The Jedi In The Bookstore

I would like to relay an incident that occurred--oh let's say--about two months ago. Now, I have had public encounters with so-called Jedi Knights before. If you cannot recall the Wal-Mart incident, you can read about it here.

However, nothing prepared me for what happened at the Zephyr bookstore. My wife was getting her haircut and I had a couple of hours to kill. I headed over to Zephyr to peruse their fine selection of used books. I browsed and browsed, flipped through numerous pages, and finally settled on three books.

I placed them under my arm and continued to meander through the store. I moved towards the back of the store; here, you'll find a small counter that the store owners converted into a quasi coffee shop. Round tables with uncomfortable wooden chairs pepper the store--a coffee shop indeed.

I digress.

Next to the coffee area is the Juvenile section. I began glancing through the titles to see if anything would be of interest for my wife. Not that she reads at the middle school level--she teaches middle school. My eyes darted from title to title and I was vaguely aware of my surroundings.

"We have coffee," a voice sounded behind me.

Not to be trifled with when I am looking at titles such as Dewey Duck's Journey and Where the Sidewalk Ends, I ignored the voice.

"You know, we have a coffee bar," the voice continued.

I turned my head and saw a disheveled young man reading a Star Wars encyclopedia. For the uninitiated, this encyclopedia has pictures and diagrams from the movies with explanations telling the reader everything about Star Wars. Want to know the name of the weapon a character carries? Want to know the name of Bobba Fett's ship? Want to know useless information about Yoda? Yup, this book is for you.

I didn't give the young man a second thought and returned to Dewey Duck.

"Don't you want a cup of coffee," he asked? At this point, I realized he wanted my attention.

I slowly gave him a moment's attention and responded, "No thank you, I don't drink coffee." Again, I returned to my books.

"You don't drink coffee?"

I shook my head a solid no and continued looking at the books.

"Who doesn't drink coffee?"

I turned to look at him. As I turned, he raised his hand and in a Jedi-like motion waved his hand as he said, "You want a cup of coffee."

Deciding that he was either A) crazy B) bored C) socially inept, I began to return to my books.

As I turned, he paused, narrowed his eyes, and with much concentration, raised his hand and gave me another Jedi-like wand movement and said, "You want a cup of coffee."

Exhausted with him, I started for the front of the store and the register. In the distance I heard him say, "I guess I need more practice."

I paid for my three books and headed for the car. I chuckled as I exited.

It's not every day that someone tries the Jedi-mind trick on me.

Archive: Nostalgic Nintendo

I am fond of nostalgia. It’s like a security blanket and a warm glass of milk. It’s safe. It’s what I know. I take a walk down memory lane as I unwrap my first ever purchase from Ebay. As I push away the protective styrofoam peanuts, I unearth a slightly ruffled, but still magnificent, Nintendo Entertainment System. I plug the controller in, push in the power button, and memories of my youth flood the screen.

I grab the controller and reconnect with my childhood. The simple square controller fits nicely in my hands. Although it is smaller than I remember, I see the real genius behind its design — a simple and direct system for control — a directional pad, Select, Start, A and B buttons. It is perfectly designed for saving the Princess and rescuing Hyrule from the evil clutches of Gannon.

Tonight, my main fascination rests with conquering Super Mario Brothers. Mario. Luigi. Bowser. I brush away the dust from their names. These two-dimensional characters have rusted and been replaced by the gaudy and overly violent characters of the PlayStation and Xbox. Years have passed, but Mario — the sweet, Princess-saving Italian plumber — remains faithful in his mission.

The violence is simplistic in its form — no blood and no guts. Turtles, walking mushrooms, and man-eating plants in pipes are my enemies tonight. I have no designs for killing other individuals, rampaging through the streets in a stolen car, or immersing myself into an “online world” filled with bleary-eyed, insomniac fifteen-year-olds getting their nightly fix of Halo. I simply want to save the Princess.

I press the A button lightly and jump onto a turtle. He quickly slips into his shell to save himself from the onslaught of my attack. Hastily, I kick the turtle shell and it slides smoothly into a row of walking Goombas. 100 points. 100 points. 100 points. It’s almost too easy.

Although Mario has an unorthodox method of jumping — he raises his left leg slightly as he punches his left fist into the air — it is perfect for breaking bricks and dislodging coins, mushrooms, and plants that grant fireball-throwing abilities. There is no need for an AK-47, flamethrower, or grenades this evening. All I need are Mario’s feet, an 8-bit graphic fireball, and my wits. My body contorts and twists as I guide Mario through the first level.

It has been a number of years since I have accompanied my brave plumber through the square world looking for the Princess, but it seems as though I never left. Hidden boxes, passages, and warps to other levels come to mind as if I were reliving my childhood. These secrets haven’t changed. They haven’t moved. It is comforting to know that I can still find those extra lives where I left them.