This week:
Jimmy's Star Wars Journal

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My nephew Jimmy debuted as a film critic with The Matrix (read Jimmy's Review) six years ago. Back then, he was a dorky 14-year old at Raymond Carver Middle School who spent his spare time writing a robot-vampire novel on a Geocities web site, making homemade Klingon foreheads out of papier mache and pestering me for rides to Club Rinkydinks on Piers Anthony Fridays.

Jimmy survived his goth years, two of which he spent demanding to be called Necron, Romancer of Death. Against all odds, he made it without having the shit beat out of him or shooting up his high school cafeteria. There was the paint gun incident, but the only kid hit was himself, and in the nuts. He's no longer Necron. In fact, he doesn't like to talk about those years because he now knows what a dumbass name it was. These days, he just wants to be called James, Romancer of Death.

It's hard to believe that little shit is now 20 and a student at the Red Rocks campus of the Front Range Community College. I'd say he's all grown up, but that's not true. He's still never had sex, but he did once suck human blood from this heavily acned girl in a tunic at computer summer camp. He still has no car, but he's figured out how to job the RTD fare cards for free rides, and spends the savings on Mountain Dew and long distance phone calls to girls with Bulgarian accents from behind the closed door of his bedroom, which has a "Trekkers Parking Only" placard on it.

For Christ's sake, the kid's in college and still lives with his mommy. It sure as hell wasn't like that when I was 20. OK, yeah, I still lived with my parents, but that was different. I hated it. Jimmy has still never been drunk, and by that age I had already been blitzed enough times that I stopped cleaning up every time I pissed into the fireplace or trying to figure out why I had a catheter sticking out of my dick and $35 extra dollars in my pocket. Actually, now I sort of wish I remembered how that worked, because I could use the money. And the catheters felt sort of good. Except the one that broke.

Distraught and possibly suicidal over the cancellation of Star Trek, Jimmy had retreated to his bedroom and withdrew from most of his typing classes at the college. All his mother ever saw is the occasional arm that tossed stained bedsheets into the hallway or the hand he held out until someone put a Little Debbie Snack Cake in it. We needed to get the kid out of the house before he knocked himself unconscious with his own stench. I proposed he write a journal of his experience waiting in line for the next Star Wars installment. He has previously graced us with his first-hand experiences for the Lord of the Rings (Read Jimmy's First Journal, Read Jimmy's Second Journal) movies.

I entered his room. It was dark, dank, ripe and humid. The shades were drawn, and Jimmy was tucked into the fetal position on his bed in the corner. At first, he rejected my proposal, claiming he did not have enough time to prepare for waiting in line. It would be an insult to "Master Lucas" he said, to wait while not mentally prepared, let alone dressed appropriately. I suggested he wear one of his Klingon foreheads. After all, after making about 30 of them, he must have a good one.

"One is a galaxy far far way and a long time ago, and the other is the frontier within our own galaxy in the future, dipshit," he practically screamed. "Why don't you just tell me to wear my Gandalf the Gray costume?"

"Yeah, okay, that's fine too. Is that the one with red, white and blue spandex pants?"

This is when Jimmy, Romancer of Death, spit on me. A nasty spit, part Cheetos grit, part Ovaltine. It burned my cheek, but it also meant that I had reached him. I felt his passion, and I smelled his laundry.

I said, "Consider this a chance to educate me, and the rest of the world. To help us understand the difference between the Tuscan Raiders and the Sand People.

Pressing a finger to his chin and at least partially emerging from the dimness of his corner, Jimmy counteroffered, "I will do this if you also publish my Bill Nye, Science Guy fan fiction. The really erotic stories."

So, ladies and gentlemen, leading up to the release of Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith on May 19, my nephew Jimmy Critic will write a daily journal of his time spent in line. The Billy Nye stories will come later. First I have to trim some of the excessive fucking, sucking and a dozen or so vinegar-and-baking-powder volcano eruptions.

Day One: Sunday, May 15

Welcome, puny earthling, to my amazing world. I am James, Romancer of Death, Seeker of Light, Keeper of Dark, 33rd Level Cleric, and holder of the Glamour Sword of Samadra. I come to you from the planet Degobah. What? you say. You come from a barren swamp planet? I find that hard to believe. Perhaps you also find that tightening sense of dread around your neck hard to believe. Yes, the Force is strong with me. Ladies, take note.

I have come to your pathetic planet to offer you a glance into the life of an all-powerful Jedi knight in hopes to increase your understanding and awe. Then, perhaps, you will stop shooting spitwads at me in class. If you don't, I shall tell Mr. Horton.

My beneficence (look it up, sickly earth dweller) is a rare occurrence, and a chance for you to learn from where warriors draw our incredible reserves of strength, wisdom, intuition and endurance. You are about to take a rare journey, seen by so few yet cherished by so many. Some Jedis are alive to fight, some to love, some to rule and some to guide. But the most valuable Jedis of all are alive to wait in line.

So, take my hand, earthling from the future, and from a distant galaxy, and observe the most sacred of all Jedi rituals. That of waiting to see Star Wars. Prepare yourself to gaze upon the most amazing of creatures: some big, some small, some fat, some skinny. No, actually, big and small, but almost always fat. Even the thin ones are mostly bones hung with untrained fat. Disregard our temporary human comforts, such as tents, pillows, sleeping bags and massive quantities of Doritos. In our galaxy, it is the only food available. Do not believe that we go behind the building to release waste from our internal systems. A Jedi can hold his shit for months.

I admit, I am late to the journey and some haters and false prophets may call me a fraud for daring to line up a mere week before the film. After all, some truth-seekers and rebels have no doubt been lined up at the Olde Town Arvada Cinema since February. Carlos said he was getting in line right after we saw Phantom Menace for the 12th time, three years ago. He might even be third or fourth in line. I have heard other stories of women becoming impregnated and also giving birth while waiting in line. While that may sound honorable, it defies the strictly-followed Jedi code of abstinence.

Some of us have lives. We can't just drop everything lives to go wait in a line, no matter how much we want to. Some recognize the difference between fantasy and reality. Star Wars is partly real. The cancellation of Star Trek is painfully, wholly real, and it needed a respectful mourning period. I would never bring such dark thoughts within the Force.

Now, I am ready. Except for the costume. I could have easily gone as an X-wing fighter, as I did for Halloween. And Christmas. I could, but my friend Aaron was fired from his janitorial job and had to return the orange jumpsuit. I could do something lazy such as wear a heavy robe and pretend to be the Emperor, or as many Italians do, just go bareshirted as a Wookie. Tacky and in poor taste, say I. The process of making the costume is the process of becoming the character, and traversing from this lame-o earthly world into the Star Wars universe, where we matter.

Some would think that one day is not nearly enough time to build a costume from scratch. That some does not understand the resourcefulness of the Jedi. My mind has pulled from its image banks a design of unparalleled excellence and detail. There are three goals to a perfect costume. First is to give honor to the others who have spent months in line for the chance to partake of Mr. George Lucas's genius first. Second is to not be laughed at by the people with really nice outfits. Third is that it gives me a boner whenever I think I really am a character in the movie.

By the time I get to the Olde Town Cinema tomorrow, I'll be about 50,000th in line, if I'm lucky. Figure that, based on my observations of friends and relatives, roughly 75% of all people are obsessed with Star Wars. the other 25% love werewolves. Of those 75%, two-thirds have no jobs or will quit them to get in line. That means, half of everyone is right now in line for Revenge of Sith. In a perfect world, it would be 100%, but this is not a perfect world. This is crappy old Earth. The dirt heap we all seek to transcend.

And so, I must go, to convert a heap of Earth garbage into a costume suitable to a Jedi. By the morrow, when your Solar unit has risen again in what you call the east, I will be in line. And I shall take you with me, each day this week, as I wait, wait, wait the unendurable wait for Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith. Check back if you dare.

Day Two: Monday, May 16

What kind of planet have I been been assigned to? Last night, I performed Jedi Magic, creating a costume of such realistic perfection that I am sure to confuse the mere mortals I encounter while wearing it. A Storm Trooper was not my first choice for paying homage to Star Wars. But, I had limited supplies to work with in my mother's craft cabinet, and I made it work. Take a look at the picture. Yes, that's me, not a real Storm Trooper. Yes, I made that costume all by myself. No, I did not pay tens of thousands of dollars for a phony costume made by so-called professionals. Yes, ladies, you may touch it. You may also touch underneath it, but I will not allow vulgar innuendo about lightsabers. Show some class. Fine, if you don't want to believe me, don't. But if that's your attitude I won't make one for you.

Don't bother telling me, I already know. It's awesome. And I built it to withstand actual space travel, so I have that going for me when the mother ships arrive to take us away. Man, I will be laughing my ass off when you implode as we leave the stratosphere. Don't try stealing it. I am a Jedi. I will kill you.

But again, I ask, what the hell kind of planet is this?

Upon arriving at your cinema dispensing station, I didn't know whether to be happy or saddened. I believe those are your stupid earth emotions. But the Jedi term for what I saw is Snnikls#$4. The line for Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith was exactly one person long. She said she had been there since March, and the stains on her pants indicated she told the truth. One person? That is a disgrace to everything true and right.

If I were human and not a terrifying Storm Trooper I could be happy, I suppose, because I was guaranteed the second best seat in the house, one seat off of dead center and right next to a girl, to boot. Another reason to be happy is that when she she saw me walking up, she threw her purse at me and screamed "Get away from me! Don't rape me, Storm Tropper!" The costume is that good, but I removed the very real mask to reveal my human form. I could be happy I would get into the first showing, and then come out to get back into line immediately.

I could be saddened that you stupid earthlings don't even know what you have. I thought for a minute that maybe you don't deserve Star Wars if you're only going to treat it like entertainment. Then it occurred to me. People just don't know. Why else would they not be lined up?

There is nobody promoting Star Wars. Not enough people know the movie is coming, and, George Lucas hasn't done enough to get the word out. I now see my place in the universe. It is not to see the movie, but to show it to others. I am incredibly smart, so I will be good at this. I will go and raise awareness of Star Wars wherever I go. I have found my reason to live, and why Mr. Lucas has given me the powers of the Jedi.

So, I shall embark on a journey, to go wherever fate and the Force take me. It shall be my duty to raise up wherever I am and shout "Hey, Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith comes out this Thursday, you morons!" And the glory will be mine when people everywhere stop and say, "Why didn't anyone tell me?" I shall spread the gospel, I shall sow the seeds, I shall do the work that has yet to be done: to market Star Wars. If that means drawing a picture of Darth Vader on every can of soda I find, so be it. But the journey has begun. Join me, won't you? I am about to embark on a trip every bit as important as any of the Milennium Falcon's. Except, I don't have a car.

Day Three: Tuesday, May 17

Any journey worth taking will be difficult. Or, as the great Yoda would say "Take trip worth to take, it would be, to take, trip." Yes, in addition to my other skills, I can talk like Yoda. Or, "Yoda to talk I like Yoda." Okay, that's enough of that. Just a taste of my powers. My powers you taste in your mouth, now, with face you do.

I knew when I was chosen to singlehandedly undertake the massive effort of promoting Star Wars it wouldn't be easy. I also knew that I was chosen because the Jedi Board of Directors knew I could do it. They didn't ask anyone else in the Arvada Vampyre's Den. Because I never quit, except for at athletics, and at Risk if people won't play by my rules. Anyway, I knew I would be challenged, pushed and prodded. I knew failure would be around every corner waiting to eat me like that monster in the trash compactor in A New Hope.

I relish not only the opportunity but the tribulations. I will succeed or I will die trying, or I will not succeed and ignore you if you bring it up. In order to be truly ready for this most awesome of journeys into the unknown, I went home, watched some Babylon 5 DVDs, slept in my bed and stocked up on snack foods. I should mention, humbly, I designed my Storm Trooper costume to be roomy and accommodate Donettes without crushing them.

One of the truly humorous running jokes among those of us who appreciate science fiction is renaming common, everyday objects with complex, hilarious names. So, in the following picture, you will see me with a nylon-posted-rain-shielding-tent-like object. That is what you dumbasses would call a "tent", but I used a far funnier description.

I am now ready to begin my journey. Don't get your earth panties all wet. This picture is just me in the local park. I wanted to make sure my nylon-posted-rain-shielding-tent-like object hadn't gotten eaten by moths since I was six and my earth mother took me camping for my only time, and I saw ducks and got so scared I cried all weekend. Also, I hoped the girls I went to high school with who smoke pot with dropouts in the pirate playset would see me in my Storm Trooper costume, preparing for a journey of self-discovery.

Except, by the time I figured out how the stupid nylon-posted-rain-shielding-tent-like object was assembled it was afternoon. I took a nap. Naps are a powerful tool of the Jedi and can be used to regenerate our midichlorians, or as a powerful decoy to suggest indifference when people make fun of you. I napped in the park, beside my nylon-posted-rain-shielding-tent-like object.

In my sleep, I experienced my first challenge. In broad daylight. And they spelled "Suck" wrong. I suppose I could be disgusted or disheartened, but instead I am pleased. This is the first test. I passed. I give myself an A-plus-plus. Besides,I don't suck, they do. Whoever did this. They are jealous. I do not know who they are, but I suspect the third graders from the charter school who have recess in the park. As a Jedi, I know that those kids may mock me. they may someday yank up my earth underwear (or, cotton-buttocks-covering, front-flapped object") from behind, and later beat the holy crap out of me, or be my employer and make me clean out the grease trap. But a Jedi does not seek instant revenge. He balances the karma of the universe. Not today, maybe not tomorrow, and maybe not for a long time because those kids look kind of surly. But, one day, they will wake up dead. And I will laugh, a Jedi laugh.

I don't feel bad at all, and I am not daunted.. I'm pretty sure Jedis aren't even capable of sorrow. Still, my face-implanted-vision-orbs are leaking a hybrid-saline solution and I feel the Force wants to me to sleep in my bed tonight, under my own covers. Perhaps it is a reward for surviving my first challenge. and for not quitting in the face of adversity. I am now stronger andcan hardly wait to hit the road tomorrow. My midichlorian count will be through the roof. My journey has only just begun.

Tomorrow, for real, the journey to Star Wars begins.

Day Four: Wednesday, May 18

If I had it to do over, I would have cut eyeholes in my Storm Trooper mask. This is not to say I regret my decision not to, because I've always made fun of the losers who have eyeholes at StarCon. Besides, I am a Jedi and can use the Force to visualize my path. The problem, though, is that I guess the Force can't see curbs or steps. So you end up falling down a lot.

Even when the Force is strong in you, it's also very hard to visualize people who vandalize Storm Trooper costumes. Yes, I endured more testing and my costume endured more vandalism. What's strange is the only person who came over was my Uncle Filthy. He suggested someone must have broken in and done it.

No matter, I am undaunted in my quest. Every test will make me stronger. As soon as I woke up and watched The Price is Right I was out the door and on my journey. I decided to let the Force guide me and walked to Wadsworth Boulevard where I often see a lot of Mexicans all standing together in parking lots in the mornings.

I greeted the Mexicans with the universally recognized symbol of greeting, the Vulcan "Live long and prosper" hand gesture. The only response was the universal symbol for "Fuck you." I told them "Star Wars is coming! Prepare to be amazed!"

"¿Como?"

"Star Wars! Do you like movies?"

"No, no, I speak not English," said a short, fat man in fancy red boots.

"You talk like Yoda too!" Finally, a kindred soul. I grabbed him by the shoulders and embraced him as though he were a wookie I feared lost in battle. Before he could embrace me back... actually, now that I think about it, he had plenty of time to embrace me back, but chose not to. Perhaps that is the way on his planet.

Anyway, before he hugged me, a white pickup pulled up and the Mexicans piled into the bed. The man in red boots gestured for me to join them, but I was reluctant. He gestured insistently and my instincts, which we Jedi's rely on, told me to get in the truck.

I did, stuffed in with twelve other men, some of whom were not very good at showering or smelling good. I tried to speak more Yoda with Red Boots, but I guess all he he had mastered was, "I speak not English." That and an uneasy smile.

An hour later we stopped at a sunflower field, and the Mexicans climbed out. They were handed burlap bags by a man in a cowboy hat and then walked toward a combine. I asked him, "Are you going to see Star Wars?"

He looked at my costume, which I admit was getting sort of dirty and losing shape from sweat. Not my sweat. The sweat of those other guys in the truck. "What the fuck are you talking about, boy?"

I shook my head. This is exactly the problem I was sent to address. "Star Wars is coming. Will you know where to go when it does?"

The man pulled off the armor covering my arm, and I felt naked in the hot sun. Any Imperial soldier could easily shoot me. "I have a job for you."

"I need no job. I am here to tell you that Star Wars opens tomorrowat properly equipped theaters." I can't say I remember for sure what heppened next but I remember being called a mule, getting pushed into the dirt and then the cowboy stuck his shoe on my head.

While the shoe was still imprinting its pattern into my face, two men shoved my costume full of plastic bags. Thank God Imade it roomy. They argued with the cowboy, who told them customes never "fucked with nutjobs." They hauled me to a private airfield, loaded me onto a plane and beat me over the head with a board until I fell into a calm, throbbing slumber.

When I awoke, I was face down in the bathroom of a New Mexico truck stop with two strangers pulling off my costume and removing the bags. They worked quickly, but I had time to remind them that Star Wars opens tomorrow.

I was tired and sore, but I do not quit. I am a Jedi and whatever the Force tells me to do, I do. Right now it was telling me to try to get a ride home. I attempted to reassemble my costume, but a lot of the tape was starting to lose its stickiness. The suit was no longer suitable for space travel, and so the rest of my journey would be bound to Earth.

I have heard horrible rumors of how truckers will drug and then sodomize hitchhikers. I can say that I had no such experience. Maybe it was because the trucker who is giving me a ride to Denver is a Christian. Maybe it is because the Force is with me. Or maybe it is because he only wanted me to suck his dick. While not in my original plan, I understand the extents of my testing. And as with all tests, there was a reward for success; I can now say for sure that I'm not gay. See, the whole time he was in my mouthI fantasized I was sucking the dick of a really hot chick.I mean, I already knew I wasn't gay, but hopefully this is proof to stop my usual bus driver from calling a faggot.

I have conflicted feelings. As night falls and I conclude my day, writing this with one hand while pushing the trucker away with the other, I am consumed with pride that I will achieve my mission. I am a great Jedi. I am also consumed with a sense of self-loathing and guilt. I wonder why my journey could not have been given to someone else. I know, in the end, that it will be worth it.

Day Five: Thursday, May 19

Riding with a gay truck driver at dawn gives you a lot to think about. When I woke, it was the moment the sun breaks the horizon and the air has the still and heaviness of those last few moments of coolness on what will be blistering day. Dan, the driver, was popping pills, banging his steering wheel and singing along with some song about how Jesus had a truck. If we were on Tatooine, probably one of the suns would have already been up and the dirt farmers would already be in the fields. But, despite my dreaming, we weren't. We were on earth and my Storm Trooper costume was making me itchy. Maybe I should have washed off the cardboard since it had contained raw chicken before I reshaped it into the guise of a Storm Trooper. Now, it smelled sort of rotten and my skin has a rash. I still look pretty freakin' awesome, though. Even with the graffiti. Those aremy badges of courage.

As I took in what I could of the northern New Mexico landscape through the periphery of my mask, two thoughts occurred to me. First was how much it looked like a spacescape, with it's rolling mounds of reddish dirt and the alien-shaped saguaro and cactus dotting it. It was so beautiful in the blueish light that I could totally imagine an Imperial Walker coming over the horizon and crushing everything. Second was the return of my sense of self-doubt. It's not like I'm in bad company. Luke Skywalker had second thoughts of his own. So did Jesus, according to Dan. And Jesus sort of looks like Qui-Gon Jinn, so I can relate. Except, as Dan said, Jesus would have kicked everyone's ass. And he told me I slept through the whole Jeff Foxworthy tape.

Was this a red herring? Was I sent on this mission by the Dark Side, only to weaken the Force? Was I duped? I doubt it because I'm super smart. But what if? Am I good enough to be a Jedi? If I can be so easily fooled, maybe all the awesome costume-making skills in the world, all the Star Wars trivia knowledge in the universe and all the ability imaginable to speak like Yoda are not enough to make a Chosen One. Either way, I sensed failure. It felt sort of like a plantars wart, except on my brain.

I should rip off my costume and walk away from the Star Wars universe. I have madea fool of myself. I failed George Lucas. I failed the only mission I ever deemed worthy of me. Now, Revenge of the Sith would open and nobody would be there to see it. Well, nobody except that one girl. And me, if I hadn't been fooled into my journey.

I rode in silence and self-pity until my exit off I-70. Then I got out and ran really fast before Dan could demand another blowjob from me. My spirit crushed and the question of what I would do next hung like a Death Star over my head. That's when I saw the line at the Olde Town Cinema.

"Why are you here?" I asked, running up to the crowd, trembling in anticipation of their answer.

"I came to see Star Wars," replied a man with a pony tail and glasses. "Nice costume."

I leapt in joy. then I wept. They had heard. I had gotten the message out, somehow. Through my efforts, the most important movie everovercame its lack of promotion and reached the people. I am no failure. I'm super smart and a success. I am a Jedi. And I am not gay.

As I write this, I have not seen the movie yet, but I will give my review. It's totally awesome. The Force told me so.

Today I will see the movie and then turn the page to the next chapter of my life. It will be time to look forward tonew challenges. It is time for the next great adventure for James, Romancer of Death. That is, to see Revenge of the Sith again and again until I have it memorized.

Clay Smith of Access Hollywood

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