Damn.

After The Phantom Menace travesty (or tragedy, take your pick), I told myself rather firmly that I wasn’t going to get worked up about the next Star Wars movie. And I’ve done very well at not going through web sites, checking out the Star Wars home page, or following magazine articles. I’ve seen only one single trailer for the movie (the no-sound, visual flashes that was released months ago), and no TV spots at all. I stopped reading Star Wars books (another guilty pleasure) back when the line was sold to Del Rey and R.A. Salvatore wrote that dreadful Vector Prime thing.

Then Taras had to bring the new soundtrack to the NSW game last weekend.

I am undone. Damn them all. The soundtrack is fantastic. The quality of work is even from beginning to end, sweeping, and balanced emotionally. Terrific new themes. Excellent re-introduction of old themes from Ep 1 as well as the Force theme, and that chilling little bit called The Imperial March put in such a creepy place that it hits you broadside. They even still use Anakin’s theme at the end, the second repetition played over two or three instruments quietly creating the Imperial March under it all, so that you barely notice it. Creepy, I tell you.

Now I’m excited.

Well, it will have spaceships, and lightsaber battles, and excellent costumes, and impressive sets. I’m fine with that. So what if George Lucas can’t write a love story. I’ve learned to not expect brilliant scripts from films in general. I suspend a lot of expectation when I walk into a theatre now; maybe I’m getting cynical in my third decade, but if I don’t expect anything, I’m always pleasantly surprised.

I take what I’m given and put myself into the story, and if I enjoy it, hey, that’s great. Good music is essential for that in my cosmos. (Lightsabers and starships are good for me too.)

Now if you will pardon me, the end credits just finished. I have to go hit the Play button again.

I just had a lovely little visit with Ceri. Ceri has just returned from a somewhat unexpectedly rocky week in Halifax visiting family. We talked about light tea-time topics, like the afterlife, reconciling other afterlives with what we believe, honouring other spiritual paths, the inability of the Montreal Pagan community to exist peacefully, and how much we were both looking forward to leaving it. (The Pagan community, not Montreal.) Actually, that last bit was mostly me. Ceri’s already stepped away from her public position and is rather pleased with herself. I’m just itching to follow, because I’m tired of the stupidity. Alone, people are fine. As soon as they assemble in a group (or if they’re alone, they read a single book and decide they’re an expert), the I.Q. drops. I’m tired of responding to community requests for help, then dealing with the criticism I get for doing it. Do people actually want help, or not?

I shouldn’t get irritated. I know that if I and my projects didn’t exist, they’d all just be sniping about someone and/or something else. I should probably be proud that I and the things I’m involved in are making as much of an impact as we are, so that they feel the need to snipe.

It’s just so… infuriating. Makes you want to hand the whole ball o’wax over and say, “Oh yeah? Then you do it.”

Ye gods!

I e-mailed out a funny link this morning to my fellow local Canadian LOTR fans, and this is what one of them e-mailed back to me:

“Beware the leader who bangs the drums of war in order to
whip the citizenry into a patriotic fervor, for patriotism is indeed
a double-edged sword. It both emboldens the blood, just as it
narrows the mind. And when the drums of war have reached a
fever pitch and the blood boils with hate and the mind has closed,
the leader will have no need in seizing the rights of the citizenry.
Rather, the citizenry, infused with fear and blinded by patriotism,
will offer up all of their rights unto the leader and gladly so.

— Julius Caesar

Brrr. I think I’m going to go make scones and pretend that my day is all sunshine and lollipops, thanks.