaring orchestral ballads. If anything, teenage love is silent, with all parties holding their breath until all conditions have been thrusted beyond control. Of course, Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince has not been shot yet, and the director and writers could very well come out and knock my socks off, but this would be another instance of me holding high standards to a medium that is most likely going to disappoint me and rip my $10.95 from my stone cold fingers.