The Grand Admiral's Adventure

This incredible (and true!) story comes from the one, the only: Grand Admiral Sean. I cannot take credit for such beautiful writing, but can I take credit for posting it? Maybe just a little? There ya go. Show the Princess some linkin' love.

JP's rambling ends now:

Remember Halloween as a child? What magical moments. One day of the year, it was acceptable to be someone else, to envelope yourself totally in another persona. Of course, such have always been high priorities among us Star Wars fans; we live, to resort to the most abominable of all clichés, with our heads in the clouds.

Do you remember swinging your plastic lightsaber merrily as you giggled your way down the lamplit streets? Or snatching goodies from pumpkin-shaped bowls at the school parties, squawking from under your rubber Yoda mask, “Mine, or help you I will not!” Perhaps, if you were lucky enough, there were other fans at your school: instant comrades with whom you could spar or exchange movie dialogue or simply play-act.

It strikes me as profoundly important to wear my Star Wars allegiance on my sleeve. Without our peculiarities and passions, we are no more than droids. And so I diligently parade my costumes (courtesy of my mother’s spectacular sewing), strutting past disbelieving peers. I harbor the suspicion that they’re really just jealous of the fun I have.

This year, I was Cade Skywalker of Dark Horse’s Legacy; the year before that, Rebecca Moesta’s Anakin Solo. Two years ago, I played master tactician Grand Admiral Thrawn. Yes, that’s right, blue skin and all. Ah, Thrawn! I got more than the usual utility out of that costume: months after the sweet hours of Halloween, I assumed the same Chiss identity at Celebration III. Those who recognized Thrawn immediately fawned over me; those who did not were nevertheless impressed. Women, in particular, seemed quite enamored with the good Admiral. I’m told it has something to do with his brainpower, but I maintain that girls just dig men in blue.

From the humble, nerdy beginnings of our beloved fandom, make-believe has been the loftiest of ideals. Halloween is merely the single day on which our activities become more mainstream. As a recent Bantha Tracks so felicitously phrased it, no-one does Halloween like Star Wars fans do Halloween. Perhaps the old myths are true: perhaps All Hallow’s Eve is the night on which a conduit to the spirit realm yawns wide to admit otherworldly beings -- or, at the very least, extragalactic beings. I can’t say I support such occult notions, but, simultaneously, I recognize that our mundane, little Earth could do with an infusion of Star Wars characters.

Observe the world of Star Wars costuming, whether on October thirty-first or at conventions around the world: the wondering eyes of children blaze as though with hordes of fireflies while stormtroopers march casually past; habitually shy geeks are suddenly united in energetic laser-duels. Aliens commune with men. And, though they hide their grudging smiles behind wrinkled hands, the elderly, too, cannot help but be swept up by the enchantment of it all.

The Friday afternoon of Celebration III, I retired to a small Cracker Barrel, weary and slightly indisposed from the blue paint that plugged my pores (note to self: the words ‘certified nontoxic’ do not disqualify the ability of makeup to cause nausea after three consecutive days of copious application). Despite my sickness, I amused myself by making faces at the little girls who ducked shyly from behind their mother’s legs, stared goo-goo-eyed at Thrawn, and soon retreated with manic titters. One young mother endeavored futilely to explain the concept of a convention to her daughter: “It’s like dress-up for adults, dear. Or like Halloween. Yes, it’s like Halloween early!” How right she was.

As I waited in line behind a wooden barrel of toys and candy, I noticed a hobbling, bespectacled, old couple staring openly at my extraterrestrial attire. Judgmental attention eventually becomes wearying. Against my better judgment, I approached the pair, announcing, “Hello, I’m with the Smurf Liberation Front. May I offer you a pamphlet?” Of course, in possession of my better judgment, I probably would not have been visiting a Cracker Barrel while violently ill. In any case, silence as dense as whipping cream clogged the air for several minutes. Finally, the old man dragged his wife away protectively by the arm, muttering something about having already donated that year.

Was that the end of a bad encounter? To my extreme shock, no. In an event which would have stretched the predictive abilities of Thrawn himself to foresee, the old man approached me at my table. He was, he said, apologizing for his earlier behavior. He had dealt with “those NASCAR people” frequently, but never before had he encountered an azure alien in this family eating establishment. I shook his hand, assuring him that no contribution to the Liberation Front was necessary. I exited into the stormy night feeling much better, despite the bacon cheeseburger that roiled in my stomach.

So, do Star Wars costumes promote acceptance? Will they be an agent in the spread of world peace? Doubtful on both accounts. What, then, is The Point of embarrassing oneself by marching around in an epauleted Cossack’s uniform?

There is a growing movement in American fantasy which decries escapism as a sin. Why, it is argued, should readers sequester themselves in comfortable literature while the world suffers? Proponents of this cause offer a less appealing but allegedly more ethical alternative: they insist fantasy should be as dark and brutal as possible, an abrasive rather than soothing influence. It goes without saying that boisterous conventions are frowned upon by this crowd. Halloween, alas, has become a collateral casualty of their battles to mature the imagination. But, truly, is it improper for fans to become absorbed in the wondrous world of Lucas?

Here is my response to such cynics: I do not peruse escapist fantasy to escape the responsibilities and tribulations of reality, nor do I act out fictional personas to hide from my emotional life. Rather, I love Star Wars, I wear Star Wars, because it is refuge from the sheer, bloody-minded boringness of Earth. That doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate sorrow. On the contrary, my most favorite episodes of the Saga deal the most heavily with ethics under fire: Return of the Jedi follows the violent struggles of a fragmented family, while Revenge of the Sith ends with the holocaustic extermination of the Jedi Order. Yet Star Wars maintains the candescent perpetual flame of hope. Observing tragedy through the lens of an otherwise entertaining film, I see more fully the importance of a moral life. Captivated by Yoda’s warning, I, like young Luke, am wary of the dark side. Absorption into a fantasy universe is ultimately a cathartic experience: though I may rely upon the Galaxy Far, Far Away as a cozy comfort blanket, it nevertheless provides a stable ground upon which I may build my ethical beliefs. To use a chemical metaphor, crystals never form except on existing surfaces. Similarly, when the characters I know and love face hardship, I am righteously incensed. What is a higher ideal than to hate evil and love good?

Two thousand years ago, the Apostle Paul wrote, “Finally, brethren, whatsoever things are true, whatsoever things are honest, whatsoever things are just, whatsoever things are pure, whatsoever things are lovely, whatsoever things are of good report; if there be any virtue, and if there be any praise, think on these things.” I acknowledge the dreadful woes of the world, and, insofar as is possible, I strive to alleviate them. But I fixate on that which is beautiful. Hence my devotion to Star Wars. Hence my shameless saunter as, clad in the wintry garb of a Grand Admiral, I salute awestruck children. You see, imagination numbers among the greatest gifts granted us by the Divine. Remember that the next time you pull on your robes for a frigid night of Trick-or-Treating.

Thanks so much Admiral!!! (Sorry for the lack of underlines, BTW. I couldn't figure out how to do it! I know how much you hate italics, but that was the best I could do.) :D