It was the night we rented the first
movie ever to play in our shiny new Video
Cassette Recorder. We strolled into Woods,
the rental store that the whole town
had been raving about for months
while we saved up to buy a reason
to go, and without hesitation, walked
straight past the .99 cent rentals
to the new release section. Dad proudly invited
the neighbor kids over, Mom slaved
over an extra large pot (well, can)
of what I thought was a Star Wars
reference that I didn't quite understand:
Chef Boy R2-D2 Ravioli. It was not until
years later that I realized that my own
brain had added the two twos. That night,
and many nights after, I pictured the droid
whizzing through the Falcon, a giant
white chef's hat on his dome serving
pasta (well, starch) squares filled with meat
(like product) smothered in tomato
(ish) sauce as he beeped and booped,
purposefully leaving C-3PO for last.
We sat on the floor, lights off to create
a theater (like) effect with our giant
19-inch screen (at least it was color)
box of a television and experienced
the moment that we had managed
to avoid all spoilers in order to feel
the full effect of -- the most shocking
scene in a movie that I had ever seen
before (and maybe since). "Luke,
I am your father". In the same year
that I realized that Chef Boyardee
had nothing to do with the Lucas
franchise, I also realized that my friend,
Courtney, who had bragged about Woods
for months before I got to go, and who
had seen Empire Strikes Back twice
in the theater, reminded me of C-3PO
(and also, one of those mean little asshole
goats that constantly head-butts you).
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