Riding home today I suddenly felt that old, familiar “Star Warsy” feeling. Yes, the snowflakes were like stars and/or very soft, fluffy meteors as I piloted my craft onwards into the evening.
It was a pleasant sensation, and to keep the feeling awhile longer I stopped by the local Taco John’s to grab some bean burritos and ole’s for dinner. As I aimed my craft towards my own version of a suburban "cantina" the flakes got steadily fluffier, as if tribbles were commiting suicide from the heavens!
All of this thinking about Star Wars and the indelible imprint it has left on so many lives led me to a sense of Luke-like questioning of my real nature. What was this exciting world I piloted my craft through? Was I on Tattoine in my trusty landspeeder, or had I progressed to an X-wing, aiming at the soft underbelly of the Death Star (just like shooting womp rats!)? And, no, I was not on Hoth, because it was far too pleasant outside to even imagine that! As I made my way back home I surveyed the local park, with its beautiful pseudo-nature, much like Tarzan liked to survey his jungle domain.
The keen-nostrilled among you may smell the astringent odor of nostalgia wafting through the air. My good friend Rich said it best when he said something like, “You know, I’m almost 40 and I don’t feel like I’ve matured at all! I don’t know why I ever trusted anything people my age said when I was a kid.”
I couldn’t agree more with this statement, although I also think immaturity is lasting longer and longer even as life expectancy and the average age for marriage increase.
Back in my younger years, besides actually giving some credence to the words of my elders, I recall freaquently feeling that adults were hypocritical sellouts. Well, I have to admit that, as much as I was reminded of Star Wars by the oncoming particles of white, I was also reminded of an artist that I had heard on NPR over the weekend and an album called “Photographing Snowflakes.” It was definitely the kind of pretentious-sounding, sensitive music that I would have scoffed at with derision as a youngster banging my head to Dio and Metallica. Badly Drawn Boy may have originated around the Manchester area (just like other nostalgic favorites of mine, EMF and the Happy Mondays), and was happily discovered at a time when many of the other local bands were trying to be the next Oasis. But these guys were different. Pretentious, but different. And I LIKE them, dammit. If that makes me a sellout, then so be it. I’m just a sensitive soul with a love for the perceptive, heartfelt lyrics of Badly Drawn Boy.
Check them out at
It’s maybe not their best song, but hey, sounds alright to this nearly 40-year-old mellow guy.http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=snmv5W9Wxxc
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