Call From Kevin

The following is a conversation between Kenya Starflight and her brother, Kevin, over the telephone on Christmas Day 2005, around six PM.

“Hey Kenya! What up?”

Laughs. “Oh man, you don’t know how good it is to hear your voice again!”

“Yeah, I miss you guys over here. So… how’s work?”

“Oh, you heard I’m not working at the bookstore anymore, right?”

“Yeah, Mom was saying something about that. Now it’s the library, right? Still with books…” Doorbell rings.

“Hang on a second, Kev…” Sound of opening door. “Hello? Oh, well… welcome back, I guess… yeah, you can camp out in the field again… yes, the twenty-dollar-a-day fee is still in place… no, there’s no AARP discount… bye.” Door shuts. “Sorry.”

“What’s twenty bucks a day?”

“Oh, Darth and his buds have seen fit to have some peace talks here, and every freak in the US seems to be camped out over here.”

“Ouch.”

“So we’ve been charging them for parking here.’

“Right on. Make a little dough off it.”

“Exactly.”

“Say, how’s the big guy? Got his letter.”

“He sent you a letter? That was sweet of him.”

“So how’s he liking this quaint little planet of ours?”

“He’s…” Crash, screech, explosion, deep voice shouting expletives in several languages, boy’s voice screaming “The microwave’s gone psycho!” “He’s just fine and dandy right now, though I’m gonna kill him the minute we’re done talking.”

“Good luck.” Laughs.

“He’s not that bad to have around, actually. He fixed my car last week. And I’ve met a lot of the Star Wars characters now that he’s come here.”

“You know, the minute I get back, we’re gonna have to have a Star Wars party. Just the minute we get back from the airport, pop in Episode III.”

“What about changing your clothes?”

“Eh, I can do that during the previews.”

”Dude, DVD. No previews.”

”Then I can change during the FOX fanfare.”

Laughs. “So how are you? You got the box, right?”

“Yeah. The minute I got it, I had to set up the little tree you guys sent. Though it doesn’t like to stand up, so most of the time it just lays on its side.”

“Uh-oh.”

“Ah, but it’s fine. Hey, thanks for sending the comic book. Even the people here who didn’t understand English loved it.”

“No problem, Merry Christmas. And thanks for sending the Tahiti book. It’s great.”

“What else did you get for Christmas?”

“A talking Darth Vader bank, a Darth Vader tree ornament, the original trilogy on DVD…”

”Score! Darth must really like all your Vader stuff.”

“Not really. He really doesn’t like seeing his face on everything… Shmendrick! No! Bad boy! Let go of that – let go now! Give me the pillow!”

“Did you guys get a dog?”

“No, Vader got me a dragon for Christmas.”

“Sweet! How big is it?”

“Won’t get much bigger than a cat, Vader says. And he doesn’t breathe fire. But that doesn’t mean he’s not destructive. This is the fifth pillow he’s shredded.”

“You’ll have to get him some chew toys. Um, why’d you name him Shmendrick?”

“You remember watching The Last Unicorn when we were kids?”

“Yeah. Don’t remember much of it.”

“I got it for my birthday awhile ago and re-watched it. Shmendrick is the name of the magician who helps the unicorn out.”

“Ah. Cool.”

Long pause. “Miss you, little bro.”

“Miss you too.”

“Five months ‘til you come home, huh?”

“Yup. Save a big hug for me.”

“I will.”

“Tell Vader he doesn’t have to give me a hug. Well, he can if he wants, just not a really tight Force hug around the neck.”

Laughs. “I’ll pass along the message.”

“And tell Shmendrick hi for me.”

“Will do.” Sounds of growling, screeching, yowling, and hissing. “Shmendrick! Tiger! Bad dragon! Bad kitty! You two behave! I mean it! You’d better start getting along, or one of you’s getting locked outside!”

“All right, talk to you later. Good luck breaking up the smackdown.”

“Thanks. I’ll show you the scars when you get back.”

“Okay, bye sis.”

“Bye, bro.”

'Twas the Day After Christmas

Now that the holidays are over, I suppose it’s time for an after-holiday update. Things have finally calmed down around here – unless you count the extremely short Darth Vader impersonator (Brandon, who received a voice-changing Vader helmet and black cape for Christmas) that’s now terrorizing the household, scaring the cat, and annoying the real Darth to no end. At least I can keep the kid at bay with the build-your-own-lightsaber-kit I received for Christmas (fake lightsaber, unfortunately, but enough to ward off a fake Vader).

Besides the saber kit, I also received a great deal of Star Wars merchandise this Christmas. Mom says I was almost too easy to buy for this year, thanks to the new movie coming out. Sitting by the tree right now, waiting to be put away, are a Star Wars Saga Trivial Pursuit game, a set of Star Wars ornaments, two M&Ms action figures from the Episode III M-Pire promotion, a set of Star Wars coloring posters, a full-color Darth Vader calendar, a talking Darth Vader bank, and – finally! – the original trilogy on DVD. Oh, and a copy of “Eldest,” which is not Star Wars but is still a great gift (thank you Brandon). Suffice it to say that I have enough to keep me entertained for the next couple of months.

Shopping this year was a little difficult for me, but I think I managed to get appropriate gifts for my family this year. For my sister’s family, I purchased the movie “Valiant.” I thought the movie was only average, but they love it, so I can’t complain. My brother received a fantasy novel called “Of Mice and Magic,” and for my mom I made a Noah’s Ark figurine set from clay – I decorate my room with Star Wars, she decorates hers with Noah’s Ark. And Vader…

Thank you all for your suggestions, by the way, but I’m sorry to say that I didn’t use them. Instead, I went scrounging for parts – automotive parts, computer parts, heavy machinery parts, broken appliances, odds and ends that I have no idea where they came from, even some droid and starship parts gladly donated by the crew of the Executor. Then I dragged out the box the new dishwasher came in, filled it up, stuck on a bow, and got a few stormtroopers to haul it into the house and put it next to the tree.

When Vader opened the box, he was thrilled. As I type this he and Brandon are working on creating something from a broken-down mouse droid, the guts of a laptop, an alternator, and a juiced-up laser pointer. I don’t know whether to be glad that the gift worked out or frightened by their Dr. Frankenstein antics.

As for Darth Maul’s little warning about my surprise gift, I suppose you’ll be wanting an update on that. Well, here’s how it went…

Mom received a gift from the Dark Lord as well, which surprised both of us. Inside the package, however, was a cordial note of thanks for allowing him to stay in her house, as well as a T-shirt and a mystery novel on audiotape “for use during your commute to school.” She laughed and told Vader that she would hug him if she could see him. I relaxed a little. Maybe my gift wouldn’t be so bad…

“MOM!” It was my sister, Cecilia.

“What now?”

“This package just MOVED!”

Oh brother. Please don’t let it be…

It was. To Kenya Starflight, from Lord Darth Vader. And now the gift wasn’t just rocking about but scratching and snarling to boot. I had a sneaking suspicion that this wasn’t a shirt and audiobook.

“Darth, you’d better have a good explanation for this,” I told him.

“Stang,” Vader hissed. “It hatched. They told me it would not until after Christmas…”

It HATCHED?! Hesitantly I pulled off the paper and opened the box.

Cecilia screamed. Mom laughed. Brandon gushed “Cool!”

“It’s a dragon!” Hyrum, my brother-in-law, gaped.

Vader nodded. “It’s a miniaturized species. I thought you would appreciate it.”

“Um… it doesn’t breathe fire, does it?”

“This kind does not. It will not grow any larger than the cat, trust me.”

So as I type this, I have a red dragon the size of a Chihuahua curled up on my lap like a kitten, snoring gently. Now that the shock has worn off, however, I have to admit that this isn’t such a bad gift after all. Hey, who wouldn’t want a dragon as a pet? They don’t shed, for one thing…

Though if I thought the cat was murder on the furniture, he’s nothing compared to this guy.
Now to decide on a proper name for the beastie…

Shameless Plug

No real post at the moment, just a shameless plug.

Now that I work at a library, I'm discovering books I never knew existed. And I've decided to give some of these books a little more attention by reviewing them. Thus, I've created a new blog where I will review books I have read.

If you're interested in seeing books I've enjoyed or need ideas for reading material, check out Don't Judge a Book by its Movie.

Back to Christmas wrapping...

Holi-daze

NOTE: I’d just like to point out that this is the shortest title ever for a post on this blog. No celebration necessary, just something interesting…

Thank you all for your sympathies and get-well wishes. They helped make my recovery swift, I’m sure. Craig, thank you for the cute e-postcard. Wednesday, thank you for telling Vader off for me and reminding him that no one forced him to come here. And Roseprincess, I must say this – I can’t believe someone outside my own family knows about the Sprite/7-UP treatment for stomach flu! Yes, it helps a lot.

And no, Vader hasn’t caught it… yet. I sure hope he doesn’t get it – can you imagine having to throw up while wearing that mask? Or worse, if you got hit with a different sort of digestive problem in the armor? (Still not sure how he takes care of his “business” in the armor, and I really don’t want to know.) I have no desire to clean up his mess, and I’m sure he’d be absolutely miserable… and I don’t have the patience to deal with a miserable Sith Lord this time of year.

Speaking of this time of year, next week it’ll all be over! I finally feel like I’m getting into the swing of the holidays and they’re sliding toward the finish line! How fair is that? Though I can’t blame it all on the flu or the peace conference (though it’s hard to be in the Christmas spirit with a self-righteous snob and a psychotic mummy duking it out in the next room). I’ve just had a hard time getting into the mood for the holi-daze… um, holidays. Playing Christmas music 24/7 is helping, as is a steady diet of the Christmas goodies neighbors keep dropping off. By the time this season’s over, I’m going to look like a pregnant Hutt, man.

I will probably make a thousand enemies by saying this, but… I think I’m done with my Christmas shopping. Away put your weapons, I mean you no harm…

Not to say I’m entirely free of the Christmas madness. I still have gifts to make, wrap, and mail. And I have to make almost five dozen cookies for a cookie exchange at work. And I have three celebrations to attend – two on Christmas Eve (one with my father and one with my mother’s extended family) and one at home on Christmas Day – and have been asked to provide some kind of food for each of them. And there’s still work and the farm animals and laundry to take care of…

And I still haven’t figured out what the heck to get Vader for Christmas. I mean, it’s not like the guy can use a tie or a sweater or a pair of slippers. I know he likes speed, but I can’t afford to get him a car or snowmobile. And I know he’s a natural mechanic, but he’d probably laugh at our antiquated tools. Aside from that… helmet wax? Some new gloves? An Obi-wan Kenobi voodoo doll? What do you get a Sith for Christmas when he already has a cape? (Kudos to anyone who can figure out this song reference…)

My mom suggests a Playstation racing game of some kind. It would be the next best thing to an actual vehicle. Well, that’s one idea.

Brandon thinks I should get him a lightsaber, seeing as he keeps losing his in the films. Thanks, bro, but I think my head is just fine where it is. Remind me not to ask you for tips anymore.

My sister, Cecilia, says to not worry about getting a figment of my imagination a gift. Figment of my imagination, my eye…

So I’m still on the lookout for a present for my guest. He does deserve one, doesn’t he? I’d hate to think everyone’s favorite cyborg is forever on the “naughty” list. I’d appreciate input.

Maul, in an oddly talkative moment, let slip that Vader has a surprise in store for my Christmas present. Needless to say, I am very afraid…

For all of you following my stories on fanfiction.net, it will be awhile before I get them updated. I hope you understand.

The Dark Lord Speaks III: Sick Bay

Has it come to this? Playing nursemaid for an incapacitated fanatic?

I am writing this blog entry in Kenya’s absence, seeing as she is currently… indisposed. To be perfectly blunt, she has spent the entire day either lying on the couch or rushing to the refresher – excuse me, the bathroom. And the reader should be able to deduce whose duty it is to keep her supplied with clear liquid to ward off dehydration and clean up after her sickness.

It was four in the morning when I was first aware of this development. An urgent comm call had awakened me, and I was in the living room discussing a pirate attack upon an Imperial convoy when I heard urgent footsteps in the kitchen. I looked up from the holocomm unit in time to see Kenya charging desperately across the living room.

“What is it?” I asked.

“Get outta the way!” she ordered. She bolted for the hall, and I heard a door slam… and some far less pleasant sounds.

“My lord, is everything all right?” the officer inquired.

“Continue, Admiral,” I ordered in a tone indicating it was none of his business.

I gave him orders to track down and capture or destroy the pirates, then disconnected the holo and went to check on Kenya.

“Go ‘way,” came the moaned reply when I knocked on the door.

“Are you all right?”

“Sure, I always puke when I’m feeling all right.” The door opened a few centimeters, and she gave me a miserable look. “Don’t come in, it’s a mess… didn’t make it to the throne in time…”

“Is there no refresher downstairs?”

“There is. Doesn’t work, though.” She opened the door a little wider and tried to squeeze through, but her bout of sickness had weakened her considerably, and I had to catch her under the arms to keep her upright. She looked absolutely wretched – pale, watery-eyed, and her hair a fright – but then, she probably was feeling much worse than she looked, so I would ignore her appearance.

“You’re not going to work in the morning,” I ordered.

“Mmmrrggh.”

“You need rest.”

“Nnn-hnnn.”

“I’m calling the library in the morning…”

“No you’re not,” she groaned. “You’ll freak them out. Or they’ll think you’re an obscene crank caller and hang up on you. I’ll call.”

I helped her back to her bedroom, not leaving until she had lain down and gone back to sleep. It is a mercy that, with the approaching holidays and the hiatus of the peace talks, all but the most hard-core fans have dismantled their tents, disconnected their campers, and returned home for Christmas. They should not have to see her in this condition.

May the readers of Kenya’s blog and fan fiction understand that it may be a few days before she is capable of posting again. If there are any urgent updates, I will let you know.

And let us all hope that whatever she has is not transmitted to anyone else – especially me.

O Christmas Tree

I have complained about my father in this blog a time or two, but I’m forced to admit now that he did do me at least one favor in my life: he let me have my Grandpa Starflight’s Christmas tree.

Okay, so it’s not the most gorgeous tree in the world. No, scratch that, it makes Charlie Brown’s Christmas tree look like the tree at the White House in comparison. Ancient, crooked, with misshapen branches that resemble deformed Muppet arms and strands of silver still caught in the needles from Dad’s failed “icicle” experiment umpteen years ago… in short, a rather homely-looking thing. But there are a lot of memories in the branches of this tree, and I wouldn’t trade it for anything (even the chance to write/direct Episodes 7-9).

And this year, I got to introduce Vader to the joys of setting up and decorating the tree.

“I do not even WANT to know why we are doing this,” he tells me as we drag the storage barrel containing the disassembled tree into the house.

“Because this may be the last chance we get to set it up before the craziness of the season sets in – and before the peace conference requires your attention again.” Yes, it’s been delayed even further, partly because the Emperor refuses to be seen in a cast in public and partly because Mothma’s little cold has ballooned into full-blown pneumonia. You’d think people with such highly advanced technology would have the brains to stay inside during the winter when they’re sick.

“That is not what I meant,” he replied.

“Oh, you mean the significance of the tree. The evergreen is a symbol of eternal life, since it stays green all year. We decorate it to celebrate Christ’s birth. Or at least our family does – plenty of non-Christians set up Christmas trees too.”

Mom is all business once we get the tree in the house, getting the wooden pole that makes up the “trunk” set in the tree stand while the rest of us sort the branches according to size and put them in the proper places on the tree. “Rest of us” meaning Brandon, Vader, and myself, of course. Luke and Grievous are in the house as well, but they seem content to watch from the couch.

“How’s that?” I ask, wedging the last branch into place.

“It’s off center,” Luke pipes up.

“Which way’s it leaning?” I ask.

“To the left,” Grievous replies.

Mom adjusts a little.

“Oops, too far, nudge it a little… no that made it worse,” Luke groans.

“It’s the Leaning Tower of Tree-sa!” Brandon quips.

“Left! Left!” barks Grievous. “No, right! Right!”

“Anyone not doing any actual hands-on work to get the tree up cannot make comments!” I order.

Once the tree is at least halfway straight (still listing to the right, but who cares), the next order of business is lights. After fifteen minutes of unsnarling the wires, checking for burnt-out bulbs, and tripping over each other, the lights are on.

“Beautiful,” is my judgment once Vader plugs the lights in. “Just perfect. For once we got all the lights on on the first try.” It just irks me when you run out of lights and still have half the tree bare of lights, or when you finish but have four feet of lights left…

Then the inevitable happens. It occurs every year, so you might as well call it a family tradition. And this year Vader gets the honors of carrying it out – on his way out from behind the tree, his foot catches the cord and the whole thing topples over.

“DARTH!” Mom can’t see him, but thank the Force she knows it was him and not me.

Luke and Grievous fall over laughing.

“It’s not my fault!” Vader protests.

I just roll my eyes and stand the tree back up, adjusting any crooked branches. “For an expert swordsman, you can be a klutz at times.”

And finally, the fun part – the actual decorating!

We have enough Christmas ornaments in storage to decorate a forest, so there’s plenty to choose from. It’s a pretty eclectic assortment, however. Oh, sure, we have the usual angels and snowflakes and reindeer and colored glass balls, but it’s the oddball ornaments that seem to have the most memories behind them. The gold-painted ice cream cone, for example, which came off my great-grandmother’s tree before she died, or the spun-glass crocodile that belongs to my brother Kevin (See “Best Two Years” post). Or the plastic stegosaurus in Santa hat and Christmas lights, which us kids still at home take turns keeping in our own personal ornament boxes. Or the yarn-and-plastic-canvas snowman’s head from Miss Candlewick’s third grade, which at the time I hated making but now give a place of honor on the tree. Or the hand-painted rocking horse, the reindeer’s head made out of a dog biscuit, the Little Caesar’s pizza guy (don’t ask), the wooden dragon, and any number of other ornaments that have become such mainstays on our tree that we don’t think twice about hanging them next to the Santa or nativity ornaments.

And, of course, the clay ornament I made two years ago as a means of burning off the stress of the holidays… and which Vader discovers while digging through my box.

“What is this?” he demands, holding it up by its string as one might hold up a dead rat by its tail.

“What, don’t recognize yourself?”

“That looks NOTHING like me!”

He can argue that point, I guess. I like working with polymer clay and have managed to make some pretty nice things from it, but I obviously choked trying to sculpt Vader’s mask. What should be a quintessential symbol of tragic villainy came out looking something like the head of Hannibal Lector’s dog. Oh well, I tried.

“If you don’t like it, don’t hang it,” I tell him. “Pick something else.”

He drops the ornament disdainfully in the box and selects a pewter wreath instead. When he’s not looking, however, I retrieve the Vader ornament and hang it deep in the tree branches.

At last the tree is completed, and the lights are dimmed for our nightly ritual – singing carols around the tree. I had thought that it would be lonely-sounding this year, with only Mom and Brandon to sing with, but to my pleasant surprise two other voices join in as best they can – Luke’s baritone and Vader’s magnificent bass. Grievous doesn’t sing, but he taps an accompaniment on his metallic legs.

Mom leads us in “Joy to the World,” and Brandon insists on “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer.” For my turn, I pick a soft, peaceful, somewhat obscure carol that is nonetheless a classic to our family – “Old Toy Trains,” sung by Raffi.

“Old toy trains
Little toy tracks
Little toy drums
Coming from a sack
Carried by a man dressed in white and red
Little one, don’t you think it’s time you were in bed?

Close your eyes
Listen to the skies
All is calm, all is well
Soon you’ll hear Kris Kringle and the jingle bells bringing

Old toy trains
Little toy tracks
Little toy drums
Coming from a sack
Carried by a man dressed in white and red
Little one, don’t you think it’s time you were in bed?”

All’s quiet for a moment as we simply enjoy the spirit of the evening. The lights flicker, reflecting off of Vader’s helmet in strangely beautiful patterns, glittering upon the ornaments. For a few minutes we can forget the chaos and frantic activity that herald the Christmas holiday. For a few minutes, we’re just together, thinking of each other and of the reason for the season.

Stang, I love this time of year.

Battle of Hoth (and Adult Fanfic) Revisited

The Empire should know that approximately twenty of their stormtroopers have gone missing today. Not kidnapped or murdered, just lost in the blanket of white that now coats the field outside. Yup, it finally snowed this year, and one of the officers must have decided to cut the soldiers some slack and let them go play in the snow.

As I walk out to the barn to bring in some firewood, my feet sinking into drifts as deep as mid-calf in some places, I take a casual glance at Cocoa. The goat is miserable, huddled in his shelter and bleating plaintively. In all our years of raising goats, we’ve discovered that they hate anything that comes from the sky – rain, snow, hail, sleet, starfighters, etc.

But it’s what’s behind the goat’s pen that makes me laugh, dropping the wood in the process. A war has just broken out in the pasture – a war between Imperial stormtroopers, Rebels in their Hoth gear, and bundled-up fans. No weapons are drawn, thankfully, but snow is flying in every direction. Even a few of the better-known characters are out there – Luke Skywalker, laughing as he wipes slush from his neck; Han and Chewie, who seem to be avenging themselves against a single fan by burying him in a snowdrift; Boba Fett, cheating outrageously by dropping “snow bombs” from overhead; and General Grievous, using his four arms to great effect and becoming a deadly snow-throwing menace.

“Looks like fun,” I say to myself, and I recollect the firewood. Once I get a fire going in the woodstove, I may have to bundle up and join the festivities.

Upon entering the house, I see a few sodden garments sitting in a pool of water in a corner of the kitchen – Brandon’s coat and gloves, of course, but also some black clothing. Curious, I poke my head in the living room.

Brandon is wrapped in a blanket and lying on the couch, oblivious to the world as he devours the fantasy novel “Eldest.” Maul is sitting cross-legged on the floor, minus cloak, marking something off on a clipboard. And Vader is seated at the computer, scanning something on the Internet. Whatever is going on…

I start the fire and hang Brandon’s snow gear and Maul’s cloak nearby to let them dry, then go back into the living room to get some answers.

“What’s going on here?” I ask, sitting in the recliner next to the computer.

“Research,” Vader replies.

“Whatever happened to the peace summit?”

“Cancelled for today. Mothma is suffering from a head cold, and the Emperor slipped on the ice on your front deck and injured his leg. The peace talks will resume when the two of them have recovered.”

“I see. May I ask what kind of research?”

“You do not want to know.”

“If you’re using our computer, then yes, I do want to know.”

He turns to Maul. “Another mark under Mothma.”

“Mark under Mothma? What are you talking about?”

“After reading the remarks in your last blog entry, I took it upon myself to investigate the matter.”

“You’re reading adult fanfic,” I reply, stunned.

He nods.

“Ah-ha.” And I thought I’d heard it all. “And your opinion?”

“Smut, filth, and pornography,” he replied. “Amusing smut, but smut all the same.” He turns to Maul. “Create a new entry for Dooku.”

“Let me guess,” I say. “You’re keeping track of everyone the authors pair you with.”

“Correct. Their sick imaginations know no limits. Show her the list so far, Maul.”

He hands me the clipboard. Oh, sick. I had no idea there were so many possible pairings. The largest category by far is “Original Characters,” of course, but there are also fanfics existing that pair Vader with any number of canon characters – Padme, of course, but also Luke, Leia, Sabe, Mon Mothma, Palpatine/Sidious, Dooku, Mara Jade, Aayla Secura, Adi Gallia, Obi-wan, Qui-gon, Yoda (just wrong…), Han, Boba Fett, Chewie (again, completely wrong…), Jocasta Nu… essentially any non-droid character, it appears. And that’s just the Star Wars character list – crossovers have apparently provided ample opportunity for Vader to get… involved with such beings as Legalos, Voldemort, McGonagall, Snape, Trelawney, Trinity, Neo, Olivia Benson from “Law and Order” (finally, proof that I’m not the only one who’s planned L&O/SW fanfic), Arya from “Eragon,” Trillian from “Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy,” and others.

“How can you read that garbage?” I groan, giving Maul the list back. “Just that list is enough to turn my stomach.”

“I have only read a few,” Vader confesses. “For the purposes of this project, I am only scanning summaries to locate pairings. I may post my findings or destroy them. It depends on my mood once this is over.”

“If I were you, I’d be upset over all this,” I tell him.

“I was at first. But now that the shock has worn off, I think it is rather humorous.”

At least he hasn’t yet gotten the urge to hunt down and slaughter a few writers. “I was about to go outside and join the snow war. Want to come?”

“No thank you,” he replies. “I have my dignity to maintain.”

“You’ve been living on Earth for six months now,” I tell him. “Any dignity you had in the first place went out the window long ago.”

“You’re a crackup, Kenya,” he tells me sarcastically.

“Brandon, wanna join me?” I ask.

“Maul and I were just out there,” he replies. “It was fun, but I need to warm up now.”

“See you boys later, then,” I tell them, pulling my coat and gloves back on.

Hours later, soaked, aching, freezing, and bruised from where Admiral Piett struck me upside the face with a particularly icy snowball, I stagger inside, to be greeted by my none-too-pleased mother.

“Strip,” she orders. “Everything in the laundry right now. Here’s a towel. And once you’re in dry clothes, you’re mopping. Your friends tracked water all over the house.”

I agree readily. Anything, even cleaning the house, is a small price to pay for finally getting a chance to blow off some steam and gain some well-needed vengeance against the beings that have made my life crazy. Or at least crazier than it was before a certain Sith Lord moved in…