Star Wars Celebration Orlando 2017, or What It's Like When a Nerd Takes Acid

I went to Star Wars Celebration, and I feel the need to tell you about it and provide you with an honest, clear review of this event. You have been warned.

Firstly, are you a fan of Star Wars?

I don't mean "Yes, I saw some of those. They were good."

I'm not referring to the people who have seen each and every single film, some more than once.

I'm not even talking to people who have a plush taun-taun, or that 'one really rad shirt from the first film in Japanese.' If you are one of these people, congratulations, you are well adjusted, have a strong appreciation for a culturally significant movie, and probably go to therapy for other reasons.

Also, if you're a casual fan and live nearby, sure, give it a shot, maybe take a day trip to check some stuff out.

If you wake up every morning in Star Wars sheets and eat Kellogg's C-3PO's from a vintage 1997 Special Edition Re-Release Box with a light up lightsaber spork, DO I HAVE AN EVENT FOR YOU.

Star Wars Celebration is not for the feint of heart. If you're wondering if your midi-cholorian count is high enough, it might not be for you. To put that in perspective, I have a small R2-D2 and C-3PO in my home office, have seen the movies a number of times, and even play the occasional video game. Nobody enjoys blasting laser holes into the nameless, faceless stormtrooper legions more than I do - I'll push them over cliffs, rip their blasters out of their hands and beat them to death, or pump red-hot self cauterizing laser beams into their chest with all the combined glee and apathy of a six year old murderizing a legion of chocolate Easter bunnies over the holiday weekend. Needless to say, I like Star Wars a lot. I also like beer, mahi tacos, canoeing, mountains, and Benedict Cumberbatch, even without lightsabers.

OK! So what about you? You've decided to go! What's it like?

I have an adventure story from this thing. Let. Me. Tell. You. It.

I decided I would drive up on Saturday morning so we could be there at a reasonable hour. This was the third day of an extravaganza that started two days prior on a Thursday - and if you're a HUGE fan, you MUST go those two days.  You see, each day has a series of 'panels.'  A panel is usually a series of announcements, and the best ones ALWAYS come at the beginning. Day one featured the introductory panel, which included all the major stars on stage - Mark Hamill, Harrison Ford, Daisy Ridley, Billy Dee Williams, that one guy, Fuzz McWook, a robot, and other things as well. It had JOHN WILLIAMS, who isn't just famous for Star Wars, but for composing the iconic sonorous experiences that weave emotional cues into dozens of amazing movies.

The whole shebang starts at 10:00 AM, but if you want to actually get into this panel and see all the cool things, you have to compete with Mr. and Mrs. Lightsaber Spork, who have invariably brought their pada-spawn learners. These folks arrived the NIGHT BEFORE, and slept on the cold, concrete floors, or enjoyed spirited matches on Nintendo Switch systems they brought while sipping from a 78 oz. MONSTER ENERGY DRINK BARREL.  The really hard core guys, though, showed up in March with tents, tethered power supplies, nutrient tubes, and three weeks worth of camping to get THE SEATS. The really good ones where you can almost SMELL the Luke Skywalker on Mark Hamill. These are the ultra-passionate fans, who will rabidly defend all of Star Wars, do not process criticism, and have neglected showers in favor of the enormous auditorium halls and concrete floors that provide comforting reminder's of mom's basement. This is of course, an exaggeration, but not by much. If this description were the Death Star, I'd say I missed the mark by the size of the hole in it.

Friday-- day two-- had a similarly awesome panel - The Last Jedi, and of course, folks slept there, on the floor, to get to that panel. The director even showed up, late at night, and visited the line the night before for something like FOUR HOURS to meet everyone - which is pretty awesome, and costs only your dignity to achieve.

That said, the events are electrifying, and the energy in the rooms is incredibly palpable and a bit uncomfortable. If someone told me I was going to spend the rest of my days at an island full of sex, the finest foods in the world, and thrilling adventures beyond count, I would be almost, but not quite, as physically and emotionally amped as the fans in that room - an apt comparison as I believe a disturbing number of individuals probably lost their virginity during the pinnacle of a panel attended by and catering to 12 to 15 year olds while toddlers excited to see wobots, Ham, and wook mcfuzzchunk look on, mesmerized by the perfectly choreographed film clips and/or British accents.

Back to me, I arrived on Saturday, having missed the epic concert and the debut of the new Star Wars trailer and other cool stuff, mostly due to working during the week. Also, because I like to sleep sometimes, I didn't really get out of bed until 6:30 or 7:00 AM, which meant we arrived around 10:30 near the convention center. We found a parking space conveniently located only two miles/12 parsecs from the the actual place we were going, and it cost just $5, a far cry from the actual parking.

Walking to the convention center itself is a great opportunity to reflect on your life choices and ask yourself the big questions, like, "Am I to old for this," "Should I have paid rent this month instead," and the contemplative "Where are the pants and why doesn't she have them?"

Upon arrival, you are greeted immediately by the thing that, to me, at least, makes the whole thing worthwhile - and that is a sea of people just a little bit out of place. Have you ever ordered a pizza for delivery with pepperoni, and they show up with pepperoni and sausage? You think to yourself, "Well, this isn't exactly what I like or what I wanted, but I'm good with extra sausage, I guess - why not?" So you go to eat the pizza, and a few bites in, you find a single rogue chunk of pineapple that gushes sweet, pipping hot fruit juice into your gullet in a sudden, startling explosion of Caribbean beach flair.? Star Wars Celebration is that pizza, and you are that pineapple chunk.

What I mean by that is this: you are surrounded by a flood of people who, given the situation are almost, but not quite, entirely out of their element. Darth Vader drinking a Coca-Cola. A storm trooper looking for a credit card in his fanny pack on the escalator.  Princess Leia adjusting her top and wishing she's worn a bikini with just a LITTLE more goddamn support. Chewbacca scratching an area that should have balls* but instead has only more (probably unsanitary) fur.

And all of that is WONDERFUL. For me, that's what makes it worth the time and money - seeing all the things you love, watching them forcibly crammed into a space they should never be in, constantly flitting between immersion in the characters they love so and the need to operate cars, eat lunch, and defecate in the real world. I wouldn't suggest you go looking for humor in the convention lavatory, but there will no doubt be some there. It is those moments of seeing the things you enjoy standing in your real world that can make you fall in love with everything all over again - if you let them.

Now that I've attempted to establish that there is some degree of magic happening at these types of things,  and that Star Wars and the celebration of it is 'right on,' allow me to crush your soul you idiotic empty beer can of a human being:

Star Wars isn't, and could never be, what makes a Star Wars convention terrible and hugely frustrating. It's the very clear corporatizing of the event. On the day I arrived, there was one panel I wanted to try to hit - a video game panel that looked pretty neat-o. It was at 1:30, I think. So I putzed around the convention floor, looking at the hundreds of thousands of knickknacks, toys, posters, and junk floating around to kill time until then.

I decided to grab lunch in the interim - thankfully, there are literally dozens of places to eat - I found a nice chicken gyro for $13.50, which I ordered with a Diet Coke and fries, rounding the price up to an even $76.00. Though steep, this is a great opportunity to see people in prosthetics, thick makeup, and straight up battle armor attempt to consume a ham and turkey wrap through twelve layers of ridiculous, easily justifying the small barrel of paper money they just burned to cook your food. Believe me, you're doing yourself a favor.

Next up: The panels! I arrived at the door with 45 minutes to spare, only to be told that IF you wanted to go to the panel, you needed a special magic yellow bracelet. No one told me about this bracelet, it wasn't available at the entrance I came in through, and unless I had the bracelet, I wasn't allowed in, so I was kicked back down to the holding/standby/dirty peasant casual fan line.  After 45 minutes of waiting for literally 20,000 people to get in, we were allowed to sit in almost the very last row.

The U.S.S. Zumwalt has the next generation of firearms on its' deck. The water-cooled cannon can fire 10 rounds, each 155 mm, per minute. Those rounds can pinpoint and blow away a target the size of a car window from 83 miles away. If that ship had parked where I was sitting, those slugs would have fallen just short of the people speaking at this panel.  By the time the cannon shell finally made it to the panel, it would have been too late to see which Jedi are playable characters in Battlefront II.  Have you ever looked into the sky and seen a star wink into and out of existence? The time that star takes to reach here is about the time it takes for it to go from real life stage to your eyeballs - and that's after you've finished waiting in the dirty casual fan/peasant holding pens for several hours. It's actually easier to STREAM IT FOR FREE ON YOUR PHONE OR COMPUTER. I know this because the guy sitting in front of me, sitting at this panel, was watching the panel not with his own eyeballs, not on the giant screens located two football fields away, but ON HIS PHONE. It was literally easier for him to catch the presentation on a 6 inch handheld device than it was to try to see what was happening IN FRONT OF HIM IN THAT ROOM.

I call bollocks.

Anyway, after that panel, I began my true quest: Finding the most horrible, stupid, ridiculous thing I could to give as a gift to a friend/coworker who couldn't make it.  I didn't have to look far.

We went to Disney Springs that evening. I believe it was so named not because of Springs (because there aren't any that I can tell) but because anything you'd like to buy you have to spring for. They have a cupcake ATM, which is the pinnacle of human ingenuity. We have computers, the light bulb, and an automated personal sugar cake dispenser to our names. Good job, Earth. Maybe unlimited clean energy next, but still!  Downside? $5.50 for a cupcake.  Granted, it was a sweet ass cupcake, from a sugar perspective, but a bit too rich for my blood.

Other things were expensive. Sushi. Mouse Ears. Souvenirs. Coffee. All in all, a nice place to visit - but some of those places missed some serious opportunities. The T-Rex Cafe should say, "Aged to Perfection" underneath, and the Bippity Boppity Boutique should find ways to sell more dresses - like 'Prince and Repeat' as a slogan. Also, where were all the bad ass princesses? I didn't see a Leia or a Captain Phasma. Nothing prepares kids for their future workplaces like casual oppression and science-fiction based unrealistic expectations regarding how well a fax machine will function on a daily basis.

Anyway, back to the ridiculous thing I was looking for. The next day, we decided to go into line for the EXCLUSIVE STAR WARS SHOP STORE. It was surrounded by thick black walls, so you couldn't see what was inside. This increased my excitement level, because anything could be on the other side, even a real lightsaber that could cut through through a shoe, a twelve inch thick steel wall, maybe even butter.

The line was, according to the dude out front, less than an hour - which seemed like a lot when we were completely and totally isolated from the show, unable to see the actual merchandise, and crammed together with folks who possessed all the social graces a parent's basement affords. It went something like this: Move 6 feet. Hear someone talk about dressing in their 'Jedi Casual Outfit' after the 'con. Incredibly, staggeringly offensive odor. Lime green nipple. Someone says the line is long. Move 6 more feet.

This went on for NEARLY THREE HOURS. It was exactly like a miserable post-Thanksgiving, Black Friday, seven dollars off a 12 inch television sale - except for 1.) literally naked women in thin, flimsy fishnet space jumpsuits, which is apparently fine if your nipples** are green or orange and you have head tentacles, and 2.) everything actually costs more. If you're 12, perhaps it really is like Christmas Day.

Needless to say, the excitement to get inside and get really cool exclusive goods was palpable. My shorts almost blasted right off my stormtrooper white legs. And then... finally, the security bro let us in... to NOTHING. The place was stripped clean of almost EVERYTHING. And I mean that. And everything that was left was REALLY goddamn expensive. Record album? $40!!!! Dress? $65!!! HACKEY SACK?!? LITERAL CLOTH AND BEANS? YOUR SOUL, AN IPHONE PASSWORD, AND TWO THIRDS OF A LIVER.

Then I saw it. The absolutely god awful, stupid thing. Something that should never, ever exist. Something a beautiful mountain was ground into dust for. Something so unbearably useless and f$#@!ing stupid I can't believe someone actually had the gall to sell it. A stuffed Sarlacc... disk?

What is that, you ask? It's a cloth disk, upon which three shitty tentacles, a lopsided mouth flap, and a sad bag-shaped Boba Fett are attached to a flesh colored felt circle. I mean, what the unholy F#<% is this... THING?!? It's not a hat! It's too stupid to be a table centerpiece. It's not big enough to COVER anything, but it's not SMALL enough to occupy a small space on your desk. I mean... WHAT IS THIS THING FOR?!? You know how much it is?!? $35!!! DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHAT THAT MEANS? This WORTHLESS DISK that does NOTHING and looks like a MONSTER VAGINA with Boba Fett stuffed inside is more expensive than a tank of GASOLINE, a really nice SUSHI DINNER, or a CONVENTION SODA WITH FREE COMPLIMENTARY ICE. To hell with this, let me show you it:

Just so you know, this worthless foam thing is not even convenient for ass wiping. I know for a fact that this was the worst thing there for two reasons: 1.) There were actually some of them left in the EXCLUSIVE BULLSHIT STORE and 2.) There was a second 45 minute line JUST TO BUY HORRIBLE SHIT and NOT ONE PERSON IN IT HAD A STUPID FOAM TENTACLE FRISBEE. These people who paid to be here, had the sense NOT TO BUY THIS STUPID THING.

• Let's recap: Wait in a line, separated from all that is good and holy. 
• Smell horrible things. 
• Listen to strange, creepy conversations about Leia hotness levels, look at black wall, wait.
• Go into store with nothing in it. Buy something because you are NOT LEAVING THIS STORE after THREE HOURS WITHOUT a reminder of how UNBELIEVABLY and UTTERLY STUPID YOU ARE. 
• Wait in another line, thinking about how you will eventually WRITE ABOUT how stupid you are, so the world knows and will shame you into saving money for real things in the future.

After that, I was DONE. We imperial-marched back over to our waiting 'shuttle' to our 'docking bay' and 'got the f*&# out of there.'

In short, if you live close and/or have that lightsaber spork, maybe check it out.*** If you value your sanity and don't want to get blue-milked for everything you're worth, live long and prosper, friends. Remember - there's no money on the Enterprise.

*Spaceballs the testicles.
**Those really stuck out.
***May the spork be with you.