Hello Darlings!

Well, I am thrilled as can be to report that I was able to attend a special screening of George Lucas' Star Wars: Attack of the Clones this last week.

Bless George's heart, he is one of most naive, blissfully unaware souls that I have ever encountered. He is naive, ignorant, out of touch, and everything else that makes a male wonderful. Plus, he has that manly Papa Hemingway beard going on.

I actually was a caterer on the set for the very first Star Wars movie. They didn't have much of a budget, so it was basically my job to drive down to the pub and pick them up some chips. British style chips, what you Americans call fries.

Let me tell you, there were few things Carrie Fisher liked more than stuffing her face with those vinegar soaked starch sticks! It got so bad that her hair started to be wet with vinegar, so I made her wear it up in buns when she came to claim her chips. Well, she went on screen the first day of shoot like that and George, who was more interested in how to make that blasted R2D2 look like a real robot than what any of the humans were doing didn't notice and, thus, that horrid twin bun hairstyle made it into the movie. Now it is part of the mythology. Go figure.

At any rate, I have nothing but unpleasant memories of the dwarf actor inside the R2D2 costume. Every time filming stopped, he would come over and hump my leg like a chihuahua. I am not saying all tiny people are sexual devients (I wish). I am just saying this one was a sexual devient and, darlings, I know devience when I see it. He kept asking me if I wanted him to bring his mining helmet to the set so that he and I could engage in something he could "ass spelunking." I don't want to know, and I never did.

The new movie is ultimately forgetable bgut, of course, I was so blasted tipsy at the time that I can't even remember if it really was forgetable or not.

Mesa gonna drinka more now!

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