All of My Friends are Pokemon

Sometime in my youth, after Pogs but maybe still before Yo-Mega yo-yos, during the Bennie Baby fad, Pokemon rained supreme. As a consumer product Pokemon covered all its bases, growing from a cartoon into backpacks, shirts and shoes, kids meal toys and even a few movies and many video games. The Gameboy games were so engrossing that on its initial run Nintendo was able to successfully market two different games, Pokemon Red and Pokemon Blue, much in the same way the Zelda series would do later. Arguably though the penultimate form of the Pokemon craze was the playing card game. Like Magic the Gathering before it and YuhGiOh after it the Pokemon franchise was able to do with playing cards what man had been doing with gold, metal and paper for thousands of years- they gave value (sometimes grossly exaggerated value) to something that was before valueless.

Call it childhood pragmatism but I never saw the point of the things. Probably the largest contributor to my lack of interest overall though can be contributed to the lack of interest any of my peers had to show in them. The card game required more than you to play it and that was one more person than I was able to find interested in it. As for the Gameboy games I knew a few neighborhood kids, mostly younger and better off than myself, who played them to the extent that made them brattier and more irritating than little rich kids normally are or ever need to be. Its most likely possible that I missed out on the Pokemon craze for one reason though: alternative education. That’s right, I was one of those weird kids that went to a weird alternative education school where you couldn’t wear shirts with graphics or bring candy on Halloween. And of course there was no room for something like Pokemon.

Though I didn’t participate in Pokemon at all in it heyday I do have a pretty good understanding about it now. (It’s about social Darwinism right?) Either way, what I do understand about Pokemon is the same thing I understand about friendship, and that is that as a child I had no idea what it was about, or how it was supposed to work. But I see now what’s been true all along- that all of my friends are Pokemon.

It sounds strange but when you consider the case its absolutely true. The Pokemon Trading Card Game, like elementary school, begins with a starter pack that offers a player way more cards than they know what to do with, often with doubles and pointless fillers. The more you play the better your deck gets and by trading or buying or by some other means drawing to their deck those cards that they most desired and found compatible with a playing strategy. The same with friendships- you sort through those cards that don’t know how to play with and you’re left with those that always come through and you know how to work well with.

I don’t know much about Pokemon. And I once knew just as much about friends. But know I now Matt, and he’s pretty much my Blastoise. And my friend Eli, well, Eli is Diglett. And along with a few other people (who can also easily be likened to Pokemon) these are the friends I’m going to have for the rest of my life. They are the core of my deck. But along with them is also a bunch of people who I know and appreciate knowing even if we aren’t especially good friends. I value these people because like the cards, sometimes we’re convinced to value things we probably shouldn’t just for the entertainment of a thing. Like the guy in my bio course I always talked about Lovecraft fiction with (Tangela,) or that girl who never shuts up from high school (Zubat) or the one I almost dated who was once cute and fun (like Shellder) but know is a little scary and sexy (like Cloyster,) or the blogger who sits around and writes about Michigan Football and the rise of socialism in America (Drowzee.) Trust me, I can do this for just about anyone- as long as they have a personality, though I know that that may be asking a lot from some people (Psyduck.)

All of my friends are Pokemon. And I value each of them- even if they are priceless.

Ooooh, you're my best friend

In a world we must defend

Pokemon!

Oh, and Paul, if you’re reading this I think you should know- you’ll always be my Slowpoke.

Zooey: in memory

"We are assembled here today to pay final respects to our honored dead. And yet, it should be noted that in the midst of our sorrow, this death takes place in the shadow of new life, the sunrise of a new world.”
- James T. Kirk

Sometimes I wonder if this blog should just give in and write exclusively about science fiction… find a niche that is marketable and build an expanded readership from there. But then I remember how nice it feels to write about sex and longing and how few the times I’ve masturbated to Princess Leia have been and coyishly considered how many more times I should’ve.

In that same way I also consider writing a blog exclusively about such things as strange sexuality. Weird sex. The works. It wouldn’t be hard; Matt and I have seen such things that would make you wonder, like Birdo bjs and Marty Feldman tits. Even a simple image search for Robert A. Heinlein on Google has led us to a busty and bulging redhead in her baby blue bra and panties. The sub-culture of pornography on the Internet is something I’m going to look back fondly on in many years as one of the more artistically surprising moments of my youth and harden at.

But right now it is not with a smile but a sigh that I write about some such dazzling porn. And that is because my best friend Matt has lost someone very important to him. Her name was Zooey, and she was a porn. And like Zooey Glass neither he nor I are sure we know how to say her name right but we still feel connected to her. I never knew her the way Matt did but he told me about her upon her passing and in preparation for this obituary. Though I never watched her I feel I knew her through his words:

“Zooey? She had blonde hair down to about halfway between her shoulds and shin, rectangular black glasses and a school girl's outfit. It was one of those porns that's supposed to be teacher/student thing, but while the girl MAYBE could be taken for a student, the teacher looks like some guy you'd find playing pool in a dive bar. She gave him head and then he bent her over the desk, it wasn't very original from that perspective, but she was just the prettiest girl...”

She’s dead now, deleted, gone the way of Goatse.cx and the dinosaurs (wink wink.) It’s a sad day when you lose a porn that’s close to you. Some of us only have but a few brief minutes of joy in the sun before like the house fly were gone forever, navigated away, lost forever ins a sea of skin and jpegs.

But luckily there is hope because as one light dies another may be lighted. It just so happens that while Matt’s Zooey lay dying I was just finding my favorite clip of porn. I don’t know her name, but I think I’m going to call her Kevin because she’s home alone. She’s green, like an unripe banana, and like Matt said about Zooey, there isn’t anything particularly special about Kevin or the clip or anything- but some nights she’s just the prettiest little thing to look at.

There are vixens out there; calling. Sweet sweet vixens.

Carrie Fisher- in effigy of Zooey, may she rest in peace

The Perseids

"After his death, Perseus was made immortal and put among the stars."

The other night I saw the Perseids meteor shower.  It has been the closest thing I've seen to space weather.  It has been the closest thing celestial I've ever seen on "earth" and it was probably still about 85 km away.  God only knows how I'd like to see the Aurora Borealis (100km.)

At around 2 o'clock when the moon had set, nearly full and very red in the west, the meteors began.  I must have seen nearly twenty in three hours.  It was wonderful. I tired to take a picture of the sky early in the evening, not for documentation or any aesthetic reason, but just for proprieties sake.  It was as black as the background of this page.  It was lovely.  

The Persieds is the result of the Swift-Tuttle comet, which one day, not in this millennium, is suspected to crash into either this planet or it's moon.  Every year we pass through it's debris.   Every summer, in the middle of August, it has its peak and there is a meteor nearly every minute of the hour all morning long.  Isn't that wonderful sounding?

I also saw an old friend the other night.  Not my oldest, but as old as many of them get.  I hadn't seen her what felt like a very long time.  We spent the early morning together watching what meteors we could.  That was quite lovely too.  I'm glad she's interested in things I find interesting too.  It's nice to be able to watch hours of briefly appearing meteors on a brisk morning with someone.  It's nice too when you can talk about books and stuff with someone and they get your stupid poetry jokes.  She's the type of woman I'd like to think I'd have been if things had started differently for me; or the type of girl I could see myself having someday.  I haven't a bad memory about her though I do remember a few bad times we've had.  Sometimes getting older feels nice.

The Perseids is going to last a long time.  A very long time.  It's already lasted a very long time.  It's going to be around when we are not.  We're going to be able to see it ever year for many years- show our children it you know?  Or they can stay up late and see it themselves like we did.  I like that too.

We can't screw it up.  We can't, it isn't very possible.  Even with all the light pollution I still saw it.  It's there for good, which is a nice thought, because not everything will always be.  Every memory I have of her now is of laughter, and that most of all is very nice.

cml

The Hoosier State

While I don't exactly want to unveil the true depths of my procrastination abilities, this post is almost a year old, and is about an event that did happen over a year ago. It's finally done, though, and I hope you enjoy...

Before May of last year I had only been to six states (…counting Canada and Michigan) in my life. Honestly, the only real state was Colorado, as Ohio is a hellhole, I visited West Virginia when I was about one, so I’m not really sure if that even counts, and one was Kentucky… which was just scary. The other two were Michigan (my home state) and Canada (which isn’t a state at all, go figure). So… I decided it would be a good idea to take a

road trip to Indiana.

Now, the question I got from every single person who I told about the trip was “Why Indiana?”… which should really tell you all you need to know about the state. But, I really didn’t know a lot about the place before I went. I knew about Notre Dame (which I steered clear of thankfully), I liked that movie Hoosiers and I hear they have some so

rt of car race in Indianapolis once a year. I came back with pretty much the same impression. There really wasn’t all that much going on. I figured, at the very least, I’d figure out what a Hoosier is. But, I guess "Why Indiana?" is sort of like the question "why the moon?" I could answer with "Why does Rice play Texas?" and you'd sort of get the idea, but I'll just stick with "because we could."

So, Caleb and I, along with three of our friends headed to Indiana. Caleb was late picking us up as usual, but once we got under way, things were fine. We headed along I-94, past Ann Arbor and Jackson and then south along I-something or another. It was a nice day, there was good music, we weren't in any hurry. We stopped at the Sonic in Fort Wayne to eat lunch and probably should have just turned around and headed home after that. Don’t get me wrong, the food was good, maybe the best fast food I’ve ever had, but when the highlight of your trip is the meal on the way there, something is wrong.

But we did go on, and headed south again. I wish I had some interesting anecdotes for the ride, but it was fairly normal... Caleb and I sang like always while our three compatriots sat mute around us for some odd reason. We saw trees and fields and signs for things... including some car museum Mark wanted us to go see. I played this game where I'd stare at the people in the cars in the other lane until they looked at me, that was amusing honestly, if only to see the varied reactions I received.

Cannibalism

About two hours south of Sonic, we stopped by Eli’s great aunt’s house for a visit. She lived in some sort of old people’s apartments that seemed worn down by time itself… the whole ordeal made me think we had been caught in some sort of time warp and sent back to 1960. The place was wonderful in its own way… everything about it felt old, the carpet in the halls seemed to be rotting beneath our feet and even the air smelled old. Everything had a clean, but oh so worn down feeling, even the buildings felt that way. It wasn't just the age of the place, my house was built in the forties and it does not look or feel that way, but age just permeating from the place. There were some sort of red stains on the carpeting in

the hallway and the elevator, and some sort of WWII veteran showed us around the place. I can’t remember Eli’s aunt’s name, but she was a really sweet, but very assertive little ninety year old Italian woman with giant, Joe Paterno glasses and crazy grey hair, oh and her apartment was unbelievable. It was tiny and cramped, all the more so because of the weight of stuff in there. I know I have a lot of stuff lying around everywhere, but I can’t imagine ninety years worth of my stuff in one little apartment. Clippings of Jesus and Saints and Pope J. P the Two (as Paul likes to call him) were everywhere. There were crosses and old pictures of family hung up all over the place. Everything seemed so dim, and Gunsmoke, or maybe it was Bonanza or Marshall Matt Dillon (I can’t keep those old TV westerns straight) was playing on TV. I suppose a place like that would normally make me feel uncomfortable, but it was beyond awesome. There were all sorts of old chairs and couches and tables, all complete with weird coverings and doilies all about, all mismatched, all in good condition, but battered by time.

The stories she told were hilarious, weird and beyond honest comprehension most of the time and the way her and her best friend Jack bantered back and forth like an old married couple was heart warming, or maybe just friggin’ hilarious. The bathroom was full of makeup, and by “full” I mean every square inch of cupboard, sink and floor space was covered in old bottles and vials… it looked like Dr. Frankenstein’s laboratory might, except with a toilet and bathtub. I wish I could have taken some pictures, because I’m afraid one day I’m not going to believe I was actually ever there. She gave us candy and pop and the girls a gallon size plastic bag of make-up that I have no idea what happened to, I think they probably tossed it in the sewer. All in all it was a good, albeit long time. Eli really needs to learn that look you give someone when it’s time to leave a place. We were all tired from driving and we still had a ways to go before getting to Indy, so we set off again.

We had decided to camp, and I picked the Indiana State Fairgrounds because it was in Indianapolis, which was a big city and all (as far as Indiana goes). I assumed there might be some stuff to see there, though we never really went looking for much. We found a mall and a thrift store where we bought a soccer ball and a bunch of knives no questions asked. Anyway, I had figured the campgrounds advertised would be a campground… instead of a strip of grass alongside a massive parking lot. I didn’t count, but I’m pretty sure there were more rocks then blades of grass where we set up the tent. The place was deserted, and to me felt like a ghost town, which was damn cool. There were a bunch of big buildings around and a race track that I wandered around, it was all so surreal, just like the whole damn trip.

Ghost Town

But, it was a fun time, not really thanks to Indiana at all, but because of my friends. We played some soccer, stayed up too late and woke up too early, and drove way too much for what it was worth, but I have no regrets. I had conquered another state.

Delusions of Grandeur

There's not much else to say, so I’ll just leave you with some final observations about Indiana:

-It’s a lot like Ohio, but with more trees and less assholes.

-If you want porn or fireworks, it’s definitely the place to go. They have huge buildings on the highway selling the stuff by the bushel.

-They have really weird gas station names.

-Sonic really does have good food, and I'm glad they are finally building one around here.

-There were way too many southern accents in Indianapolis. Isn’t Indiana supposed to be in the north?

-Oh, and one last thing... Hoosiers is a good movie, but Rudy sucks.

A Matter of Pride

BSD has always been a faithful, loyal and courageous ally to all of her sister blogs. While we do not always post in a timely matter, or that well, we take pride in our work and our relationships with those we have formed bonds with. Because of egregious disrespect paid to BSD by a blog that shall remain hitherto nameless in these pages, we our restructuring the blog alliance system. We do not do this lightly, but we have been far too patient and lenient up to this point. We can no longer put our interests aside for the betterment of others. We thank all of you who have been loyal. The others, you know who you are.

The old order is no more

Happy Birthday

Here it is, Blast Shield Down is turning 1 today. We’re into digits. Oh beyond 0. There are stories about where this blog came from, some say Matt’s shower, other’s say he and I watched a Lamaze video and BSD just accidentally popped out, but if you want to know the simple honest truth about it you can be content with hearing it came from Michigan (where there’s no room for Jules Vern here, Biasman I’m sure you’d agree.) We’re 1 year old and I can’t tell if it’s really felt that long or much longer. In a way I think BSD has always existed between Matt and myself, the only difference now is that we’re writing it all down and putting it up here for everyone else to see. And I’d like to thank everyone who has been here to see it. I know that in the year this has been going on we’ve had some good and some bad post, some lulls in the work and some surges, and I’m genuinely thankful to everyone who’s read and kept up with the site. Yeah, it could be more, but it’s what it is, a mess of things Matt & Caleb.

I love Blast Shields Down, it is a child to me. I’m sure most people would assume that, but I don’t think anyone knows as much as Biasman does what I mean by that. You know when you put all your thought into something, work hard on it, mull over it, build up and entire philosophy and code of ethics, unspoken rules, ideals and aspirations for something and you pour everything into it, make it a part of you, commit to it? Yeah? That’s it. Sometimes it falls short, sometimes its disappointing, like any kid can be sometimes, but it’s the parent’s fault, I promise.

I love BSD, and I hope some of you do too. If you like what we’ve been doing let us know; comment, trash, respond, show some love. Matt and I are building something here, and we’d love for you to be a part of it.

Matt & Caleb- proud parents of this blog!

Happy Birthday Blast Shields Down

Fences

Once you have a fence you can’t really get ride of it easily. I’ve been trying to think of a way that you could, but I can’t. I think that’s because no fence is really yours. It’s your fence, but also three other peoples’ fence too. Whoever lives next to you, on either side, owns part of your fence, and the same with the person living behind you. The gate is yours, the rest of it is only partially yours, a fraction yours, a third. And like anti-ballistic missiles in a peace agreement no one wants to get ride of their fence first. And in fact with a fence you can’t. Maybe if you convinced your neighbors on all three sides to take their part of the fence down with you, had mutual permission to remove the fencing from around your property a person could do away with fences. But that doesn’t seem very realistic. Even so, if your fence were gone then the three other properties and your own would look like one great big green inverted T or like one of those Tetris pieces that’s shaped like two perpendicular lines. Even if you convinced the surrounding five properties to your home to each remove a portion of their fence, so you and the neighbor across the backyard would lose three fences and those homes which bookend the two of you would only lose two fences, one which they shared with you and the home across the backyard from you and the other which they shared with the other respective bookend homeowner on their end of the six properties there would still be the upset that six garages would be left scattered seemingly aimless through out an expansive green lawn made from six different and before individual plots. Maybe though, if a neighbor on one side were to move and you were to act in the dead of night and quickly remove one third of your entire fence, the fence shared with the emigrating neighbor before the home was bought but while still vacant the problem of fencing could be dealt with however slowly. And, if you lived in that one home long enough then maybe, just maybe, eventually there would be no fences; at all, anywhere. It’s possible. After all, each fence does lead to next.

Where I live now there aren’t any fences. I guess I just got lucky. I know one day though I'll probably live in a place that is more fenced in than this one now and I don’t know if there will be anything I can do about that. Hopefully I’ll have really nice neighbors, or neighbors with the same sense towards fences as I have and we can take our fences down together on some sunny summer afternoon; mow our lawns and water our grass and respect the boundaries our lawnmowers and hedge clippers carve into the earth instead of using the ugly aluminum and iron fences that were there before. But then again maybe that’s wishful thinking, or maybe it’s just passive aggression, and maybe it would just a quitter way of separating myself from people around me. What’s better, an unspoken fence, or a real one you can lean on, climb over and build a gate in?

He will not go behind his father's saying,
And he likes having thought of it so well
He says again, "Good fences make good neighbors."
-Robert Frost

Caleb, prospective home owner

Scully

It’s funny how everything can change so quickly. People come and go like waves washing over a beach, slowly eroding the sand castle that you spent so much time building, slowly breaching those walls you put up. Feelings appear and vanish, transform and regress, sometimes without even your realization. It’s impossible to pinpoint any of it, especially when those sharp feelings recede into vague recollections. At least the lessons learned remain, even if you don't always follow them, and those memories that once brought pain and uncertainty are nostalgia-drenched to happiness. Sometimes I feel that is how I wish to view everything, through the lens of five years in the future where everything is shaded like a sepia picture. It would be so much nicer then, so surreal, like the plot of some Hollywood movie.

It’s funny how one little moment can change everything, how an event can make you see things so differently, how you can be so certain of a thing one week and be lost the next. When a crushing loss can mean the opening of new doors, the realization of new happiness is it possible to predict anything? Should it be that way? Is it fate, or just the spin of the roulette wheel?

It’s funny how words on a glowing screen can encapsulate so much, can be so important given everything. How they can bring hope and comfort, and how the human mind seems to always seek that out wherever it is available.

It’s funny how friendships can change so much, yet be stuck at the same point they once were because of something totally out of your control. When you’ve known someone for seven years it’s hard to change, anyhow, even if things are different than they used to be. At least that familiarity is comfortable, the knowledge of your feelings is reassuring, and you have someone to talk to who never gets mad or annoyed at you. At least you know that you’re wanted, that you’re loved, that you belong. At least you have Star Wars, The X-Files, baseball and sitting in front of a computer until four in the morning because you can’t bear to tear yourself away.

At least someone misses you…

“I was saddened when I first got back this evening and you weren't around.”

It’s funny how a sentence can change everything, can make you think so differently, even when you had already realized that those feelings exist. Sometimes you just need a kick over the edge. Even if everything is so uncertain, even if the distance feels insurmountable and even if fear creeps in where it never was before, it doesn’t change anything. It’s best to just close your eyes and enjoy the sound of her laugh and the warm feeling in your soul. At least you have happiness that way; at least you can smile. That’s what matters, because eventually all those other feelings will be wrapped up in a nice coat of nostalgia anyway.

Even if nothing ever comes of it all, and the odds don’t seem good that it will, you at least have those memories, you have joy. Even if there are so many coincidences, so many things that would have to go right for it to end as it was meant to, it doesn’t mean it can’t end happily. And who knows, perhaps there is something to all that fate stuff after all. I know that’s what they tell me in the movies. Besides, I would rather my life turned out like Field of Dreams, in any case.

Moriarty

When I was young, I had a Moriarty against whom my Holmes was pitted, as surely as I had found my Watson at that young age. I was matched against this fiend as early as I can remember. We were rivals of unimaginable import, no less so than Achilles and Hector or Batman and The Joker. Our battlefields were countless; the football field, the jungle gym, the backyard, the basement… We fought over the Super Nintendo controller, and we fought because we could. It was rivalry, it was sport, and it was a battle for the fate of everything that had ever mattered to me. And when one day he began to tear apart the snow fort that I poured my blood, sweat and tears into, it was a defense of honor and justice on a scale that would have made Superman proud. And we fought, beat and pummeled each other into the snow, fists flying, bodies tangled and snow rubbed into faces, a scene right out of Calvin and Hobbes, but what then felt more like The Battle of Hastings. I came out of it all victorious, and I stood there in my front yard, clad in all the regalia of winter, my cheeks flushed, my eyes bright and my heart thumping a triumphant opus. As the sun shone in that blue sky and the snow gleamed around me, I knew I had preserved my little kingdom in suburbia, I had held the city through the night.

It wasn’t just two boys solving their disagreement with fists, but something far greater than that, at least to me. Our conflicts always were more important than simple fights, because I never lived in the real world, not then, and not now. That lump of snow was my castle, and the pile of dirt in the backyard was the Hall of Justice. Roman Legions marched through my bedroom, and spaceships zoomed past as I stared up at those glowing neon stars on my ceiling. I always understood Richard the Lionheart better than Bill Clinton, and I probably still do. I never chose this rival, this nemesis, we were thrown together just like Arthur and Mordred. Since I can remember, I knew him, and we fought tooth and nail, and I gloried in the warfare. It was the stuff of legends and fairy tales to me. I despised him with every fiber of my being for my entire childhood, and then one day, all of a sudden, things changed… I was a freshman, and he was no longer there. I grew up, and moved on, but there was always that place in me that longed for that conflict, as assuredly as I needed comrades in arms.

It is important to have adversaries, to have someone to strive against, someone to push you and make you better. In conflict you strive to win, to fight your hardest against all odds because of that competitive fire burning inside of you. You do things that you never thought you could because of that need to be better, that need to win. In battle you become stronger, mind, body and spirit, even if it’s truly only mock combat. An enemy makes you learn and fight to succeed not with a helping hand, but with a kick in the teeth. Sometimes it’s the pain and hardships that turn you into a success, that make you strong. Sometimes it’s those bruises and black eyes that spur you on to be the best. Kennedy once said of the space program, “But why, some say, the moon? Why choose this as our goal? And they may well ask why climb the highest mountain? Why, 35 years ago, fly the Atlantic? Why does Rice play Texas? We choose to go to the moon. We choose to go to the moon in this decade and do the other things, not because they are easy, but because they are hard, because that goal will serve to organize and measure the best of our energies and skills, because that challenge is one that we are willing to accept, one we are unwilling to postpone, and one which we intend to win, and the others, too.”

Besides, when you’re a kid, weaving tales in your mind about defeating your rival is just fun. So now I’ve found a faux-archenemy, a new foe to clash with upon the battlefields of my imagination. If in doing so, I’m crossing the Rubicon from reality to the realm of fantasy, so what? Is it all that different anyhow? And it is in this vein that I struggle to keep the imagination flowing, the world from sinking into some sort of drab, cynical Hades. Because, what would be the point then? With no struggles, no adversity, where is the thrill of living? Who cares to live without that excitement, without that conflict, without that fun?

And so I write, because its better that way, half in the world of fiction, and half in this condition called reality. Like Alice, half through the looking glass, and half at home. Sometimes I wonder if fiction and reality are so different after all. I always find that people believe the myths more than they believe the truth, anyhow. I’m told the quack of a duck doesn’t echo. I really don’t know if it does, perhaps I should just go find a duck and a cave. Or I could just sit here and write about epic battles and great conflicts and then maybe go watch some Looney Toons and see a fight over whether it’s really Duck Season or Wabbit Season…

At dinner recently, I brought up the subject of archenemies, and how I wanted one. It got some good laughs, some hilarious stories and some jokes. For, who in their right mind wants an enemy, anyhow? While I cannot vouch for the state of my own sanity, because… well, that’s just a Catch-22, I can say that it is the idea of an enemy more than the reality of one. I miss the thought of having someone to pit my strength against, and in doing so, make myself better. I need something to fight, something to strive for, and some hardship to overcome. How else would I know that I have accomplished anything?

I realize the real world is filled with enough hardships, conflicts and roadblocks for me to struggle with, overcome and in doing so strengthen myself. But in the end, the problems of adulthood simply do not hold the same romance as those childish fights. So for now I’ll just look back at all those struggles of childhood, remember the glory and the happiness that they brought, and know that I will always have them. And in the end, isn’t that enough?

Empire

A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far, away...
The Empire Strikes Back


It is a dark time for the Rebellion. Although the Death Star has
been destroyed, Imperial troops have driven the Rebel forces from
their hidden base and pursued them across the galaxy.

Evading the dreaded Imperial Starfleet, a group of freedom fighters
led by Luke Skywalker has established a new secret base on the remote
ice world of Hoth.

The evil lord Darth Vader, obsessed with finding young Skywalker,
has dispatched thousands of remote probes into the far reaches of
space...


And like that the real epic started. Who doesn’t love those sounds coming from the bouncing probe. Intergalactic Planetary Planetary Intergalactic. Intergalactic Planetary Planetary Intergalactic. Intergalactic Planetary Planetary Intergalactic.


And so the Empire struck back.
They took one man’s hand and another’s carbonite frame. Destroyed one boy’s entire self and crushed a rebellion under a dark leather boot.


Star Wars was something I always knew. It was always with me. Every blaster bolt, every fallen rebel, every wookie cry. The story of Star Wars was an a priori part in my life, like that my parents loved me or that summer was warm and night was dark.
I knew Vadar was Luke’s father like I knew my father was mine.

Maybe it’s the metanarrative, or maybe it’s the magic I saw at the end of Ben’s blue blade, but Star Wars was a part of me.

I was born in Michigan, but I died on Alderaan; and on the first Death Star; and the second. I saw Obi-Wan on Hoth, and Yoda on Endor and every last one of them on my first day of kindergarten.

When the tsunami hit in 2004, I felt that great disturbance in the force, I heard all those voices crying out for help…and heard them suddenly silenced.

There’s something unsettling for a kid when he hears Dak say he feels he could take on the whole Empire himself, and knowing all the while the poor bastard’s going to die with nothing but a pointless harpoon in his hands.
And Honestly, who the hell’s going to need a harpoon on Hoth? Are there even fish there? I can see hunting wampas but not eating one. I don’t think I could eat another humanoid-esq creature. And though I couldn’t see Lefty, Luke’s wampa friend, blush or smile, he certainly had a face. People don’t eat dolphins because they are so effing smart. But, what about bears and monkeys? Sure they aren’t all that smart, but shave a bear or a monkey and I bet you all my sabacc credits they wouldn’t look much different from Vader’s bald humpty dumpty dome. And come on, who’s really all that excited to try tauntaun venison? They smell horrible as it is, and with that cry they make I don’t think I could ever be so heartless as to kill one. But I digress.


-“I thought they smelled bad on the outside”-


Yeah, Han was going to skip out on the rebellion and Leia. And yeah, maybe Yoda was right and Luke wasn’t ready. And yes, Lando might have sold out his friends and been played right into Vader’s cold glove.

But, you know what, you can say what you want about me and the united states of America and the red and whites of the flag, but I’ll be dammed if you’re going to tell me anyone of them had their heart in the wrong place.

Because it’s at my mother and Star Wars that I draw the line in the sand, under one sun or two- I don’t mind!


I don’t know much or why people do what they do, and I didn’t as a kid either, but I did know a few things:


-I knew Wedge was the Man

-I knew Right was right and Wrong was wrong, and which side the Rebels were on, and I with them

-And I knew that a long time ago, in a galaxy far, far, away something big happened, something important, something that was going to change my life and all of ours

I wish I could say I didn’t know why Darth Vader cut off Luke’s hand, or told him he was his father. But I know I do on some level… we all do. I wish I could say there was no good left in Darth Vader, that he’d never be right again, just to make a little more sense of the whole matter of why’d he try to destroy his only son. (But Obi-Wan was right, about two things: 1) Our eyes can deceive us-we shouldn’t trust them, and 2) Anakin was betrayed and killed by Darth Vader.) But I know Darth had some good left in him, I know he was fighting some sort of internal battle too. And maybe, as awful as it was, even his heart was in the right place. But than again…maybe not.

I always knew Star Wars. It was in me. It was a part of me, of life, of childhood. I can remember watching the aged VHS we’d copied from TV. I can remember the bra ad that ran just after the Falcon’d escaped from the first Death Star and Luke and Han fought off the incoming tie fighters.

I can’t remember the first time I heard Vader’s voice telling Luke who he was, or Ben’s when he told who Leia was, or what my mom said when I asked her what “delusions of ‘gransure’” were. But I do remember who the son was, and the sister, and how Han fell back into Chewie’s arms.

I didn’t know how gravity worked, or what a “blast shield” was for (and for that matter I still don’t, but does anyone?), or any line that had a subtitle. And, as much as I wish I could say I knew the good guys were going to win; I didn’t. All I ever really knew was:

-That storm troopers can’t see well

-That light sabers don’t really make sense

-and that, above all, Darth Vader was and always will be Luke Skywalker’s father.


And, it may be sad, but I like that the older I get the more I wish I knew what that feeling of not knowing ever felt like.

So, the Empire struck back, and it struck back hard. But, maybe that’s a good thing, just like my not knowing how it felt to learn Vader was Luke’s father is a good thing. Because challenge provides change. And just like childhood, for me Star Wars is filled with more wishing then any one person will ever have fulfilled in this life. And that’s good, because it means I still have a ways to go. And lets face it, Luke was a pussy, and Han and Leia were pretty bitchy, and Darth Vader was an old man’s bitch. And hey, what kid isn’t one of those at some point in their life?


But through all that it’s nice to know that even if you’re a twerp like Threepio, NO MATTER WHAT, Chewie is there for you. And that’s what we need growing up, some big strong hairy arms to support us after a long stay in carbonite. So frak all the cylons and imp officers and borg cubes and give me my crew, my fleet, my rebel navy! My true friends!


Even if the empire strikes back, even if your dad is what seems like pure evil, even if you’ve never seen Star Wars, and don’t know it, the Force is with you, and every one of us. I promise. So remember, that no matter what, an old pal will always have your back.


Till next time, I’ll see you on the light side
CM
The Alderaanian