Archive for May, 2002

On Star Wars. (This is pretty long.)

First off, now that the lovely-but-flawed Brunchers have once again established that the Self-MadeCritic, well, sucks, I think I can safely say that I’m writing the last review of “Attack ofthe (Let’s Try To Find Something That Rhymes With Clones!)” on the whole entire internet. Unlessthey have it in Australia or something.

None of the Star Wars movies have been critical successes, because none of them have been made forcritics. To expect them to start being so now is deeply stupid. I like movies made for critics; Ilike them, generally, more than I like movies made for the lowest common denominator. But theEpisodes are not Pay It Forward or Gosford Park and can’t be judged by those standards.

They’re adventure movies. They’re made for the same twelve-year-old imagination George Lucas made ANew Hope for, not the same specific twelve-year-olds who have since become thirty-five andwhiny.

Lucas DOES know what he’s doing as a director; what most people perceive as “wooden” acting is, ashe’s repeatedly stated, a very specific style of early-twentieth-century high drama. No, it’s notto everybody’s taste. Would you rather Anakin and company be snowboarding and shouting “Whoa, thatwas FLY?” Would you rather have bullet time? The movies look old-fashioned because old-fashionedlasts better.

In thirty years, people will still be watching Star Wars movies, still picking out cameos, stillwriting about them and their status as flagships of the genre. Meanwhile, Swordfish will pop upin Films That TimeForgot.

You will (or have) enjoyed Episode II exactly as much as you (did) want to. Everyone who says “Oh,I wanted it to be good BUT…” is lying. They wanted to bitch and moan, and in theirdetermination to do so, managed to miss out on a beautiful, lovingly crafted, excitingmovie.



And now, my Grand All-Encompassing Star Wars Conspiracy Theory. (If you are a girl, and you haveever thought I was attractive, please stop reading now.)

The whole prophecy is a lie. Or rather, a misperception.

One of the last Sith Lords before Sidious saw that he (she?) and his kind were on their way out.The Republic was strong; the Jedi were stronger; the Sith were going to be exterminated, at leastfor a while. This conjectural Sith created the prophecy, or planted it, knowing that the Jedi wouldassume it was for them–and knowing that, whenever another Jedi turned to the Dark Side and startedfiguring out secrets, he would understand what it really meant.

To the oblivious Jedi, a prophecy of “bringing balance to the Force” meant peace and harmony. Toany right-minded Sith, such a prophecy would mean restoring their kind and the Jedi to equalpower.

So Palpatine is an extraordinarily gifted youngster–so gifted, in fact, that when he gets to knowa little about the Jedi, he decides he doesn’t want to be one of them and manages to hide hisextraordinary gift. (This is only about half conjecture–something like this HAD to happen.) Hestarts using it to do terrible nasty things, does his extraordinarily gifted homework, and startsdiscovering Sith secrets. At some point, he discovers or is told of the prophecy and perceives itexactly as was intended.

Right around then–say, age twenty–he starts planning how he’s going to become Emperor. He knowsthe Jedi will follow the prophecy blindly. He knows the prophecy requires an immaculate conception.To a man with powerful mind-control abilities, the next step is obvious.

Young Palpatine, Senator in Training, does a lot of traveling. Wherever he stops, he finds youngfertile women, has sex with them sans protection, and then wipes their minds of the whole thing. Atleast one of them gets pregnant–a pretty slave named Shmi Skywalker.

When senatorial responsibilities start to slow things down, he turns his attention to the TradeFederation, creating the conflicts that will set him up in prime dictatorship position. He trainsMaul, and later Tyrannus, sure. Just like the Trade Federation, they look dangerous, but they’resmoke screens for the real threat. Palpatine is waiting for the Jedi to find and train hisson.

They do. He encourages the training, adding in his own flattery, knowing that no son of his will beable to resist the lure of power for long. He has Tyrannus comission the clone army and wipe thewhole planet from the Archives, begins establishing control of the Senate, and uses his power tocloud the prediction powers of the Jedi.

He knows that soon enough, he’ll be dictator. He’ll use the supression of the separatists / rebelsas a focus to pull an Empire together around himself. He’ll destroy the Jedi, with a little helpfrom his Dark Side apprentice, as soon as he’s turned.

“Anakin,” he’ll cackle, “I am your father.”

The driving conflict of the Star Wars movies has, since the beginning, been one of corruption–ofthe son, by the father. This is just one more link in that chain. (No, he and Amidala aren’t twins.Don’t be gross.) Obi-Wan, father surrogate, is replaced by Palpatine, father in fact. Obi-Wancompletes that separation by throwing his apprentice in a pit of molten metal, or whatever, andAnakin goes in, and Darth Vader comes out.

The Jedi die. The Empire starts winning. Palpatine seems to have accounted for everything. Hehasn’t.

Jedi don’t generally deal in common sense–one more thing Palpatine counted on in his rise topower. But there is one Jedi who has some of it, and who understands human nature even though he’snot human.

The one part of Clones that gave me trouble with suspension of disbelief (well, besides thenonexistent Anakin-Amidala age gap) was the assignment of a tempermental, repressed young man toguard a beautiful young woman, alone. Anyone who’s ever read a book or seen a movie would know whatwas coming next–you put those two alone together and they’ll be bonking nasties before the week isout. Wouldn’t ANYONE think that Anakin might feel a LITTLE tempted?

Not if the suggestion came from Yoda. I mean, that guy knows everything. If Master Yoda saysthe kid is good to go, he has to be!

The thing is, Yoda knows what’s going to happen. By the second hour of Clones, he’s put two and twotogether and has assumed that Anakin will turn to the dark. And so, unable to trust his sight intothe future, he puts his trust in biology instead.

He puts the kids together and expects babies–Force babies, whom he’ll be able to train someday tofight the growing power of the Dark Side. He’s right. And what the Jedi and the Rebellion get,eventually, is A New Hope.



I don’t really think GL will have written anything like this, but I DO think there will besurprises in Episode III–in which case anything I put here that’s right, no matter how much iswrong, will make me look like a genius. Meanwhile, it’s fun to work out with other geeks, anddangit, it FITS.

Also I used to write fanfic, but this looks smarter.

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New euphemism For NFD Use Only (in addition to A and B): Summer. I talked to her for maybe the last time tonight, gave her thestupid mix CD I made, watched her dance out the door. There was a time, I think, when she wouldhave been the one sorry to see me say goodbye; tonight that was reversed, and that’s entirely myfault, but that’s okay. Given the choice, I’d rather be sad myself than watch someone elsehurt.

(Most of the people who talk to me regularly know who I’m talking about anyway. So why Summer? Two songs.Take your pick.)

My mp3 collection is and has always been fairly bloated, but not because of downloading. Sure, Ipirated my fair share, back before the Coming of the Firewall. Mostly, though, I use WinAmp as akind of über-jukebox for shuffling through the best parts of my CD collection. I went throughand cleaned it up back in February, trying (failing) to limit myself to three songs per album; thatgot me down to a gig and a half, though I’ve added a few since then. My playlist right now standsat 484 entries with a total running time of 29 hours, 38 minutes.

Jon moved out Tuesday, and the room gets boring when it’s quiet. So as during the redesign, I’ve had music playingmore or less continually for the past couple of days, and once again I think I’ve managed to gothrough said entire playlist. It’s very different music than it would have been when I got toschool last fall, and that’s a little strange to think about. This year hasn’t… well, in a way itdoes seem longer than sophomore year. But in a way it seems like we just got into Bingham.

Even so, now that I’m packing and boxing and taking down posters, it’s hard to imagine not livinghere. Bingham 212 feels more like home than home. That’s not really a bad thing–it’s just thatRichmond is usually a place where I crash on the way to other things, and this room is where I comewhen I want to sleep or play or feel comforted. Now I’m deconstructing it (and finding afrightening number of insects), and that’s all going to change tomorrow evening.

I’ll be too busy this summer to get homesick, I’m sure–besides GSP, I’ve got my first pro designjob to do, and the full automation of this journal, and maybe some redesign work on the rest of thesite. Plus I want to turn part of my desk into a light box. I won’t lack for occupation.

Even so. Even with one working shower and screaming fights next door and a horrible, evil janitorand an elevator that smells like pee, I’m going to miss this place.

but this is where weused to live

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Sherriff Candidates Shot in Kentucky

Read the whole article for a pretty good summary of election season this year. This isn’t exactlythe first time it’s happened. “Welcome to Kentucky, where WE SHOOT EVERYONE.”

In the interest of not making this a blog, I should really have personal information in this entrytoo. How about this: Jon! How dare you try to look at my site with Netscape 3! I gotsmy eye on you, buster.

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whore.

The most blatant one I’ve seen yet (the random letters at the end really convinced me it wasauthentic!), and I get a LOT of these. Mysterious, as there’s no history of hair loss in my family.Not that spam is exactly well-targeted–I used to get EHNANCE YOUR BREST SIZE too.

I... wow.

“I’ve got it, guys! Vague, mundane porn!

Real Life Chat Logs! Screen Names Changed To Protect… Something!

kim log excerpt

Funny girl. Not as exciting as this one, though.

ken log excerpt

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This is my one hundredth journal entry.

I’ve got more standard journal stuff to go up here soon–junk mail caps, chat logs, Star Wars, howmuch Michael Stipe knew about September 11th. The funny bits. I have laughed more than I expectedin the past few days, but I’m not quite ready for the funny bits here yet.

My one hundredth journal entry goes up twenty-four hours I had my last exams and my roommates movedout. I’d say that I planned it this way, except I didn’t, and it’d be stupid if I did. It’s alsoless than twelve hours since Alycia’s funeral. It just kind of happened. And lately I’m learning totrust things that just happen–or trying to learn, anyway.

During the second performance of Richard III this year, in the scene where I was supposed tostumble backwards and trip over a chair, I managed to get said chair caught between my legs and myrobe. I kept trying to step over or around it, and in the course of a few seconds I beat my shinsup pretty severely. The tripping did stop, but not until I found my balance and stopped trying toget away from it. I still have the bruises.

This journal is still called “not falling down,” and that’s still what I’m trying to do. I’m hopingthat maybe if I can learn to stop getting away from it, the falling down will just kind ofnot happen.

This is my one hundredth journal entry, and tomorrow or the day after, I’ll write my one hundredand first.

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Picnic at a pond, and today’s the first time the sun has been out for weeks. The water was so cold I could barelybreathe. I went in, and got out, and I went in again, because it was so cold, and because it’s so good to bealive.

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I don’t really guess I’m qualified for this. But sometimes you have to write, and sometimes you have to speak for thedead.

I was in love with Alycia Smith for a long time. She knew it, and she teased me about it, and then she was in love withme for a while but nothing ever came of it except friendship, because that’s how things like that work out most of thetime. We stopped talking as much after I graduated–I came here to Centre, and a year later she went to U of L. We saweach other at church sometimes, on weekends home.

Maybe a couple months ago, she IMed me again out of nowhere, and we talked and it was sweet and beautiful and we werestarting to get to be good friends again. I missed talking to her in real life. I was looking forward to this summer,and maybe seeing her again.

You know this is coming by now, I guess. She drove over the median sometime yesterday, or last night, and ran head-oninto another car. She, her boyfriend in the passenger seat and the other driver were all killed.

Alycia would hate reading this. She was a much better writer than me, and she wouldn’t stand for this kind of cliche.Especially the part where I tell you that it’s sitting on my brain now, like I think I’m going to wake up; where I tellyou that she was alive, more alive than anyone; where I tell you that she of all people…

She lived a little outside the lines. She smoked a lot of pot; she could very well have been high yesterday, maybedrunk, maybe both. She wrote brilliant sad stuff that yes, was amateurish, but showed every sign of blossoming intoreal brilliant mature poetry and fiction. She drew pictures with the touchpad on her laptop. She had sex with morepeople than are usually in one bed at the same time.

She had beautiful long black hair that she cut to a bob after high school. I asked her to mail me a lock when I foundout she’d gotten rid of it all, and she promised she would. She never did. She loved manga and black and Poe and girlsand boys and English. She sent me a bunch of naked pictures of herself the other day, half as a joke. She’s beautifulin every one of them.

She beat me out of a spot in the Governor’s School for the Arts once, and I was a little disappointed but mostly proud.I went to GSP instead of GSA, and we left around the same time, and while she was gone she started writing meletters–stories and jokes and cartoons and brilliance. I got them all in a box from my mom one day, and I sat in thelibrary and read through them and could barely believe that people like her existed. That was four years ago, less onemonth.

Alycia didn’t really want to get old. I always hoped her life would outlast her lifestyle. It didn’t, and now thepeople who loved her have only who she was to love, and not who she would have been. I wish it were enough.

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Hookorcrook.com is not taken; byhookorbycrook is, unfortunately, and there’s of course nothing there. Anybody whosquats on a domain name and a) points it to some popup-ridden, cheapass “portal” or b) doesn’t even bother to point itanywhere should be taken out in the street and shot. Fuck the registrar, and fuck register.com.

(Mom: that wasn’t the part I wanted you to read exactly. More the picture. Please sit down.)

Exams happening, haven’t had a chance to see Clones yet, blah blah blah I won’t care in a month. I’m not in much of a mood, as two of the mostbeautiful people I know are leaving my school for other schools this week. I’ll have a hard time not remembering Anna;I wish I had more memories to remember of Summer. I wish anyone but me had tried to convince her to stay. I wish anyoneelse had really wanted her to.

But!

not really a junk cap per se

I love the Post dearly, but I think they need geography lessons.

this is though

I think this is a koan.

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Incidentally.

Between 12:01 am Monday and 11:59 Tuesday, I:

  • attended the last four classes of my junior year.

  • put together, along with the infamous David “DC” Clark, the very first Very Short Short Play Extravaganza fromscratch.
  • which included two performances of this old thing by yet another
    beautiful and perfect cast.

  • wrote a comp sci project in rather a stunning 4.5 hours.
  • did a toon.
  • spent 2.5 hours getting my head fried (see above).
  • slew Krugs by the dozen.
  • watched a movie that was exactly as good as it wassupposed to be (read: pretty damn good).
  • slept, for the first time since about March, in.

Sometimes I think maybe I steal hours from summer for days like those.

I may be numberless, I may beinnocent
I may know many things, I may be ignorant

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The first time I kissed her it was magic, real honest to God magic: starlight, and streetlight, and trees shaking theirleftover rain down on us. Everyone on campus disappeared, and every car in the city stopped, and there wasn’t a soundexcept a little wind and the silver of her laugh.

There’s a wonderful little book I have called Rats Saw God. Everyone who was ever in high school should read it. It’sabout relationships, and people, and love and being kids; one of the most resonant lines in it, for me, was “why ruinsomething so perfect by trying to make it last forever?”

The first time that question appears, it’s being asked of the protagonist; the second time, he’s asking it himself. Ialways thought I’d understand it if I had the chance. I think tonight I did.

Magic doesn’t last forever; it doesn’t last, period. I get that now. I’m glad I do. I’m glad I just had the only goodbreakup I’ve ever had, and that it wasn’t really a breakup at all, just an understanding.

I’m going to miss Emily a lot this summer, but that just means it’ll be even better when I see her again in the fall.And after all, why ruin something so perfect by trying to make it last forever?

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