PSTL 1368, Literatures of the World: International Perspectives

18 May, 2005

Back in the day, years before it would implode under the weight of its meth-head owner's extensive abuse of the company bank accounts, Shinders was in the habit of sponsoring and hosting events that at least marginally involved a certain segment of the population who tended to patronize one of its thirteen locations in search of precious goods.

No, not dirty old men looking for porn!

Geeks, of course! Looking for comic books. Or role-playing games. Or card games. Etc.

One of these events involved the midnight release of a movie that would finally, after just shy of thirty years, bring to a close the story of one Anakin Skywalker; illucidating his transformation from a terrible child-actor/mechanical genius to a black-clad, heavy-breathing right hand of the emperor (and eventual savior of the Republic).

This movie was called Episode III: Revenge of the Sith.

As one of the members of the mostly unofficial 'event-team', I was offered the opportunity to don the guise of Anakin's alter ego: Darth Vader. Given my well-established propensity to wear garish outfits in a ploy for attention, the fact that I accepted this chance should not be surprising. A costume rental of this magnitude set Shinders back no less than $120 for one 24-hour period, and I was positively thrilled to serve as the face of the Dark Side for this particular venture (Jake, another member of the oh-so-exclusive 'event team' was chosen to be Chewbacca, the [debatable] emissary of the Light Side).

On the eve of the night in question, I painstakingly fastened and configured the many layers and pieces to my costume, giddy to be getting paid to do something I would have gladly done for free!

Over the course of the evening I helped judge the costume contest, played DDR against my hairy companion to the cheers and laughter of the many people attending the festivities, and basically relished in my role as silent (the voice modulator part of the outfit was cumbersome and prone to malfunction, so I discarded it early on) photo companion.

On one such occasion, a gaggle of virile young ladies approached me and demanded I pose with them. All too eager to comply, I did my duty and suffered their many hands wrapped around my cape and belt. For the sake of the photo.

After an acceptable portrait configuration had been captured, their excited chatter turned to another topic: just who was that mysterious stranger under the mask?

I blushed (though they didn't see this) and insisted that my visage must remain hidden to preserve the overall mood, the reality of the fantasy.

They giggled. And then put their feminine wiles into overdrive, urging me to allow them just a peek under the hood.

I was helpless to resist.

With great trepidation, I slowly removed the hard plastic helmet and face mask. My hair was matted down with sweat. My admittedly oily face lit up with a smile.

They frowned.

"Oh," one of them huffed.

Without another word they turned toward each other in a huddle, cutting me off from the circle of conversation and making it crystal clear that I was no longer welcome among them.

I hung my head, and then walked away solemnly.

I made sure to keep my mask on the rest of the night, disregarding the countless requests for its removal.

Later, I fell asleep in the movie.

Content!

There is a certain class of edible substances that, when subjected to intense heat, tend to retain their temperatures for deceptively long periods of time while then drastically cooling down in the blink of an eye. This phenomenon causes those who brave the tumultuous realms of preparing these foodstuffs to—in the case of the former—burn the roof of their mouth and possibly look ridiculous spitting bits of near boiling, half-chewed mush all over themselves, and/or—as in the latter situation—be forced to eat a luke-warm sludge whose taste somehow is only a shadow of its potential (if it were to be consumed in that precarious threshold between too hot and too cold), or, far more masochistically, heat it up and begin the cycle once more.

Some items that fall into this category:
- oatmeal
- hot chocolate
- cheap frozen pizza (more specifically, cheap frozen pizza sauce)
- Hot Pockets
- lasagna

Strangely enough, most of these things are essential to my diet, leading me to believe that I'm either a) an impatient idiot who can't determine when food is safe to eat, or b) into self-inflicted pain.

I guess maybe it's both.