Saturday, May 14, 2005

Triumph, Star Wars and Hotlines

I should make it clear first off that I have never watched any of the Star Wars movies (gasps! from the audience). May be parts of it, somewhere, some time. And in a perfect world, I wouldn't. But one of my new roommates is a fanboy. A big one. And he has the collector's edition of all the movies. And we have a projection system home theater in the apartment. So, I am probably going to watch it soon. But its pervasion into popular culture is so complete that indirectly, I know roughly what happens in the movie, and half the characters already. At the time it was released, it was probably truly the shit. But as is the fate of almost every good idea that works, its creators juiced it for all its worth, and then some more, so by the time so-called Episode I hit the screens... it was stale.

Anyway, the new Star Wars movie - Episode III - is out soon, and being the pop-culture whore that I am (or, turning into), I felt I should comment. For one thing, it is nauseating to see the associated commercialization. I was browsing through the cereals section in the grocery store, and I saw a Whole-Grain crispies box with a picture of that pussy, Hayden Christensen, standing with a lightsaber in hand. What the fuck has a Jedi Knight to do with a bowl of cold cereal anyway? Everything from poop paper to cars comes in a Star Wars edition now. Disgusting.

George Lucas stands to make millions from the mindless devotion of countless fanboys who will jump, like hungry dogs at meat, at any merchandise that smells even remotely of Star Wars. Conveniently enough, Episode III is getting `positive' reviews from everywhere.

Then we have them geeks. I don't think I can express in any novel way the sorry state of the legions of losers that call themselves Star Wars fanboys, than has already been done. But I think there is one particular downsizing that was inflicted on them, that I should share with you. Have you ever watched Triumph the insult dog in action? If you haven't, stop whatever you are doing in your meaningless life, and go watch some videos of Triumph in action. Okay, now that you are enlightened in the ways of Triumph, let's come back to the issue at hand. Some geeks were standing just outside some theater, waiting for Episode II to begin (2002, I think?). Who should appear at the scene, but Triumph! What followed was hilarity itself. I have linked some video goodness for your benefit. But if you are too lazy to watch that video, here's a sample from the transcript:

[Triumph approaches a geek standing in line. A female geek. And a pregnant one at that.]
Triumph (T): So, that is a future geek waiting to be born... eh?
Pregnant Female Geek (PFG): Yeah, yeah! That is a future jedi knight in there!
T: Oh, great. So, when is he due?
PFG: Umm... I think - June 27th.
T (barely containing his laughter): Oh, really? So, that is the last day that boy will see female genitalia.

Truly, the video is a keeper.

Wait, I have more to say. And not all of it is good news (at least, not for me).

1-800-441-4000. Looks like just another 1-800 number, right? No. Try it. I opened a bank account at Bank of America recently. I ran into the bank one evening just after it closed, as I wanted to know my account balance. The guy at the counter told me it was closed, but helpfully enough, he offered me the hot-line number for customer service at Bank of America. Yes, it was 1-800-441-4000. Cryptically, he added, "Satisfaction guaranteed", and closed the bank. I did not have my mobile phone on me at the time. When I did call the number later, I did reach a hot-line. Only, it wasn't no hot-line to any bank. You know what I'm saying? Boy, did I get suckered by that bank guy! I haven't seen him at work in that bank since.

My new toy, BlogPoster, isn't going nowhere. I am busy learning the ropes at work, and I am spending weekends hauling shit between Providence and Boston, so I haven't had the time to sit down. Hopefully, I'll get back to it soon.

Coming soon: how Arthur C Clarke and Isaac Asimov wrote some stinking bullshit disguised as science-fiction.