True Love Never Dies...Or Something About The Force Being With Me

When I was a kid, my ideal day would have been pitching a blanket fort in front of the TV, watching a nonstop movie marathon and dumping my giant bin of Legos on the floor and building to my heart's content.

To be honest, that would still be a pretty ideal day for Adult-Kelly. The only difference is, I'd probably do all of this in jeans and t-shirt. Back in the day, I was a little bit fancier - or at least had more time to do movie-binge-preparations. So, rather than going with a run of the mill outfit, I would dress up in the manner of the characters I was watching.

It didn't matter what genre of movie. I dressed up like Zorro. I dressed up like a Mighty Duck. I dressed up like Eliza Doolittle.

There's a reason I work at a theater and spend my free time creating fictional words and people.

But while all of my beloved childhood films still hold a special place in my heart, there has never been any that has rivaled my affection for the original Star Wars trilogy. My parents took me to see the re-release in 1997. I was eleven years old and within minutes of the credits I had given my heart over completely.

I went home, searched through dozens of VHS tapes until I found ones on which my family had recorded the movies when they'd been on TV. I couldn't wait for Empire and Jedi on the big screen - though I would of course see them there - I had to watch them immediately. Even if it meant spending hours fast forwarding tapes until I could find them.

I read every Extended Universe novel I could get my hands on. My parents started assuming that any time I said their name it was going to end in a request to be taken to the closest book store or Blockbuster. I skipped school when Episode I came out a couple years later.

Over time there were things in books and/or films that took the story in directions that I wasn't a huge fan of, but not even that could shake my love for these stories.

Today the trailer for the newest installment has been released and I can already feel myself getting lost in the wonderful quicksand of repeat viewings.

Now, I can't say from this teaser what this movie will bring. If it will be everything that I want it to be. But I do know that when I watch it, I feel like that little girl who watched Empire on loop for a full sunny August day, despite her father's requests that she at least take a fifteen minute break for some fresh air. Whose mother came home after work to find her standing in the living dressed in her best Leia on Hoth costume, because that was the natural choice when watching Empire. Who thought it was necessary to memorize the serial number on the Millennium Falcon's main engine block....you know, because. Who felt like everything was magic when she heard the first few chords of the well-known score. Who decided a notebook like this was necessary.

The little girl who dreamt of being a princess who kicked ass.

And that just gives me one more reason to be excited about next Christmas.

My mother was surprised to come home
to this, but not so surprised she didn't
grab a camera. 

And maybe to practice my hair braiding....just in case.

What Do You Want To Be When You Grow Up?

From pretty much the moment we can formulate an answer, we are asked this question. For some people, this answer never changes – they know what they want to be from day one. And it is impressive. For the rest of us, the answer can be fairly fluid. This week I’m taking a look back at some of my earlier aspirations.

Thanks to all the school work my parents have held on to over the years, I know one thing for sure:

I had a lot of plans when I was a kid.

When I was in pre-school, the teacher handed out a sheet of paper with this timeless question written across the top and we were supposed to draw our answer.

I drew a clown.

I honestly can’t tell you what was going through my head when I made that decision. My best guess is that it had something to do with liking to make people laugh. I was also a bit of ham back then, so I wouldn’t be surprised if when asked this question my thought process was, Hmmm. What would get me the most attention? Ah, yes, the art of clowning. It was either that or, Hehe. Silly clowns. Either way, the irrefutable logic swayed me.

I believe this choice also points to a subtle desire to scare the crap out of people. ‘Cause let’s face it, clowns are a wee bit creepy. (And by “wee bit,” I mean “extremely.” It’s the whole facial cues issue.) I used to love to hide behind things and jump out at people. Thankfully, I eventually kicked that twisted little habit (for the most part. I still get the urge sometimes when I’m around my sister. But I figure, that’s only natural), which is probably why my interest in clowning waned.

This was not a dream with any longevity to it, but it did foreshadow my current approach to writing. If at the end of the day, I’ve put something on the page that can both give the reader a chuckle and the creeps, I feel successful.

By the way, my dream of being a clown totally came true, if a little earlier than I expected. At the age of eleven, I gave the performance of my life as the clown at my sister’s eighth birthday party. I am proud to say that I was both amusing and horrifying (with a slight emphasis on the latter).

So, check that dream off the list.

Rebel Bases and Roller Blades

I have not always been successful at hiding my crazy when it came to movies. For one thing, there was the stage I went through, ages 10-14, where I would voluminously sob at any quasi emotional moment on screen. Then there was the fact that I could already hear the dialogue, so I needed to come up with a different way to wiggle into the narrative.

I, naturally, went the road of dress up.

One of my purest loves was, and continues to be, Star Wars. I saw them for the first time when they were rereleased in the theaters in the late nineties and my heart was claimed.

Anyway, my mom comes home from work one day in the middle of April to find me watching Empire Strikes Back for the umpteenth time. And dressed like Princess Leia. Not Princess Leia with the buns. Of course not, that’s not accurate to Empire. I was Princess Leia on Hoth. All white garb, gray boots, and hair braided (not well, but the attempt was there). My father, having innocently been going about yard work, did not realize I’d been turning our TV room into a rebel base.

We laugh about it now, but there is still a trace of terror in my parents’ eyes when it’s mentioned.This horror did not, however, prevent them from taking pictures of my follies. And thus my efforts to get closer to the story were immortalized.

I already admitted the braids weren't good. Give me a break.

I think however, that more than my foray into Alliance leadership, the period with the most potential for embarrassment was that in which I was obsessed with The Mighty Ducks. Not because there is anything wrong or innately mortifying about these films. Far from it. I continue to stalwartly support them. If for nothing other than the following reasons:

- Everything I know about hockey comes from those movies.
- "When the roosters are crowing and the cows are spinning circles in the pastures?..... Ducks fly together!"
- Gunnar Stahl's reincarnation as the Varsity Goalie in D3.
- The fact that when I was out watching U.S. play hockey in the 2010 Olympics, the people around me chanted "Quack, quack, quack" almost as much as "U.S.A., U.S.A., U.S.A."

So, clearly, it’s not the movie choice that embarrasses me. Nope. They’re classics. It is the fact that I felt to truly complete the movie watching experience I had to wear roller blades, carry a hockey stick and don my brother’s umpire gear (the closest thing I could find to a hockey uniform in the house). That’s what gives me pause.

Over the years, I managed to quiet my sobs to a dignified single tear rolling gracefully down my cheek (unless we’re talking about Homeward Bound. When Shadow comes over that hill, I’m still a total goner. But…you know…that’s respectable). I’ve traded out my dress up for a habit of yelling at characters on TV and in movies. It requires less time and preparation.

But if I suddenly found myself eleven years old again, knowing what I know now……….well, I’d probably just pull on the umpire mask, grab a box of tissues and press play.