I was 10 years old when Star Wars was released to theaters in 1977. I was thrilled, enchanted, and excited. Although the movie itself was great, I think what really, truly hooked me was the toys. Being able to play with the characters and ships from the movie was a big part of what pushed Star Wars from very cool movie to cultural phenomenon.

Then The Empire Strikes Back came out in 1980 (I was 13). More movie greatness and even more toys. The regular characters came with new costumes, and there were all new characters — my favorite being Boba Fett, which I had to order by sending in proofs of purchase from other toys. This movie not only built on what we had seen and learned about the Star Wars Universe in the first movie (which became known as Episode IV, A New Hope, instead of just Star Wars), but it ended with an obvious to-be-continued plot.

Then came the final movie, Return of the Jedi, in 1983 (I was 16). This was my favorite of the three movies — I loved the emotional battle between Luke and the Emperor and Darth Vader in the second Death Star’s throne room. Vader: “Sister! So, you have a twin sister. . . . If you will not turn to the dark side, then perhaps she will.”

Around this time (mid 80s) I read Splinter of the Mind’s Eye, the first non-movie Star Wars novel (published 1978), and the Han Solo Adventures trilogy of novels (published 1979). I was totally steeped in the Star Wars mythology. Through the 1990s I read another dozen of the then expanding list of Star Wars Universe novels: the Thrawn trilogy, the Black Fleet Crises trilogy, some of the X-Wing series, and a few more individual novels.

By the late 90s, I had watched or read pretty much everything there was to watch or read about Star Wars. I was not a fanatic about Star Wars, but I was a true fan. I wasn’t reading the books to keep up with the latest in the ST Universe, I just really liked the stories — they had some great authors. The fact that these great stories were continuing with the characters and universe and mythology that I’d originally come to love at age 10 was just icing on the cake.

But the number of new books coming out each following year was increasing faster than my ability or desire to read them all. But I was still very well versed in the core of the SW Universe. I loved talking about the stories, the characters, the technology, the mythology, and the little bits of trivia with other like-minded SW geeks.

Then, in 1999, the next Star Wars movie came out — a prequel to the first three movies. I was extremely excited. I was then working with a bunch of other Star Wars fans (well, 3 of the 6 of us) and we were all excited to see the movie.

To be continued. . .

Bullgrit

The recent rocket launch in North Korea and the resulting international stress over it made me think about how volatile the world seemed to me when I was 18 years old.

In 1980, Congress reinstated the requirement that all men 18-25 register with the Selective Service System -– “The Draft.” The 1980s were the height of the Cold War, when the two most powerful nations the world had ever known had thousands of thermonuclear missiles aimed at each other. I turned 18 in the summer of 1985, and for a while, to me, every international incident reported in the news seemed a prelude to global war.

I remember receiving a phone call –- which I took on the kitchen wall phone with the 10-foot curly cord –- where some government official reminded me that I had to register within so many months of my coming birthday. For a few years, there had been television commercials reminding everyone of their duty to sign up. Before I turned 18, those commercials were just a normal feature of TV -– like the PSAs nowadays about reckless driving.

Then I turned 18. Suddenly, the realization that I had to sign up for The Draft became unnerving. There was always some international military incident in the news. In the grand scheme of the world, these incidents were minor things, but to a young man due to sign up for The Draft, they were scary warnings that the world was not safe and one could be conscripted into the army and sent to war.

The military and war were terrible things in the general 1980s cultural consciousness. The last war America had been in was the Vietnam War, and most movies and tales about that conflict were very negative with scenes of bloody Hell. And to top off the fear of war, it was believed that the next war would be a nuclear holocaust. So, you see, signing up for The Draft was no light-hearted act. To an 18 year old in the mid 80s, there was real fear of The Draft being enacted, tomorrow!. I remember being really nervous for a few days before turning 18, and for a few days after.

I went to the post office with one of my best friends (he was 17) to fill out the form for the Selective Service. We stood in the hallway of post office boxes while I wrote my information. My friend was normally a very “laugh at anything” kind of guy (as was I, generally), but even he asked me how did it feel.

“I’m nervous,” I said.

“Yeah, I bet,” he said. “I’m not the one signing the form, but it feels weird.”

It was all totally teenage self-centered angst –- the world revolves around me, everything that happens directly affects me. The intermittent nervousness lasted about a week in all, and when the world didn’t explode soon and I didn’t get called to the army quickly, my teenaged mind went back to the normal distractions: friends, girls, and games (not necessarily in that order).

But it was an interesting, if short, feeling of dread that I’ve often wondered if other 18 year old guys felt. Maybe I was just hyper-prone to worry? General cultural ideas about war and the military has changed since we banished the Vietnam War bogey man from our national consciousness. Maybe guys don’t fear war as Hell now, as many did then.

Bullgrit

Some things from the mind & mouth of Calfgrit4:

“Mommy, guess what this dinosaur eats. Blood!”

“How did God make himself?”

“Good guys rule. Bad guys fart.”

“Can I go outside and check on my pet worm?”

“I’m starving! I’m very hungry. No, I don’t want apples, I want crackers. I want crackers ’cause I’m very hungry.”

Bullgrit

While I was getting my hair cut the other day, I overheard a conversation between the hair cutter (female barber? men’s stylist?) at the next chair and the customer in her chair. The customer, a man, was explaining the different results from breastfeeding babies and formula feeding.

His wife breastfeeds their baby, but another mother feeds her baby formula. Both babes were 6 weeks old. Snippets of the tale:

“The other baby had to be 3 times as big as ours.”
. . .
“Their baby was like 22 pounds.”
. . .
“Ours is 11 pounds, there’s had to be 15 or 16 pounds.”

Such conversations drive me crazy. I can’t talk to someone who makes these kinds of wild exaggerations, and then keeps changing the “facts” of the information. Fortunately I wasn’t in that conversation, but I’ve been in others with a similar pattern.

I like to converse to exchange information and learn new things. I can’t stand when the person on the other end of a conversation is just talking out their butt. Saying ridiculous things, offering exaggerated “facts,” and generally just confusing the hell out of the information exchange.

Hearing the conversation at the barber shop, I wanted to shout at the man, “Get your facts straight or shut the hell up!” His ridiculous and changing facts were killing my brain cells. I felt myself getting dumber just breathing the same air.

I have little [read: no] patience with people spouting off incorrect “facts,” stupid and confusing statements, and generally less than useless information as true.

I mean, everyone should know that babies on breast milk can walk at 6 months, and talk at 9 months. Babies on formula become diabetic and alcoholics by 12 months.

Bullgrit