Day 18: Star Wars Marathon (Part 2)

Alright, where were we in my saga…ah yes. The remaining two movies came out, I duly enjoyed them, though I really don’t like Natalie Portman or Hayden Christensen and some parts were rather Hollywood-esque. Being older, I couldn’t help but notice the technical aspects a bit more – my youthful innocence-likeness replaced by the criticalness of age. But the story was still far more valuable to me. I even attempted to watch the animated series they made about the Clone Wars, taking place in between the second and third films, but that, I could not suffer through. The main character was a whiny American teenage girl, no discipline, completely went against the grain of Star Wars. Criminal. The Clone Wars books, on the other hand, are excellent, and I rue that I’ve only been able to get my hands on one of them (the video game was brilliant as well).

I haven’t read any Star Wars books in quite a while. I’ve accumulated a small collection of them which I intend to continue building on, but having moved around loads in the past few years, they’re boxed away and scattered across several continents. One day I’ll bring all my stuff together and have a nice flat in London that I return to every once in a while. Something like that. Would be nice if it had a music room as well. See, there’s my ideal life path, and there’s the actual life path which will be much better and may or may not incorporate aspects of my idealised version.

So that’s my story with Star Wars. It’s a big part of me, though I don’t access it as much anymore. I noticed again just how big it is after I got talking about it with a friend and realised I could go on and on (at his expense). If you could go on and on about it as well, I’d love to get together sometime. Just use this Grade A chat-up line I just heard on 30 Rock: (in a bar) “So, they make you leave your droids outside too?” Quality. I’d probably talk all night with someone who approached me with that line. I may use it. The reactions, at least, will be amusing.

My favourite character is Boba Fett. If you know anything about him beyond the films, you’ll know that he is straight-up BA. But with principles. And heart, way down. The best kind of BA. I actually did loads of research on him and Mandalorians in general at one point, drawing together every bit of info I could from the sprawling internets, organising it chronologically and classing it by level of canon (if you don’t know what canon is, I’m surprised you read this far; this is clearly not the post for you). Found so many stories, in addition to the ones I’d read in books. He took out an entire Imperial garrison one time, you know. He survived the Sarlacc, for crying out loud! (And you say, Twice!) And the whole multiple-encounters-with-Han-Solo-all-throughout-their-lives thing is just delicious.

So yeah, if you hadn’t already guessed, this and the previous post are devoted completely to my geeky side, because it’s definitely big enough to merit attention, and I think everyone should have at least a bit of a geek in them.

Okay, now the actual marathon. It was funny. We weren’t at someone’s home, we were at some community centre; I’m not sure what the connection was but it was a big room (and fortunately, a kitchen). Snacks, check (I brought some Japanese jellies that my parents sent over. Didn’t realise they would seem so strange here). Two projectors, check. Someone had brought a video games console with FIFA and the intent to play it, which was disheartening, but what can you do. The unfaithful ones.

It was freezing in there. Some had brought sleeping bags but there weren’t enough to go around, and even after I snagged one, it was chilly. It may’ve had a polarpoint presentation effect in keeping us awake, but it certainly wasn’t comfortable. Nevertheless, we began the challenge with The Phantom Menace. Man, it was good to hear those opening horn blasts. That tune will always get me pumped up. I used to feel the same way about the 20th Century Fox sound, and the THX vroom, until I realised those weren’t specific to Star Wars.

Despite coming dangerously close to dozing off in the middle of the later films, every time one finished we hurriedly popped in the next. I say that figuratively; one guy had them all downloaded on his computer. And thank goodness we had bacon sandwiches, though we nearly burnt down the building cooking them.

Tragically, with six films to get through it took longer than one night and we were forced to quit late Saturday morning in the middle of Episode V. Actually, ‘forced to quit’ is putting it forgivingly – a certain owner of the computer containing the gems decided he had to leave, and shut it off. To be honest, I wasn’t as engaged as I should’ve been. It’s hard to watch over ten hours of film and stay alert, all the more so at night after a pattern of nonexistent nighthood. (I watched the final two some time later.)

It was fascinating to watch them again; it’d been a long time and I was much younger then. Now I could see more underlying themes, like the imperialism of the Empire and the politics of the Galactic Senate.

One thing you observe when going from the new ones to the old ones (like I said before, we watched them chronologically, and though I was all for that, I’ve now been convinced that it’s better to go with the older films first, to not let them be shown up graphics-wise) is that the old ones have far fewer alien species and more ‘human’ characters, but less diversity among the humans. And while this is easily explainable considering the Empire’s anti-alien brand of racism, it does also reveal the evolution of film (I’m older, remember; I don’t have the luxury of taking in only the story – or being completely taken in, rather). Computer graphics are much more advanced, so aliens are easier to do without messing with costumes. Globalisation allows actors to come from all over for a big break at Hollywood, and it’s not so Cold War-nationalistic anymore (reference to the old Indiana Jones films which I also watched recently).

However, I am not a film critic; I am critical but I leave the review business to my friends. And I’ve delved deeply enough into my relationship with Star Wars for one (well, two) posts. Put simply, it was good to enter into that world again, and I do intend to one day write a Star Wars book. I have to become a good writer first, however, which is partly what this is about, though I really should be doing more fiction.

I didn’t do much for the rest of today; just finished up packing and attempted to finish off all my food, which turned out to be a bigger chore than I’d foreseen.

Going to bed excited about going to my favourite city in the world for the first time on the morrow! (Isn’t life wonderful when you decide that where you’re headed is where you most want to be? Or would it be: isn’t life wonderful when you decide to head where you most want to be?)

Day 17: Star Wars Marathon (Part 1)

I didn’t do much today during the day, understandably. But that was just fine, because that night was nothing near the return to regular sleeping hours I’d hoped it would be.

I mentioned that we were planning to do a Star Wars marathon sometime in December, right? Well, we were. Some friends and I. All six (episodes, that is). In chronological order, of course. Only…I thought it would be during the day sometime. My friend showed up at my door this afternoon saying they were planning to do it that night. I suppose that really was the only time left before we departed for London, but it was a surprise. Nevertheless, I said I was in. It’s Star Wars!

Star Wars…it’s hard to explain the magic to someone who isn’t a believer. I hope all of you are. Star Wars was a huge part of my childhood; no, scratch that, Star Wars is a huge part of my life.

My parents showed me the first one (Episode IV, which was Episode I back then) when I was…can’t remember how old. Young. I guess it would’ve been between 5 and 10, because we were in the apartment with the pink couch. (That’s how I organise my memories; they’re attached to where we were living at the time, seeing as we changed location every four years with one year intervals in the US. Conveniently, those single years corresponded to my multiples-of-five birthdays.) We didn’t get very far. Darth Vader stepped into the Rebel blockade runner, and I said my stomach hurt. It really did – I don’t know why. I guess I was scared. I was a very sensitive young boy. Haha. Something. We stopped it and that was that. Sometimes I thought I saw Vader’s outline in the darkness of my closet, so I always made sure the doors were closed before I got into bed.

Sometime after that I got a sticker book about Episode IV, the kind where you stick the stickers into the blanks to complete the story. My first Star Wars book…the first of many. I don’t remember really understanding the story but soon after that we tried the film again and made it all the way through.

I loved it – though I can’t remember my reaction to the films, a few things give evidence to the extent I was into the saga. First, I started collecting Star Wars action figures. There was a Toys R Us not too far from where we were living, and they had a whole shelf of them. I used to go there and just look at all of them. The first one I got was Luke Skywalker on a speeder bike, from Episode VI. Came with a green lightsaber, blaster, and removable brown rubber cloak. His knees even bent! That was the first of several. The next might’ve been Grand Moff Tarkin, or Boba Fett. Several years later I even received a cardboard fold-out diorama of the cantina from Episode IV. That was a treat. Even made little cardboard mugs and plates to go in it (yes, I was the type of kid who could get as much enjoyment out of the box something came in as the toy itself – I thank my parents).

Second, in early 1999, posters started appearing in the trains and train stations that I used for going to school. They pictured a desert, what looked like an igloo made out of sand – just like part of Luke’s house in Episode IV – a kid I didn’t recognise, and a shadow I very much recognised – Darth Vader. What was this??? I was intrigued, and very excited. A girl at school told me that another Star Wars movie was coming out. Dude.

IMDB tells me that Episode I came out July 16, 1999, and that was a summer we returned to the States, so I probably saw it in theatres there. Can’t remember. I was into it, though – people put down Episode I so much, and perhaps yes it wasn’t great as a movie, but I wasn’t watching them as movies. I was watching them as stories. Something massive was unfolding in a galaxy far far away; well, unfolded a long long time ago, and these movies were the only connection relating to me what had happened.

That is, until I discovered the books. Sometime during these years I started reading the stories that others wrote, which George Lucas approved. Taking place before the movies, after the movies, even between the movies – I devoured whatever I could get my hands on. By any means possible I was eager to enter into this other universe.

And enter in I did. I wasn’t content to merely consume, I had to be a part of it. And so at some point in all of this I began making up my own stories about my own character in this galaxy, interacting with the characters and plots from the books and films. At night before I drifted off to sleep, or even during the day when I didn’t have anything to focus on (or chose not to), I’d advance my own story in my mind. Sometimes I’d act it out with LEGO, or my action figures. But it all went on in my head, and if all the stories I played out were made into a TV show there would be enough content to fill at least several seasons. I still have those stories up in here, somewhere. I still know exactly where I left off, and every once in a while I revisit my personal saga. Kent Kenobi has been stuck in the hidden New Sith Order base for quite some now, however. Although…I just remembered I got him out of there a few days ago. He’s now in an escape pod headed who knows where.

This is the first time I’ve told anyone about this, come to think of it. People talk about vivid imagination, but is it normal to have such detailed storylines going on in one’s head, all alongside one’s real life? I did this with a bunch of things, though – Pokemon; Magic: The Gathering, when I got into that; Harry Potter, especially when the films came out (I mean, come on – who wouldn’t?). In fact, nearly any time I finished a movie or TV show or book that I really liked, I’d continue or expand the story with me inside it. Any of you do anything like this?

(It wasn’t a huge leap to go from that to making up stories about my actual life; for example, imagining that my day had gone differently. A favourite bedtime activity was taking a situation from the day and imagining how it could’ve gone if I’d said or done something else (something much cooler, of course) or playing out an upcoming situation in my mind (rife with things I would never do or say in real life, of course, and things others would never do or say). A few years ago I woke up, figuratively speaking, to the damage this was doing to me, because I was imagining and wishing for things that I would wouldn’t actually work to achieve, and shying away from taking risks in real life because I could just imagine a different life; escape to it, if you will. I was also reducing others to my conception of them, which was very shallow indeed, seeing as it was basically a projection of myself. But that’s a rumination for another post. In short, I didn’t need World of Warcraft or Dungeons and Dragons, I had my own mind. I have yet to kill off the habits I formed during those many, many years. )

I’m actually going to end this post on this low note simply because I don’t have much to say about the next day (this marathon took up half of it, after all), and this is getting long. Answer my question about imagination in a comment below, I’m really interested to hear about that.

Day 16: Forty-Two Hours

Like I said, I had a lot planned for Thursday. Didn’t mean for everything to get pushed up against the end like this, but after turning in my two essays to the undergraduate office that morning, I didn’t care, I was free. Normally I try not to put all my self-worth into a single task, but when that single task is part of what’s keeping me in this country, and I’d have to pay supposedly £100 for a late submission, things are a bit different.

I had a one-hour make-up lecture from the week cancelled due to snow, and then three more hours of regular lectures. All four were international relations. I’ve really liked both lecturers we’ve had for this module, and I recommend it to anyone who has the opportunity to study it anywhere. That’s my focus within Peace Studies at the moment, though I get the chance to change it before going in to second year. The extent of the goodness of next semester’s Conflict Resolution will largely determine whether I switch or not. However, I can’t deny that I struggled to keep my head up in it today. I soon slipped into the cycle of nod off, pry eyes open, listen, nod off…tried to break it with gum, but English stuff was just too weak. Used another precious Japanese piece, and that kept me up for a while.

Ultimately, though, the best antidote was walking in the brisk Bradford winter air, as we did when we went shopping between the first two hours and the second two. I was intent to make the most of my first day of weight-off-my-shoulders and managed to assemble the final ingredients for attempting my mum’s eggnog recipe, which I tried my hand at after finishing lectures at 5.

Oh, before I go on, I had a Peace Society meeting between morning and afternoon lectures as well, and though I’m sorry to say  our last meeting of this year was poorly attended and uninspired, through no fault of the members present, I did volunteer to make a “Peace Times” Peace Society Newspaper website. I’m thinking I’ll use WordPress, but do you guys have any ideas for this? I know most of you aren’t Peace Studies, but, you know, what would you wanna see in an online newspaper? I’m hoping to get a start on that this break.

Right. With the last lectures of my first semester finished, and finished with applause, which only our international relations lecturers received this year, I headed back to my flat for some Christmas-itising of my beverage choice.

For those of you who’ve never had eggnog, it’s fantastic, but I wouldn’t have been too quick to offer my concoction as your first sampling. I ran into a few problems, though not what I had originally worried about – getting the correct ingredients. I think it’s safe to say evaporated milk and dried milk are the same thing. But I didn’t have enough of certain ingredients! My vanilla flavouring, which is apparently one of the most expensive liquids in the world, was only 38 ml when I needed 45, and the dried milk was lacking about another cup. Furthermore, I had no electric mixer, so while I could do a decent number on the eggs, beating the milk powder into the water proved challenging. I never did get all the lumps out, and finished with a thick, lumpy, overwhelmingly richly sweet nog of egg.

Yes, the flavour was actually not bad. I devoured it over the weekend, sprinkling my proudly acquired ground nutmeg on it each time, and though I was sick of it by the end (tried to drink it too fast as our date for bussing to London approached) it was ever so worth it. With an electric mixer and proper proportions, I feel I could do a well good job.

After the eggnog I was hungry for supper so I succeeded in making what I’d call my best spaghetti yet. Sure, it was only store-bought bolognese sauce, but I added minced meat (not to be confused with mincemeat, though they are at times used interchangeably), chopped up hot dog wieners (not worthy of the same title ascribed to the varieties of sausage my German friends have allowed me to sample), and onions (nothing worth parenthetically asiding here except ow, my eyes), and it was good. Made enough for two meals, though the second half proved problematic to finish before leaving. I had more food at the end than I’d realised.

Before I knew it it was time to go meet the Christian Union for…ice skating! After several weeks of watching the uni hockey team battle it out on ice, I was eager to get back out there and see if I hadn’t completely lost any ability to stay upright. As it turned out, I had not, and it was immensely fun. Will certainly be going several more times next semester. I guess this winter will be one of ice skating rather than snowboarding, but that’s alright. Ice skating is one of those things that, while perhaps considered less-that-manly by some (there are those gender roles again), I’ve always wanted to be good at. One of the many things, I should say.

It cleared out shortly before the hockey team practice at 11:00 (I don’t envy their practice and game hours) so we basically had the place to ourselves to revel in our antics. The diving stomach-slide, however, did not pan out. That and the matching scratches and blisters from budget skates were the only negatives of that excursion.

Back to the campus! Some of the Union went…somewhere…but I returned to the university for the Peace Studies end-of-semester party (this is what I meant by busy day, two parties in one night, yeehaw, party animal and all that) By this time I’d all but forgotten about the previous night, or lack of it, and aimed to thoroughly enjoy myself. Unfortunately it was mostly master’s students (either they’re much more into socialising with fellow peace studiers or they recover from deadlines much more quickly) but we enjoyed the company and the candy- er, sweets, but that kills my alliteration. Saw some classmates drunk that are usually much more dignified, and some that aren’t, had the distinct pleasure of having grown up in Japan and witnessing two non-Asians discussing anime with more interest and knowledge than I could ever muster, and enjoyed the company of a high-class native Bradfordian. At least he exudes that aura (not to be confused with aurora, not that you ever would). Really just wanted to use the word ‘exude’. Say it.

But I can’t say anything about drunks, seeing as

• seventeen hours of sustained wakefulness leads to a decrease in performance equivalent to a blood alcohol-level of 0.05%. I was past double this by that point, which, according to Wikipedia, is a level consistent with blunted feelings, disinhibition, extroversion; loss of reasoning, depth perception, peripheral vision, and glare recovery. Me? Surely not!
• After five nights of partial sleep deprivation, three drinks will have the same effect on your body as six would when you’ve slept enough.

There’s some more sleep facts for ya. Clearly lack of sleep and alcohol are not a safe mix. Funny that it’s such a common mix.

Just when I thought the night was winding down, it wasn’t. Ended up having the most enthralling conversation of the semester, not a moment too soon. Talked for hours, and it all started with personality types. And so I’ll end my recount of this day with a brief discussion of labels.

I claim to hate labels. I’ve said that several times on this site. And yet I was challenged on this point today, because I use them on others and I use them on myself. My defence was that while labels describe what a person is, they can never fully grasp who a person is. And that’s true. But I’m guilty of stopping at that shallow label level, and worse, I’m guilty at stopping with the labels of my own judgements, not even the ones they stick on themselves. I don’t need to meet people to think I know all that I need to know about them. I don’t need to meet people to not like them.

I’m terribly judgemental but that doesn’t have to keep being me. I hope to one day outrun this, but know inside that it’ll take much more than running. While I believe I have grown more accepting of people and lifestyles (emphasis on style, not life), I’ve also grown more arrogant in presuming my first impressions of people be accurate and unchangeable, by them or by me. That’s flat out wrong. I guess I want you guys to know that I know it’s wrong, even though it’s how I am, right now.

So I’m guilty of using labels on others, and I’m also guilty of using them on myself. INTJ…MK…TCK…even the fact that they’re all acronyms reveals something. I use labels to distance myself from people, to say both overtly and implicitly that I’m different from you and you won’t be able to bridge that gap because you don’t even know what I am, unless I condescend to walk with mortals. And it’s justification in numbers: I’m different (read: better) and it’s not just me that thinks so, we’ve got a proper group thing going on that you’ll never be a part of.

While the whole what-I-am-not-who-I-am definition of labels still stands, I’m realising that I’m not as free from this as I thought. Labels are distance, and I use them just as much as the next guy, if not more, for my labels are cryptic and exclusive.

This was just a fraction of the mullings that conversation engendered, the conversation that marked forty-two hours of wakefulness. Sheesh. Considering bragging rights to be a poor reason to do anything – well, almost anything; things like roller coasters could be made a case for – I promptly went to bed at half past four.

Slept well into the double digits the following morning, it was glorious, though I usually hate doing that. Such a waste of daylight. Well worth it. Everything.