- Time
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First I'm left out of the Original Vision Post Trilogy prequels, and now this?
Well, forget you, buddy. I choose me.
- Time
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I took a moment to remove the mud from my shoes before ringing the doorbell. As I tended to that task, I glanced behind - nothing to see. The fog had rolled in and I knew that I would be stranded until morning. It wouldn't do a damn bit of good to call the driver service - no amount of money can entice a driver into this remote backwood at night. Especially with the leaden pall of mist oppressively draped over the estate and, indeed, all of the surrounding area.
Such was my foreboding that I entertained the notion of walking back - but even if I could follow the road in this fog, I could happen upon some rabid, predatory animal. No, it's best I clean these shoes and ring the doorbell. After all, I did receive a personal invitation from Mr. Sylvester himself.
And Jay Sylvester was a man who could make dreams come true. It was Sylvester who shrewdly engineered for himself a controlling interest in Lucasfilm, Ltd. and personally supervised the release of an up-to-date transfer of the Star Wars Original Unaltered Trilogy. Industry insiders were stunned by the move - and were flat-out shocked when the SOUT utterly laid waste all existing records of home video sales. As Sylvester anticipated, the public ached for a proper treatment of the OUT - and Sylvester's judgment had been vindicated in a most dramatic way. In one final shocking act, Sylvester sold his controlling interest back to George Lucas for a fraction of what the stock was worth. But money, though he had gained generations of wealth from the short sale, was never the point of Sylvester's manuevers. He had the vision and the will to change the world. And if a man with such a vision invites you out to his estate, you go to him and hear him out.
Which didn't make me any more comfortable. The fog, the darkness, the isolation, the imposing grandeur of the estate were all intimidating - I needed relief. So before ringing the bell, I hastily packed my pipe full of vanilla cavendish and lit it. Ah, bliss...that should calm the old nerves.
Managing to keep the pipe in my mouth proved quite the remarkable feat, as Sylvester's man-in-service opened the door just as I reached forth to ring the bell. Not yet in the house and my heart leapt from the fright! I noted, with some satisfaction, that Sylvester's man had had the very same reaction as I.
"Oh, so sorry, good sir," said the man-in-service, with practiced calm. This was an excellent professional - he doesn't stay rattled. "You are...Mr. VF Palpatine, correct?"
"In the flesh," I replied, extending my hand.
"Forgive me, sir. I don't shake - bad for the circulation, you know. Buskers is the name."
Bad for the circulation? That's new. "A pleasure, Buskers."
"The pleasure is mine, good sir. Right this way," Buskers replied, holding the front door open.
He stopped me before I set foot inside. "You may not smoke, I'm afraid," said Buskers.
"Oh, I'm not smoking. The pipe is."
Buskers shot me a timid glare, but nevertheless allowed me in. I suppose he didn't want to tell Sylvester that he refused me entrance over a semantic argument. The way I looked at it, I'd be happy to extinguish the pipe if asked to do so by the other guests - or by Sylvester himself. I was too rattled to give up the pipe without a fight.
***
The smallish anteroom I walked into blew me away. I could have spent the entire evening in here soaking up the dazzling artwork, the ornate woodcarvings, the "Girls of the Big Ten" playing card sets - Sylvester even had the rare '73 "Twins on Deuces" set AND the highly sought after first edition '86 set, which mistakenly included a three of diamonds with Margaret Thatcher on the flip side! This Sylvester was a man of refined tastes - unfortunately, I was just moments away from meeting with the other invitees. I didn't have time to savor Sylvester's treasures as much as I would have liked.
"Before you are announced in the Libra Room to all the other guests, I am obliged to share this with you, sir."
Busker's handed me a huge, leather-bound book. It was weighty and musty and aged with dignity - Gravitas in book form.
That was the guy's name, right? The guy who ate planets and fought the Fantastic Four? Gravitas? I turned that over in my mind as I opened the book on the marked page. It was a guest register. And many of the names were known to me.
I read down the page slowly, my mouth agape. And that stupid look on my face was the main reason I didn't read very often - I can't stand people japing me whilst I read. Nevertheless, I perused the page to jog the memory:
- C3PX. Ah yes - the world traveller.
- TV's Frink. Of course, the yellow-skinned provacateur.
- xhonzi. Right, some guy named xhonzi.
- Nanner Split. The man with the pictures, absolutely.
- ferris. The sheriff with the itchy trigger finger.
- Zombie84. If someone knows less about Star Wars, I'd bet it was a Parvo virus.
- Warbler. Rock-ribbed Republican conservative, can't forget him.
- Gaffer Tape. That dude who's a chick who's a dude.
- Davnes. The other one.
- Bingowings. A right honourable Englishman who has much to say about his better half. Strange trait, that one.
- Leonardo. Lead turtle, as I recall.
- ABC. Another picture guy. Always posts the safest, least-objectionable photos one can ask for.
- skyjedi2005. A bigger George Lucas fan one cannot hope to find.
Tonight should be interesting indeed...
Want to book yourself or a guest on THE VFP Show? PM me!
<---Ric
