"I see it all perfectly; there are two possible situations - one can either do this or that. My honest opinion and my friendly advice is this: do it or do not do it - you will regret both."

-- Soren Kierkegaard

(Reprinted from my previous blog)

God damn it.

I hate myself. I mean, I always hate myself. But now I have a specific reason to truly hate myself.

That was my chance, wasn't it? My chance to do what I know is Right...and I just couldn't.

I can think of a billion ways to rationalize my actions. I was polite. I was doing the capital "G" Good thing. I took the high road. I'm not a man prone to violence. But any way you slice it, I failed. I failed you all...and that moment will haunt me for the rest of my days.

God damn it.

****  EARLIER THAT NIGHT ****

I went to the King Kong premiere in NYC.  My friend was able to wrangle some tickets to the event, and it was the first High Profile event I had ever attended.  I was excited.  I love Peter Jackson.  I'm not a huge LOTR fan - I loved the movies, but I wasn't the biggest Tolkein nut overall. But what I really love are his earlier films: Meet the Feebles - his perverse take on The Muppet Show complete with sex, drugs, violence, and a Rabbit with a rapidly debilitating STD; I also dearly love Dead Alive - his insane zombie gorefest (complete with a hyperkinetic undead baby, kung fu priest, and some badass usage of a lawnmower); and Heavenly Creatures - Jackson's magical realism tale of a cold blooded murder perpetrated by 2 little girls; and even The Frighteners - yeah it wasn't amazing, and the third act kind of falls apart, but it's still entertaining as all get out.

Following the film, we exited the theater and boarded buses to take us to the after party. In the interest of full disclosure, one event did occur whilst we were attempting to exit the movie theater - I accidentally hit Anthony Edwards' kid in the back of the head with the revolving door.   He seemed fine with it, and maybe it'll teach his father to learn the rest of the lyrics to "Great Balls of Fire!"  Anywhoski, we quickly boarded the buses and made our way to the piers where the after party was being held.

We sat around, ate food, got drunk and gawked at the various pseudo-celebrities milling about. Eventually we screwed up the courage to make our way into the VIP section, so my friend could confront her crush Adrien Brody,and so I could see if Sean Astin was there and propose to him my idea for The Goonies: The Musical. After a while, chatting with various folk my friend knows, and getting more drunk, a man started walking over to greet my companion.

A bearded man in his late fifties, short and stocky and with a neck that looks like he's storing a cantaloupe for the winter - I recognized him immediately.

It was George Lucas.

Now, to the uninitiated out there - and it's doubtful that they are any reading this - the original Star Wars trilogy played a large part in my development as a child. I would watch it all the time whenever I was sick, and I was quite a sickly child. Han Solo is still the ultimate icon of being cool and manly; and I think I belong to the disproportionately large group in my generation who found himself immediately plunged into the strange world of sexuality when greeted by the sight of Leia in the golden bikini. And while I was never an ubernerd with the films - memorizing planets and alien races, secret histories, debating on the merits of a Stormtrooper's helmet that eradicates any peripheral vision - I still hold quite a special and beloved place in my heart for those films.

Then he made the prequels.

As Lucas himself admitted on the September 9, 2004 episode of The Charlie Rose Show - the reason he made Episode I was because he needed some money after his divorce. And it shows. In all of them. They were hacky, with no larger, arching plot or forethought, horrible characterizations, flat special effects and even flatter acting. It hurt me in a way that few things have before. It was like finding out my sister was a double agent working for a rival family to bring us all down. And what was worse is that these films ruin the original trilogy - and not just by besmirching the sunny nostalgia I feel for those movies. When future generations watch the Star Wars movies, they will watch them in numerical order - ruining any surprises and disrupting any sense narrative flow between the two trilogies.

And it didn't have to be that way. The Original Trilogy was such a huge and influential series of films that any screenwriter and director would have given his firstborn just to work on one scene for any of the prequels. But Lucas didn't care about that. He didn't care about creating anything interesting or original or even really entertaining. He wanted to make a quick buck and knew he could count on the fanboys to pad his bank account.  And he doesn't even care about those fanboys, tossing aside their nerdish devotion in favor of just monkeying around with the latest in digital effects.  His callousness and refusal to attempt to ellevate the new series not only compounded my hurt over a beloved object of childhood being reduced to trash, but also turned that pain into anger.

It's true - he doesn't owe anything to anybody. No one should or could force him to be loyal to those people who shell out billions of dollars on his films and merchandise and slavishly make him a god within their little convention center walls. But still, just because there's no imperative to please these devotees, he should consider them and actually attempt to make them happy.  But in his smug self-assurance he believes that the films he made were great, looked amazing, and worked on any level outside of CGI advances.

 And out of this growing hatred, I swore that George Lucas would be someone that I would debate punching in the face should I ever meet him (also on the list - George W. Bush and Paul WS Anderson). I predicted that should I ever meet the man face-to-face, I would immediately plunge into an existential debate over whether or not I should just give a quick rap in the face with the ol' Jack Johnson.  I'm not a man prone to violence and yet he is one figure that would merit me to bloody my hands in what could be considered a righteous cause.

And here he was in front of me. Saying hello to my friend, and chatting with her, being an amiable fella.

I stayed my hand and held my tongue. I didn't gush out nerdily praising him, nor did I scream racial epithets at him and make veiled threats to his physical well-being. He and my friend wrapped up their conversation, politely, I nodded a goodbye to him as he walked away.

Then when he was about ten feet away I screamed, "YOU RAPED MY CHILDHOOD!" But I don't think anyone really heard me.

I immediately jumped on my cell phone to track down advice on how I should address the situation. One of my nerdly friends suggested just to tell him "you should be ashamed." Another one said that whatever I did, afterwards I should "just be prepared to run and exit quickly."

In the end - I did nothing. Didn't confront him or even really say anything to him.

My mind was racked over the fact that here was my chance. I could be a hero for the entire Nerd World. A Dorky Martyr who finally stood up to the bullies that shit on what we hold dear. I've run through an amalgam of scenarios in my head before that night, and even moreso after it. Occasionally simply punching him in the face, maybe giving a little bit of a Enigo Montoya speech before hand. "Hello. My name is Robert Dean. You raped my childhood. Prepare to die." Or else just paraphrasing George Costanza's speech to Steinbrenner from Seinfeld:

George Lucas: Nice to meet you.
ME: Well, I wish I could say the same, but I must say, with all due respect, I find it very hard to see the logic behind some of the moves you have made with this fine franchise. In the past 30 years you have caused myself, and fellow nerdly folk, a good deal of distress, as we have watched you take our beloved Star Wars and reduce it to a laughing stock, all for the glorification of your massive ego!

But in the end I did nothing. And it's been killing me ever since.

What if that was my one chance? Not just at physically assaulting a millionaire, or starting a fight with 60 year old man - but what if it was my chance to do something Good with my life. To strike a blow for the common nerd?

I had to choose between doing what was Good and what was Right. The Right thing to do is to take Lucas to task for the way he fucked over millions of his faithful flock.  The Good thing to do is to not shit on a man who probably isn't nearly as malevolent as I believe him to be.

It would be a story to tell my fellow inmates as I'm anally penetrated in a forceful manner.  A news clipping to show my grandkids. A great anecdote to be recounted at my funeral. And god damn it, it would have felt great.

But I did nothing.

God Damn It.

****

Since then, I've been able to reconcile the entire incident by taking a theoretical approach.

It's the question of What We Can Do vs. What We Should Do. It's the question that encapsulates Spider-Man and I believe the one most prevalent to our world right now. Peter Parker could become a master thief or some archvillain taking what he wants and using his abilities to do as he pleases. But, as Uncle Ben's posthumous words echo, "With Great Power Comes Great Responsibility."

And often times, power is merely just another word for opportunity & ability.  We have the opportunity & ability to indulge in all of our sins to excess, but does that mean we should?

George Lucas had the opportunity & ability to make a bunch of new Star Wars movies, does that mean he should? He also had the opportunity & ability to make them great, with a whole host of resources at his disposal, but does that mean he should?

At the end of the day, I don't know how to reconcile What is Right with What is Good, or reconcile either of them with What is Possible. It's a hard struggle that most of us tend to lose or simply refuse to engage.

All I know is that I am now haunted by a punch I never threw. And that just sucks.

God damn it.