Tuesday, September 12, 2006

Steady, Dack. Attack pattern delta. Go now!

Welcome back, me. Away to emergency plane rides and dank dungeons, home to delicious Galileo sammiches and destroyed treasures. Seriously, how is it possible to break that thing? It weighed much. The only thing I could compare it too would be someone being able to crush a bowling ball in their hands (or paws).

Anyblay, the G already mentioned the wedding trip last weekend to the cadet-filled hills of Lexington, VA and several of her personal story favs. Mine was the conversation with the 29-year-old groom’s new, LA residing, 14-year-old stepson:

Me: Did you have fun here in Virginia?
Disgruntled Youth: It’s okay. But this town isn’t very fun. There aren’t any arcades or bowling alleys.
Me (Hilarious adult): I think there are some nice boutiques downtown.
Future of Amurrca: I don’t know what that is.

I think it’s adorable that the shaggy, red-dyed young man thinks arcades and bowling alleys are where it’s at. Kids that age should be stealing PIN numbers with that red headed kid from Diff'rent Strokes and fleeing the robotic Governor on motorbike through the dried culverts of the Los Angeles River.


I assume the bug that lost his or her life here on the windshield on our way back from the wedding did so after pushing a smaller bug on a tricycle out of the way. As I stared at this windshield fluid-impervious smear for the entire 180 mile return trip I recalled a part of my childhood that I assume was universal to all 10 year old boys but now appears to be based on me being crazy.

My TESB snowspeeder was missing its harpoon and one canon shortly after it came into my possession. But one thing it did have was the smeared blood of Luke’s gunner smeared on the back canopy glass. Or that’s what my friend and I assumed based on the slight red imperfection in the plastic toy window. It could only really be seen if you stuck your finger past the seats and pressed the window, our pasty white nerd skin providing a good contrast. Our belief was that the snowspeeder was a replica of the moment in the movie after Dacks was killed but before it was crushed.

That’s what I was thinking about when this insect splattered almost in my face. I’d write on a ‘blog,’ “Hey fellas! This dead bug is just like that toy we had when we were kids. Wasn’t being a kid awesome? Doesn’t this define our male generation or something, something bloggingly inane?”

But it turns out there is no record of this red defect occurring on any one else’s snowspeeder. The internets has plenty of instruction about how to build your own speeder out of Legos, paper, or even life sized. (They should have sold car kits in the 80s were you could trick out your Fiero to look like a snowspeeder). But there’s nothing on the backseat blood. Not even on the sites that sell spare toy parts.

Where does that leave me? First, I’m the idiot who tried to use the micro function on his camera to take a picture of a dead bug while driving 70mph. Second, I’m about to buy a crappy 5 dollar vintage snowspeeder on Ebay to prove to myself that I am not a nutter.

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