Passing through my local second-hand parlour this weekend, I spotted three VHS tapes of the original, unadulterated Star Wars films – complete with original 80’s cover-art, pristine in all their seemingly unwatch’d beauty – and fell upon them with inarticulate cries of joy, punctuated here and there by feverish mumblings about nineties release-dates, pre-CGI meddling, Han Shot First and the original Ewok song. Six dollars and several minutes later, I came partially to my senses (only partially, because I still think of it as a prurient investment) and realised that we don’t have a functioning VHS player. Several meters further still, I remembered that I was, in fact, wearing my Joss Whedon Is My Master Now t-shirt, on account of how I’d been hosting a Firefly marathon. This lead me to experience a moment of disorienting guilt as to the exact nature of the Dark Side.
Subsequently, I would like to blame Antiques Roadshow’s recent 80’s-themed edition, wherein certain Star Wars memorabilia was valued, for my actions. Watching it, I am certain, directly contributed to my belief that paying money for VHS tapes I cannot actually play was an appropriate – nay, necessary – act, but seeing as how Google is unforthcoming as to the probable worth of said merchandise, I am currently lacking external vindication. (Rats.)
Also, at this afternoon’s office Christmas party, I played lawn bowls while wearing a humerous Santa hat. Photos were taken. They will be incriminating.
shattersnipe: malcontent & rainbows 