Of Jet-Eyes and Light Savers

Riley Scott
Jul 21, 2017 · 6 min read

As a child, whenever I’d get a new thing I’d have the same ritual. Be it a book, game, or toy, I’d spend most of my first evening just enjoying the having it in my hands. I would repackage toys after playing with them, just to savor the experience of opening it again. I would study both covers of a book, reading but barely processing the author bio. I’d even check under the dust jacket, just to see if there was anything cool stamped onto the book itself. This treasure hunt would actually lead to a period of popping open every jewel case I owned, just to see if someone planted a little Easter egg, just to reward my curiosity.

I often have trouble starting things. I was thinking about this the other day, as my copy of Final Fantasy XII sat unopened on my coffee table. This was a remake of a game that I haven’t been able to shut up about in over a decade. My girlfriend, a perpetual trooper, normally finds my goofy love letter-esque rants endearing, even so her eyes would start to glaze over every time I’d start to go off on some half remembered feature. Yet there it sat, untouched.

I tend to feel guilty about this, about spending money on a thing to not enjoy it. Is it some Freudian climax denial thing, like emotional dub-step? Am I incapable of appreciating things, and simply have an overwhelming desire to acquire? I’m sure you could deep dive on that little blue am-ray on my coffee table, and you’d probably find some interesting emotional truths, but honestly, it’s not my fault. It’s “Star Wars’”.

Like most children of the 90’s, “Star Wars” was huge for me. Being born after the films had been released, my exposure to the series was not as movies, but as an established pantheon of cool ships and space wizards. I still remember the very first time I saw a Star Wars film. I was at my friend Zach’s house, his mom was making us pizza sandwiches, and she asked if we wanted to watch what I heard as “Return of the Jet-Eye.” Honestly I was more excited for the pizza sandwiches, but as soon as she popped in the VHS, I was hooked. Having no previous context, I remember the movie being super confusing, but there was a robot hand, and a jetpack, and baller space teddy bears. I must have spent the next month worth of recess’ swinging an imaginary “Light-saver” around, I was all-in. “Star Wars” remained a thing I ‘just’ enjoyed for a few more years, It wasn’t until I learned about the books that I would go all-in.

I don’t remember where I started, there were two rows of shelf space at the store dedicated to “Star Wars,” which meant there were basically infinite “Star Wars” books. My parent’s tended to not find much use for toys or video games, but they were always more than willing to spoil me when it came to books. My aunt’s family used to own this giant bookstore, so every time we visited family I would get hooked up, but it didn’t stop there. My mom would take me to the library twice weekly, for “Star Wars” books. Every summer we’d go camping, and every couple of days they’d drive me to the nearest town and hunt down a bookstore for more “Star Wars” books.

I loved them all, especially the “Tales of…” series. Each book was a collection of short stories based around a scene from each film in the movies. The coolest thing about these books was that they offered additional context for many minor characters in the films. In “Tales from Jabba’s Palace” There is even a story dedicated to the that little frog monster seen in the external shot of the palace. Ultimately these books would amount to little more than fan fiction, but to me they were canon.

In a cruel twist, these same books would turn my love for the series into bitter resentment. The “Star Wars” books existed in what was known as the “Expanded Universe,” a polite way of saying that Lucasfilm reserved the right to blow up any piece of it at any time, should the need arise. The idea was to keep Lucasfilm from being beholden to any of these stories, but I was sure they’d never actually do it. In fact, there was an era that none of the books had ever touched on, the clone wars, because Lucas wanted it reserved in case he got the chance to make the prequel trilogy. It seemed likely these two things could co-exist, besides, I had spent too many allowances buying these books, my fandom was safe. And while Disney would eventually blow up the Expanded Universe, relabeling it “Star Wars Legends,” my brutal divorce from the series would come long before that point. God Damn Midi-chlorians, man.

The writing was on the wall, but it took a stupidly named Jedi talking to a stupid baby Vader about blood tests to really hammer it home. The “tales…” books mutated from invaluable context for all my favorite things to a desperate need to codify and market every diegetic element. I felt betrayed, I’ve had actual relationships with human beings end with less heartbreak than my split from the “Wars.” In a particularly melodramatic moment, I remember pushing an entire row of books off a shelf into a cardboard box waiting on the floor.

Like every breakup, after the tears and the rage comes reflection. The “Tales…” books had me believing that I couldn’t tolerate unanswered questions. Everything needed to be explained, and cliff hangers could not be tolerated. Anytime I would encounter an element in a story that was left unjustified or perfectly explained, I would lay in bed, sleepless and internally screaming at the mystery. After the breakup though, I came to appreciate that not only did I not mind, but I was actually kind of into ambiguity. Things can be cool just to be cool, Dengar the bounty hunter would still be an interesting character even if I never knew the name of his ship. (Punishing One)

Unfortunately, none of this explains my problem starting things. Why my favorite part of a movie is often that moment of nothing right before the opening credits. No, to better understand that, it would take another cultural touchstone of nerdom, “Magic: The Gathering.”

Addicts will tell you, it’s never as good as the first time. Let me tell you; they are absolutely right. The first time I bought Magic cards I stayed up all night. I couldn’t sleep even if I wanted to. It was a starter set, called “Portal,” and I spent the entire night pouring over the cards, absorbing every detail I could. I barely understood the rules, but each card had an awesome picture, and my mind warped trying to figure out how all this cool shit could exist in the same universe. Where did the “Craven Knight” come from, and who decided it could beat a Pegasus in a fight? It didn’t matter, it just was, and I fell in love with that. With time, the sense of wonder I felt when looking at the cards would fade, and eventually they would come to just be visual representations of mechanics, but to this day, every time I see a new game, I get a glimmer of that feeling.

It turns out that maybe I don’t actually have a problem starting things, I think I just really enjoy the potential of a new story, the journey to mastery and a new experience. I’m going to open that Final Fantasy game now, and I’m absolutely going to stay up way too late playing it, because my girlfriend is out of town and I don’t even have to pretend to have a bedtime, but I’m going to enjoy it just sitting there for a little while longer. Both for the nostalgia, but also because I never finished it the first time around, I wonder what surprises still wait for me on the back half of the game.

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Riley Scott

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Writer, Corgi owner, Anxiety Machine ///////////////////////// older stuff here- lame portfolio: https://bit.ly/2HHyAce Noise reviews: https://bit.ly/2t0ob64

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