I Mean No Disrespect

It has been over five years since I last blogged. I stopped to write a book. No one wants that effort. I stopped to write a dissertation. Several people felt that not only was that an exercise in futility, but not much of an effort until the sixty-first rewrite. In the meantime, my creative writing has been limited to editing said book in the hopes I’ve become a better story teller. Also, one piece a Facebook friend asked me to pen concerning my choices for most life altering music albums. As far as I know, she has never read it to this point. Academic writings have dominated my existence for quite some time now. Today that changes. Needless to say, there has not been a shortage of topics that should have ignited the embers of creativity for me to opine about. Aside from the seemingly endless hatefest that spawned a term (post-factual) to describe the exploitation of ignorance so prevalent within our society today; you may know it as the presidential campaign, there has been an endless stream of mind-numbing behavioral diarrhea to have filled my weekly fifteen-hundred word outpouring of thought for those lost seven years. Two topics I broached with a modicum of effort on Facebook. The result produced was, not surprisingly, an Us vs. Them debate littered with the usual personal attacks. Several of my friends said I got sides talking. I say if my Op-Ed were truly that thought provoking instead of inflammatory, I would have had regret about giving up on my often times non-PC profanity laced blog. I had none. I have noticed over the past seven years that everyone fancies themselves a writer. Good for them. They write their blogs, they have their followers, they garner some semblance of notoriety. I find many to be horseshit, both in content and writing ability. But that’s my opinion, emphasis on the word opinion. Those that swear by these so-called bloggers as gifted writers, that’s their opinion, and they’re entitled to them, as lame as I find them to be. So again I venture into the world where everyone is a critic armed with their opinions of my horseshit. If the response I received from my first three years of writing efforts with at best poor editing is any indication, no one is going to care about what I have to say anyway. So, there is very little risk involved as I trudge to regain what little creative writing skill I once had. It came as a surprise really what motivated me to blog about something so innocuous when there are such bigger issues I could have addressed. You know, with the breadth and scope of the knowledge base I now possess after garnering a Ph.D. There’s that horseshit thing already. I’m coming to believe it truly does stand for “piled higher and deeper.” As many of you are aware, and possibly even sitting Shiva, holding memorials, attending candlelight vigils, the passing of Carrie Fisher. You know her, the one who played Princess Leia in so many Stars Wars films. I say so many, because that’s what I’m guessing. You see, I’ve never seen Star Wars. There I’ve said it. I can hear the moans and groans from here in sunny South Florida, though a dark cloud is beginning to form over my home. I bet many of you are even cringing. Some of you are shouting, “Blaspheme! How dare you refer to yourself as a nerd. You are forever banished from Nerdom.” That was the response, or things similar, whenever I’ve admitted to not seeing Star Wars. Or any sequel. Or any prequel. Or any other configuration of the never ending movie franchise. Most of the world has. At least that’s what I surmise. It’s almost like a Christian who has read the bible, except I know for a fact that many haven’t due to the lack of knowledge they hold about the plotlines. Not so for Warries, if that is the term they use to describe themselves. Kinda of like Star Trek aficionados are called Trekkies, but maybe not. My avoidance began long, long ago in a galaxy far away. Sorry, I couldn’t resist. My evasion was harmless enough in 1977, the year of the original Star Wars release. I saw many movies that year. Star Wars just happened to not be one of them. I saw Annie Hall. I saw Smokey and the Bandit. I saw Eraserhead. I saw High Anxiety. I saw Kentucky Fried Movie, and many more of exceedingly less significance. I didn’t see Star Wars. I couldn’t get a date, and I didn’t consider it worthy of attending alone. I was twenty. I had seen 2001: A Space Odyssey. That was the first “space” movie to receive as much hoopla as Star Wars garnered. I saw 2001 later in life while on acid as was recommended. Way cool. My head probably would have exploded had I chose to see Stars Wars in the same condition. I read Milton’s Paradise Lost. I mention that because of the comparisons made back then concerning both were stories of good versus evil. I heard about the tremendous special effects. I just couldn’t see a reason to go see Star Wars alone. The blowback was swift and biting. “WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU HAVEN’T SEEN STAR WARS YET?!” I got that a lot. Especially in the “How dare you” tone. I thought once word spread throughout the county, an angry mob would come to my home to stone me for such a heinous offense. I immediately took the “who are you to judge” stance. Now it became a mission. I would never see Star Wars. Particularly since everyone’s panties were in such a bunch over the concept. I wore it as a badge of honor. Then came more Star Wars movies. I didn’t see those either. Because how could you see ones that followed if you haven’t seen the first? With every new release I endured the derision with exponentially greater aplomb. There was a lull between 1983 and 1999 where no episode was released. Sometimes people would bring up the movie in conversation. I would boldly declare I had never seen any of the Star Wars movies. I was given a look as if my fly was down, or I had a spot of gravy on my shirt. In my mind I gave them all the bird. Between 1999 and 2005, three more Star Wars movies were released. In 2003, I began my time at Florida Atlantic University. By now I am officially a nerd. I consistently get “A’s” on most of my work and exams. I hang with nerds. Nerds are my friends. My nerd friends have seen every Star Wars movie to date multiple times. I am a nerd on the periphery. The disdain begins anew. I try to explain my reasons for such a transgression. There is little sympathy to be found. My resolve becomes even more firmly grounded than ever. By the time I refuse to see the 2005 release I am an iconoclast among nerds. I am respected for my steadfastness, though I am the butt of several nerd jokes, which I laugh at wholeheartedly. My self-assuredness is high. I am comfortable in my own skin. My nerd friends admire my own nerd conviction. Many conversations in the following decade are had over my, what is now considered a quirk. It brings more laughter than ridicule. Which brings us to today. Carrie Fisher’s passing causes barely a ripple. As I watched the overblown (to me) news coverage, I was able to reminisce a bit. I recall her performance in Shampoo. It reminded me of a showcase I had done during my acting days; I in the Warren Beatty role as hard as that may be for some of you to believe. I was disappointed they did not mention my favorite Carrie Fisher role. That of John Belushi’s jilted girlfriend in The Blues Brothers. I saw Postcards from the Edge. I was reminded of the messed up lives kids of celebrities often have. I read of her struggles and the admirable way she dealt with them. I liked how self-effacing she was. To those who rank her departure on the same level as that of David Bowie, my condolences. When my day comes to travel to the other side, I am getting cremated. I don’t want some smartass to have my tombstone engraved with the pejorative, “He never saw Star Wars” to sum up my existence on the planet. I may be here every Wednesday once again.