Harumph! (or: in my day, we had to go all the way to Tosche Station to pick up our power converters) (a poem)

Harumph
When I was a kid, we didn't have no digitile downloads
that was a long time ago, and far far away, too
and we sure didn't have no one click purchasing

And we didn't have Nintendo, either.
If we wanted to see some Italian guy bust his head on some bricks
we'd call Vinnie.
That boy would do anything
for a quarter.


In my day, our Star Wars figures only had
five points of articulation - shoulders, hips and neck.
Sometimes not even that, and what passed for
a Death Star playset doesn't even bear mentioning
let alone the fact that the small-head variation of Han Solo
looked like he'd run afowl of a witch doctor on the fourth moon of Dathomir
and the big-head version bore more than a passing resemblance to Mary Poppins.
In a vest.

But I wore them all in my bandolier strap, with little compartments
for the weapons. I made my own Aunt Beru figure out of a busted Bib Fortuna,
and made do without a Grand Moff Tarkin or a Slave Girl Leia
or any of Jabba's dancers, if you don't count Sy Snootles
and I've never owned anything I was happier to get
than that Frozen Han Solo.

Why, even one of THOSE isn't hard to get anymore. It was hard to
get in 1985 and 1995 but NOW it's easy.
Costs a lot more than 1.99, but you don't have to scour the
flea markets and garage sales, and if you ask me,
kids today don't understand what it MEANS to be a COLLECTOR.

But you kids nowadays, you wouldn't understand.
With your nine variations of Grand Moff Tarkin, six resculpts of
Zuckus, who in my day was called 4-LOM, and your proper names
for Walrus Man and Hammerhead, and probably even that black Bespin
Security Guard whose one leg was longer than the other and looked like he
had the rickets.

Expanded universe, my foot.

And video games? We played Jedi Arena on the Atari, and it was a truly
dreadful experience. Empire Strikes Back was even worse.
Some lucky kids had the 5200 version of the arcade game.
But you know what?
We could go to the mall and play
the cockpit style version of the
arcade game itself,
and no amount of digitle downloads
or even playing it at the video game exhibit at the museum of science and industry
is ever going to match the feeling
of wading through the crowd that had gathered around Dragon's Lair
sitting in the machine
hearing the VIDEO GAME TALK
over the blaring sounds of Billie Jean and Girls, Girls, Girls
and the wocka wocka wocka of the pac man machine behind you
watching the vector graphics
through the red glare of the neon signs reflected on the screen
as you slide the grubby token,
fingers still greasy from the pizza hut in the food court,
knowing you sat through an hour of your mom combing the racks at Yonkers to deserve this, and you've EARNED it.

So there.
Harumph.